Kang Jihoon
The restaurant Director Shin chose was in a basement in Itaewon, the kind of place where people went to have conversations they didn't want overheard.
We arrived fifteen minutes early and the hostess led us to a private room in the back. Paper screens separated us from the rest of the restaurant and the walls were thick enough that sounds from outside became muffled and indistinct.
Jiwoo sat across from me and pulled out her phone, staring at the photo of Secretary Ahn. His face was bruised, one eye swollen shut, hands bound behind him. She'd looked at it maybe twenty times since we left the prosecutor's office.
"Stop," I said.
"I can't." Her voice was flat. "Every time I close my eyes I see him. And Kim Taejoon. And I think about what they're doing to them right now while we're sitting here waiting."
"Looking at the photo doesn't help them."
"Neither does not looking at it." She set the phone down but her hand stayed near it, fingers twitching like she wanted to pick it up again. "Forty-five hours and twelve minutes. That's how long they have to stay alive."
I wanted to say something comforting but my throat was too tight. Because she was right—somewhere in Seoul, two men were being hurt, and we were in a restaurant hoping a man I'd fired three years ago would commit international financial crimes to help us.
The absurdity of it made me want to laugh or scream and I wasn't sure which.
"What if Director Shin doesn't come?" Jiwoo asked.
"He'll come."
"But what if—"
"Then we find someone else. We keep trying until someone says yes or until we run out of time." I poured water with hands that shook slightly. Some of it spilled on the table. "We don't have the luxury of backup plans."
Jiwoo watched the water spread across the lacquered surface. Neither of us moved to wipe it up.
"I keep thinking about Minho," she said quietly. "The last time I saw him, he was excited. Said he'd found something big, something that would finally prove what happened to our father. He was so happy." Her voice cracked. "Three days later they cut his brake lines and drove him off a bridge."
"Jiwoo—"
"And I wasn't there. I was at home studying for exams while someone was murdering my brother. I didn't even know he was investigating until after he was dead." She looked up and her eyes were red. "So when you ask me to stop looking at Secretary Ahn's photo, I can't. Because maybe if I'd looked harder five years ago, Minho would still be alive."
I didn't have an answer for that.
The door slid open and Director Shin walked in.
He looked worse than his photo—mid-fifties but moving like someone older, like the weight of three years had settled into his bones. His suit was expensive but worn at the cuffs, tie slightly crooked. A man barely holding himself together.
"Jihoon-ssi." He sat without offering to shake hands. "You look like your father."
"I've been told."
"It makes me want to walk out right now." He poured water and his hand was steadier than mine had been. "But I came anyway because you said you want to destroy Chairman Kang. So convince me you mean it."
I pulled out my phone and showed him the news articles from this morning. "My father was arrested yesterday for seven counts of murder. I'm the one who gave prosecutors the evidence."
"And yet he posted bail within six hours. Doesn't sound very destroyed to me."
"Because he corrupted our evidence and kidnapped our witnesses." Jiwoo pushed her phone across the table showing Secretary Ahn's photo. "This is what he's doing while out on bail. Torturing the people who testified against him."
Director Shin looked at the photo and his face went carefully blank. "Who is that?"
"Secretary Ahn. He kept twenty years of records documenting your father's crimes. Now he's being held hostage with a forty-five hour deadline."
"What happens in forty-five hours?"
"Chairman Kang kills him." I said it flatly because there was no gentle way. "Unless we get new evidence he can't destroy. That's why we need your help."
Director Shin set down his water glass very carefully. "You want me to ask my brother to commit financial crimes to save a man I've never met."
"Yes."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because three years ago my father destroyed your life." I pulled out the documents Jiwoo had found. "But it wasn't business. You'd discovered he was embezzling and he ruined you to shut you up."
Director Shin's jaw tightened. "I tried to tell people. Nobody believed me."
