Chapter 12 - THEY TRIED TO DESTROY MY REPUTATION
Nari's television interview aired on a Sunday evening.
I watched it from my grandfather's living room.
Not alone.
Grandfather sat beside me.
Director Jang had her laptop open.
Mrs. Oh hovered near the doorway, holding a tray of tea nobody wanted.
On the television, Nari sat beneath soft studio lighting wearing a cream cardigan.
No diamonds.
No designer handbag.
No elaborate makeup.
She looked younger.
More vulnerable.
Someone had prepared her carefully.
The interviewer asked:
“Did you know your sister-in-law was connected to Haedam Group?”
Nari shook her head.
“Not until after the incident.”
Lie.
“Was your brother aware?”
“No. He loved her for who he thought she was.”
Another manipulation.
Then the interviewer asked about my injuries.
Nari's eyes filled.
“It was a terrible family argument.”
I felt Grandfather's hand tighten around his cane.
Nari continued.
“My brother is not a violent man. He was under enormous emotional pressure.”
I stared.
She had found a new version of the story.
Not that Jihoon did nothing.
That he had been pushed into losing control.
The interviewer asked:
“Are you suggesting Ms. Han provoked him?”
Nari lowered her eyes.
“I think she knew exactly how to make him angry.”
Mrs. Oh muttered something unprintable behind me.
I almost smiled.
Then Nari delivered the sentence her public relations team clearly wanted people to remember.
“She used my brother's love to trap him.”
Silence filled our living room.
Director Jang paused the interview.
“Do you want me to prepare a response?”
I thought about the woman on the screen.
For three years, Nari had succeeded by controlling the emotional story before anyone checked the facts.
She cried first.
Accused first.
Presented herself as frightened first.
By the time I spoke, I was already defending myself.
I would not repeat that pattern.
“Yes,” I said.
“But not like hers.”
Director Jang waited.
“No personal insults. No speculation about her motives. Release only verified information that we're legally permitted to disclose.”
“And your medical records?”
“Not publicly in full.”
She nodded.
“We can confirm the nature of the documented injuries with your consent.”
I took a careful breath.
“Yes.”
Grandfather looked at me.
“You don't have to explain your pain to strangers.”
“I know.”
“Then why do it?”
I watched Nari's frozen face on the television.
“Because she's trying to make violence sound like an understandable response to being upset.”
Grandfather nodded slowly.
I continued.
“I won't let that become the only public version.”
The next morning, Director Jang released a brief statement through my legal representatives.
It confirmed that I had suffered serious documented injuries, that law enforcement was investigating, and that the allegations of stolen corporate files were disputed and subject to forensic review.
It also requested privacy while legal proceedings continued.
No dramatic press conference.
No tearful interview.
No expensive television studio.
Just facts.
That should have been enough.
It wasn't.
Within hours, anonymous accounts began circulating photographs from my past.
My college graduation.
My mother's funeral.
Old images of the Han family estate.
Then came rumors.
That I married Jihoon under a false identity to gain access to Myeongseong.
That I secretly transferred corporate information.
That I planned to destroy the company to benefit Haedam.
Some people believed everything.
Others defended me.
Most simply enjoyed the scandal.
I tried not to read the comments.
Sometimes I failed.
One message stayed with me.
If she's so rich, why didn't she just leave?
I stared at it for a long time.
It was the question people asked when they had never understood how abuse changes a person's sense of what is possible.
They imagined leaving was a door.
You recognized danger.
Opened it.
Walked out.
But my marriage had not begun with violence.
It began with flowers.
Coffee.
Kindness.
Then small humiliations.
Then isolation.
Then fear.
By the time I recognized what my life had become, I had spent years believing every conflict was somehow my fault.
Money would not automatically have repaired that.
Not when I had spent three years refusing to use my family's wealth.
Not when I was ashamed to admit how badly my marriage had failed.
I closed the comments.
Then I called Dr. Choi.
Not because my ribs were suddenly worse.
Because I wanted a referral to a trauma counselor.
For the first time, I was ready to talk to someone who didn't know my family.
A professional who wasn't interested in Haedam.
My inheritance.
Jihoon's reputation.
Or Nari's tears.
Someone who might help me understand why I had stayed so long.
The first appointment was difficult.
I cried.
Stopped.
Started again.
I told the counselor about the bracelet.
The forged accusation.
The way Jihoon could make me question things I had witnessed with my own eyes.
Then I told her about the money.
Eight million dollars.
One million for each broken rib.
She listened.
Then asked:
“What did you feel when he threw it?”
I thought carefully.
“Humiliated.”
“And now?”
I looked toward the window.
“Angry.”
“Only angry?”
I swallowed.
“No.”
“What else?”
“Free.”
The word startled me.
She waited.
I continued.
“The money was supposed to make me feel worthless.”
“And?”
“Instead, it showed me exactly what he thought I was worth.”
The counselor nodded.
“And what do you think now?”
I began crying again.
“I think he never had the right to decide.”
That evening, Director Jang called.
The independent forensic audit had produced preliminary findings.
Several Seorin-linked transactions lacked satisfactory supporting records.
Investigators were examining Daewon's role.
And the settlement documents from Jihoon's attorneys contained revisions traced to a legal consultant associated with Daewon's office.
I felt my heartbeat quicken.
“Can we prove who ordered the revisions?”
“Not yet.”
“What about Nari?”
“Her financial records show additional unexplained payments.”
I closed my eyes.
“So they were still working together.”
“Possibly.”
Then Director Jang added:
“Seoyeon, there's something else.”
“What?”
“The police recovered messages deleted from Nari's phone.”
My breath caught.
“About me?”
“Yes.”
“From Daewon?”
“Several.”
I waited.
Director Jang took a slow breath.
“One message was sent the night of the assault.”
My hands went cold.
“What did it say?”
She read it aloud.
Don't let Jihoon go too far. We need her alive to sign.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I looked down at my hands.
They had trembled so badly after the attack that I could barely hold my phone.
Somewhere, while I lay injured on the floor, Daewon had been worrying about my signature.
Not my life.
Not my pain.
My legal usefulness.
I finally understood the full cruelty of the plan.
They had not needed me dead.
They needed me frightened.
Obedient.
Still alive.
And willing to sign.
The next day, prosecutors announced additional inquiries into suspected document fraud and related financial transactions.
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Nari's public interview suddenly looked very different.
So did her tears.
