TLWSL 117

Chapter 117

In the film industry, people were even saying, “Isn’t the Ministry of Culture managing Choi Geon-ha on a whitelist?”

Sangil Construction was one of the companies benefiting the most under the current government.

“- No wonder the Ministry of Culture didn’t bother setting up a Credit Arbitration Committee. Their backer is Sangil Construction, after all.”

Nam In-young, the mediation counselor, let out a sigh.

“Do you regret hearing this?”

“- Not exactly, but… I think it needs to be sorted out.”

It seemed his mind was complicated, maybe because I said I had to fight with my life on the line.

“We’ve already filed an injunction to ban the screening of the movie and submitted civil and criminal complaints.”

“- Already?!”

“Yes, and we have clear evidence.”

“- Then why did you request credit arbitration from us?”

“Before we decided to go to court, Madfeel and Choi Geon-ha refused. It’s better if the issue is resolved before litigation, so we asked the Writers’ Association.”

“- Ah… But I don’t understand why Madfeel agreed to this.”

I thought the same thing.

Even though Choi Geon-ha had his own production company, Loo-in, why did he contract with the popular Madfeel and direct Im Seung-chan’s script?

After looking into it, I discovered that Loo-in’s parent company, Sangil Construction, was involved with the government.

‘Sangil Construction made production investment conditional on Choi Geon-ha directing and writing the script? So money could flow in the middle? That explains why they didn’t go through Loo-in—it would’ve been too obvious.’

From Madfeel’s perspective, it wasn’t a bad deal. Even if Choi Geon-ha directed, as long as the script was solid, it didn’t matter. There might have been a director working under Choi Geon-ha, or they may have thought their technical skills could cover his mistakes.

If the investor was offering a lot of money, Madfeel wouldn’t object.

‘Whether this guess is correct or not is for the court to decide.’

“Anyway, the villain always gets written off in a story, right?”

“- Pfft!”

I encouraged Nam In-young not to skip her witness appearance and ended the call.

For a moment, I thought things through.

‘If what I confirmed about Sangil Construction is correct, I can defend against whatever Choi Geon-ha throws at the court!’

I sent a message to my college friend and member of parliament, Kim Soo-sung.

Not long after, my phone rang.

“- Why? What now?”

“Sangil Construction.”

“- Construction again?”

“This one’s different.”

“- How so?”

“Stock manipulation.”

Buzz.

“You called right away?”

“- Cha Do-hyuk, you made me call! So Sangil did stock manipulation?”

“I think the Financial Services Commission also confirmed it.”

I could hear Kim Soo-sung calling his aide.

A short while later…

“- I see. Hmm. I wasn’t in charge of this, so I didn’t know much, but our party was aware of it too.”

‘Which committee is he in if he didn’t know a major issue?’

“The problem isn’t over. The FSC naturally sent the investigated case to the Supreme Prosecutor’s Office, and now the Supreme Prosecutor’s Office… where do you think they sent it?”

“- …”

“To the Southern District Prosecutors’ Office, which specializes in securities. But the Southern District said it’s the FSC’s specialty and sent it back to them.”

It wasn’t cooperation—it was a full transfer. This was unprecedented. But the real problem was elsewhere.

“You know the current head of the FSC is the cousin of Sangil Construction’s Chairman Choi?”

And Choi Jeong-woo had previously been head of the Financial Securities Crime Division at Seoul Southern District Prosecutors’ Office.

The political world likely knew this, waiting for a government change.

“- Damn.”

“The case I’m handling is connected to Sangil Construction. Specifically, Choi Jong-woo’s daughter.”

He then revealed a lead regarding the Im Seung-chan case.

“Seeing the Ministry of Culture drag its feet, it seems like they’re laundering profits from stock manipulation, doesn’t it?”

Perfect for lighting a fire. It was finally time to signal Kim Soo-sung.

“Am I the whistleblower?”

“- You really are something.”

“Let’s go national with this, Kim Soo-sung.”

Kim clicked his tongue and hung up.

‘Looks like he’s fed up.’

Still, he’d take the bait. Politicians care about ability, but also public visibility.

I waited to contact Kim Soo-sung again while having already filed the copyright infringement complaint and awaiting the injunction result.

December 10

Goter Office.

This morning, the Seoul Central District Court issued an injunction banning the screening of Money War.

‘Submitting Choi Geon-ha’s scriptbook along with the copyright certificate probably made the decision quick.’

The deposit was properly paid, so now I could focus on the main lawsuit.

The injunction being granted meant the main case would likely be favorable, as long as we didn’t create reasons to lose.

“Criminal evidence is abundant, so no problem there. Let’s review what counterarguments may come up in the civil case.”

While I was organizing things, there was a knock at the door.

A large shadow appeared behind the office’s frosted glass.

I shuffled the papers on the desk into a large envelope and habitually said, “Come in.”

It was Lee Je-min, CEO of Madfeel.

“This office is harder to find than I expected.”

He placed a bouquet on the table with a sticker from Yeji’s Flower Shop.

“What brings you here today, CEO Lee?”

“Probably because of the mail from the court.”

Ah.

“If you’re unhappy with the injunction, you can file an objection.”

Lee frowned, displeased that there was nothing he could do since Money War was about to release.

“…How did you know the director?”

“Couldn’t I? It’s a film about to be released.”

“I see…”

He crossed his arms and looked around.

“Attorney Cha Do-hyuk seems quite lucky.”

Compared to prominent lawyers, my office’s modest decor seemed to make him underestimate me. Probably thinking I got lucky with the Im Seung-chan case.

“Would I have met you otherwise?”

“What do you want?”

“You seem more urgent than usual?”

“…Journalists would catch that scent.”

“As I said before, Madfeel is just trying to help achieve the best outcome.”

“You want to give the plagiarist scriptwriter credit as a co-writer without a script contract?”

This is beyond audacity.

“Director Choi Geon-ha brought a contract identical to the script agreement.”

Thud.

“You won’t answer? So this contract also covers the original and joint script credit, I see.”

“…Ha, but Choi Geon-ha is the director.”

That made it worse. Having the plagiarist as director would turn off half the audience, regardless of the actors or cinematography. This was critical enough to potentially skip theaters entirely and go straight to OTT.

“So nothing is for Im Seung-chan’s benefit?”

“We’re negotiating too!”

Lee put his phone on the table, played a recorded voice memo.

Lee Je-min: Director Choi Geon-ha, have you consulted with the original writer?
Choi Geon-ha: I wrote it, who would I consult?
Producer: Director, you might not even be able to screen it.
Choi Geon-ha: Are you threatening me?
Lee Je-min: Let’s just follow FM. We checked Im Seung-chan’s scriptbook. Look at this.
Rustle
Lee Je-min: Lines like “office,” “right now?” “You were caught?”—aren’t they too similar?
Choi Geon-ha: It’s his writing, I’m the country! I arranged his text, it got similar, but it’s mine!
Lee Je-min: Ha!
Producer: Director, let’s just settle the credits. Important thing is your directorship.
Choi Geon-ha: Who else would be the director! Did Im Seung-chan demand it?!
Bang!
Producer: Director, by being magnanimous, you build your career, earn money, and attract investment for future films. Madfeel expects your next project too.
Choi Geon-ha: …Next project?
Producer: Yes, Madfeel’s anticipated film. Money War’s director, Choi Geon-ha.
Choi Geon-ha: Clears throat.
Producer: Also, it’s just joint credits. Your name stays on the script. We contracted based on your script.
Choi Geon-ha: Should’ve said that from the start!
Producer: Sorry, I should have explained better.