"We believe you. And we can prove it." Jiwoo pulled out her tablet. "But we need access to offshore banking records. Your brother works in international financial services—"
"No." Director Shin stood up. "I came here to hear what you wanted, and now I've heard it. The answer is no."
"Wait—"
"My brother has a wife and two kids. You're asking him to risk prison, to risk his family, for something that isn't his problem." Director Shin moved toward the door. "Find someone else."
He reached for the door handle.
"Your wife left you because she thought you were lying," I said.
His hand froze.
"About the embezzlement. She thought you were just bitter about being fired, making up stories to justify your failures. That's what my father told everyone—that you were unstable, unreliable." I stood up. "And when your career fell apart and you started drinking and you lost your house, she left. Because she believed his version instead of yours."
Director Shin's shoulders were shaking.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry my father did that to you. I'm sorry I didn't notice or question it. I'm sorry I was too comfortable in my ignorance to see what was happening."
"Sorry doesn't undo three years." His voice was rough.
"No, it doesn't. But helping us might feel better than staying bitter." Jiwoo's voice was sharp. "Or you can walk out and spend the rest of your life knowing you could have stopped him and chose not to."
Director Shin turned around and his face was red, eyes wet. "You're asking me to put my brother at risk. To make him break laws that could send him to prison. And for what? So you can feel better about your guilty conscience?"
"No." I met his eyes. "So two more people don't die. So seven murders don't go unpunished. So my father doesn't keep winning."
"He'll always keep winning. Men like Chairman Kang don't lose."
"He lost yesterday when I testified against him." My voice shook. "He lost when Secretary Ahn recorded twenty years of confessions. He lost when Jiwoo spent three years building a case against him. He's losing right now even though he doesn't realize it yet."
"Then why do you need me?"
"Because he destroyed our evidence. Because he's smart enough to stay three steps ahead. Because we can't do this alone." I walked closer to him. "I know what I'm asking is unfair and illegal and dangerous. I know you have every reason to say no. But I'm asking anyway because I don't know what else to do."
The silence stretched between us and I could hear my own heartbeat, could feel sweat running down my back despite the air conditioning.
Director Shin looked at Jiwoo. "What's your stake in this?"
"My brother and my father were two of the seven victims." She said it without emotion. "I changed my name and spent three years undercover at Haneul Group investigating. I'm not stopping now."
"That's obsession."
"That's love." Her voice broke slightly. "My brother died trying to expose this. If I stop now, his death means nothing."
Director Shin sat down heavily, and I realized he was crying. Not sobbing, just tears running down his face while he stared at the table.
"I lost everything," he said quietly. "My career, my marriage, my house, my reputation. Everything I'd spent thirty years building. Gone in six months because I asked questions about numbers that didn't add up."
We waited.
"And nobody believed me. Everyone thought I was crazy or bitter or making excuses." He wiped his face roughly. "Do you know what that does to a person? To know you're right and have everyone treat you like you're insane?"
"Yes," Jiwoo said. "I watched it happen to my brother. Everyone said he was paranoid, seeing conspiracies that weren't there. Then they killed him and called it an accident."
Director Shin looked at her for a long moment, then pulled out his phone. "My brother won't do this for free. He'll need immunity from prosecution."
"The prosecutors will grant it," I said quickly. "They're desperate for solid evidence."
"In writing. By 9 AM tomorrow or he backs out."
"Done."
He made the call, speaking in low tones I couldn't quite hear. The conversation went on for maybe five minutes while Jiwoo and I sat in tense silence.
Finally he hung up. "He'll do it. Says it'll take four to six hours to access the accounts and pull complete transaction histories."
"When can he start?" Jiwoo asked.
"He already did. He's at a secure location now." Director Shin's hands were shaking as he set down his phone. "If Chairman Kang finds out—"
"He won't. Not until it's too late." I checked the time: 9:17 PM. "How long until we have the flagged transactions?"
"Two hours for the ones connected to the murder dates. Longer for everything else."
Two hours. By midnight we'd have evidence showing Father's money trail connected to seven murders.
If Director Shin's brother worked fast enough.
If the accounts weren't protected by additional security.
If Father didn't realize what we were doing.
Too many ifs and my chest felt too tight.
"I need to make a call," I said suddenly, standing up. "Excuse me."
I left the room before either of them could respond and found the restaurant's back corridor, pressing my back against the cold concrete wall.
My hands were shaking badly now and my vision was blurring and I realized I was having a panic attack for the first time in my life.
Seven people dead. Two people hostage. A man I'd just convinced to commit crimes for us. My father trying to kill everyone who opposed him.
And me, somehow responsible for all of it because I hadn't been paying attention.
I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, head between my knees, trying to breathe.
The door opened and Jiwoo appeared. "Jihoon?"
"I'm fine."
"You're sitting on a restaurant floor hyperventilating. That's not fine." She sat next to me. "Is this your first panic attack?"
"Yes. How can you tell?"
"Because I've had about fifty of them over the past three years." She pulled a bottle of water from somewhere and handed it to me. "Drink slowly. Focus on breathing. It passes."
I drank and tried to breathe and felt like I was drowning anyway.
"Two men are being tortured because I testified," I said when I could speak. "Director Shin's brother is committing crimes because I asked. If this goes wrong—"
"Then it goes wrong and we deal with it." Her voice was steady. "But falling apart right now doesn't help anyone."
"How do you do this? How do you keep going when everything's falling apart?"
"I don't know. I just do it because stopping means giving up on Minho and I can't—" Her voice cracked and she stopped, pressing her palms against her eyes. "I can't do that. So I keep moving even when I want to curl up and scream."
We sat there on the floor together, two people barely holding themselves together, and somehow that made it slightly more bearable.
"I need to call my mother," I said eventually.
"Your mother?"
"She left when I was sixteen. Moved to Busan, remarried, started over. I haven't spoken to her in two years." I pulled out my phone with hands that still shook. "But she hates my father more than anyone and she might be able to help."
"Do you want privacy?"
"No. Stay."
I made the call and she answered on the fourth ring. "Jihoon?"
"Hi, Mom."
"I saw the news about your father. Are you alright?"
"No." My voice broke and I couldn't control it. "I'm not alright at all."
Silence on the other end, then: "Tell me what you need."
So I did. I told her everything—the murders, the embezzlement, the hostages with a forty-three hour deadline. I told her about Jiwoo and her dead brother and Secretary Ahn being tortured somewhere. I told her I was asking people to commit crimes and I didn't know if I was doing the right thing or making everything worse.
When I finished I was crying, actually crying, and I couldn't remember the last time that had happened.
"Jihoon-ah." Mother's voice was thick. "I'm so sorry."
"For what?"
"For leaving you alone with him. For not being strong enough to fight back when I had the chance." She was crying too now. "I knew what he was. Maybe not the murders, but I knew he was cruel and manipulative and I left anyway. I left you there with him."
"You had to leave. I understand that now."
"But I left you behind. My son. And now you're the one fighting him because I was too much of a coward." Her voice broke completely. "I'm so proud of you and so ashamed of myself."
I couldn't speak, could only press the phone to my ear and let her words wash over me.
"What do you need?" she asked when she could talk again. "Tell me what I can do."
"A safe place. Somewhere in Busan where Father can't find us if things go wrong. And maybe some of your old connections if we need help moving money or people."
"You have it. All of it. Come to Busan anytime, I have room." A pause. "And Jihoon? Be careful. Your father is dangerous when he's cornered. He'll do anything to survive."
"I know."
"I don't think you do. I lived with him for twenty years and I've never seen him lose. Not once. He always finds a way to win, no matter what it costs." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't underestimate him. Please."
After we hung up I sat there holding my phone, and Jiwoo put her hand on my arm.
"Are you okay?"
"My mother thinks I'm going to die."
"She didn't say that—"
"She didn't have to. I could hear it in her voice." I looked at Jiwoo. "She thinks my father is going to kill me the way he killed seven other people."
"Is she right?"
"Probably. But we're doing this anyway."
"Yes. We are."
We stood up and I tried to pull myself together, wiping my face and straightening my shirt. In the bathroom mirror I looked like someone else—eyes red, face pale, hair disheveled. Not the polished CEO who'd walked into this restaurant an hour ago.
Someone who'd seen too much and couldn't unsee it.
When we got back to the private room, Director Shin looked at my face and didn't comment. Just pushed a glass of water toward me.
"My brother says the first batch of flagged transactions is ready," he said. "Large transfers within a week of the seven murder dates. He's sending them now."
His phone buzzed and he opened a file, then turned it so we could see.
Transaction after transaction, all from the offshore accounts, all sent to numbered accounts in three different countries. The amounts made me feel sick—five million won, ten million won, twenty million won. Money sent within days of each victim's death.
Payment for murder, documented in neat rows and columns.
"This is it," Jiwoo breathed. "This proves the connection."
"It proves money moved," Director Shin corrected. "You still need to prove where it went after these numbered accounts."
"Your brother can trace that?"
"Some of it. Not all." He scrolled through more transactions. "But there's enough here to start an investigation that your father can't stop."
I looked at the dates, matching them to what I knew. Five million won transferred two days after Jiwoo's father died. Ten million won three days after her brother's car went off the bridge. Twenty million won the week after Park Sunbae's "accident" in Busan.
Seven murders, seven payments.
Seven lives reduced to line items in a spreadsheet.
"We need to get this to the prosecutors tonight," I said.
"Agreed. But first we need to keep my brother alive long enough to testify." Director Shin stood. "He's at COEX Mall food court, third floor. Says it's crowded enough that he feels safe but he wants to leave within the hour."
We left the restaurant and got into Director Shin's car—a ten-year-old sedan that had clearly seen better days. My company car would have been more comfortable but too recognizable.
The drive to COEX took thirty minutes through traffic and nobody spoke. Jiwoo checked her phone obsessively, watching the countdown tick down. Forty-two hours now.
Forty-two hours to save two men using evidence we'd gotten by asking someone else to risk everything.
At COEX we found Director Shin's brother exactly where he'd said—a table in the corner of the food court, laptop bag clutched to his chest like a shield. He looked like a younger version of Director Shin, same tired eyes but more afraid.
"Hyung." He stood when he saw us. "We need to leave. I think someone was following me earlier."
"Did you see who?" Director Shin asked.
"Black sedan, tinted windows. Lost them in the parking garage but I'm not sure." His hands were shaking. "I need that immunity agreement."
"You'll have it by morning," I said. "I promise."
"Your promises don't mean much if I'm in prison." But he handed over a USB drive anyway. "Everything's on here. Seven years of transactions from three offshore accounts. I flagged the ones connected to your murder dates but there's more. So much more."
Jiwoo took the drive like it was made of glass. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just make sure it was worth it." He looked at his brother. "I'm going to my wife's parents' house in Jeju. Don't contact me until the immunity paperwork is finalized."
He left quickly, disappearing into the crowd.
Director Shin looked at us. "What now?"
"Now we take this to the prosecutors and hope it's enough." I checked my phone: 11:47 PM. "And we pray that my father hasn't figured out what we're doing."
But as we walked toward the exit, I saw them.
Two men in dark suits, standing near the escalators, watching the food court.
Not doing anything, not moving.
Just watching.
"Don't look," I said quietly to Jiwoo. "But we're being followed."
She tensed beside me. "How many?"
"Two that I can see. Probably more."
"Your father knows."
"He always knew. We just ran out of time before he decided to act."
We walked faster, trying to blend into the crowd, and I could feel their eyes following us.
Forty-two hours to save two hostages.
But first we had to save ourselves.