Chapter 3 - THE MORNING HIS ASSISTANT TURNED PALE
By nine the next morning, my husband was demanding that I return his calls.
I knew because Director Jang showed me the messages.
There were seventeen.
The first three were angry.
Where did you go?
You had no right to bring strangers into my house.
You are making a private argument into a scandal.
The next five demanded that I answer his attorney.
Then came the threats.
If you involve the police, the settlement disappears.
Don't forget who gave you everything.
I read that one twice.
Everything.
What exactly had he given me?
A beautiful house where I was afraid to speak.
Designer clothing I rarely wore.
Jewelry that Nari constantly reminded me came from her brother's money.
Three years of gradually losing the confident, independent woman I had been before our marriage.
And finally eight broken ribs.
I handed back the phone.
“Don't respond.”
Director Jang nodded.
“That's already my recommendation.”
Across Seoul, my husband was preparing for the most important meeting of his career.
I learned the details later through sworn testimony, his assistant's records, and the frantic calls his office made that morning.
His executive assistant, Yoo Minseok, arrived at Myeongseong Logistics headquarters at 8:15 a.m.
Minseok was thirty-two.
Quiet.
Meticulous.
The kind of assistant who knew Jihoon's schedule better than Jihoon did.
For years, he had addressed me respectfully even when Nari made jokes about my supposed poverty.
He was also one of the few people who had ever apologized to me for the way Jihoon spoke.
That morning, he found his employer in an excellent mood.
Jihoon had ordered expensive coffee for the executive floor.
He was wearing a new charcoal suit.
He had already instructed his communications department to draft an announcement about the forthcoming Haedam partnership.
The contract had not been signed.
He behaved as though it had.
“Everything ready?” he asked Minseok.
“Yes, sir.”
“Investment committee?”
“Scheduled for two.”
“Presentation?”
“Finalized.”
Jihoon smiled.
“Good.”
Then he asked something that showed how little he understood what he had done.
“Has my wife called?”
“No, sir.”
“She will.”
Minseok hesitated.
Jihoon noticed.
“What?”
“Sir, I heard she was taken to the hospital.”
My husband dismissed it.
“She's exaggerating.”
Minseok went silent.
Then the first call arrived.
Haedam Group's corporate secretary informed him that the investment committee meeting had been suspended pending a governance and risk review.
Jihoon was furious.
“Suspended? On whose authority?”
“The controlling shareholder's succession representative has requested a review.”
“What controlling shareholder?”
There was a pause.
“Ms. Han Seoyeon.”
Jihoon apparently laughed.
“Who?”
The secretary repeated the name.
Han Seoyeon.
My real name.
Jihoon still did not understand.
He accused the caller of making a mistake.
Then Minseok received an internal briefing circulated among Myeongseong's senior executives.
It contained a photograph.
Not from my wedding.
Not from our home.
A photograph taken when I was twenty-five, standing beside my grandfather at a closed family memorial.
Underneath was a succession profile.
Han Seoyeon — principal successor to the late Han Joonseok's controlling interest in Haedam Holdings.
Minseok recognized me immediately.
He showed Jihoon the screen.
My husband stopped speaking.
According to Minseok, he stared at the photograph for nearly a minute.
Then said:
“That's not possible.”
Minseok answered cautiously.
“Sir, I believe it's Madam.”
Jihoon grabbed the tablet.
Read the biography.
Read the date of birth.
Read my father's name.
Then the legal surname I had used before marrying him.
For three years he had called me a woman with no family.
A woman lucky to marry into the Cha household.
A woman who should be grateful for his money.
Now his assistant was explaining that my inheritance represented control over the conglomerate whose partnership he needed to keep his company afloat.
Jihoon demanded immediate verification.
Minseok contacted the corporate registry team.
Then the holding company's legal office.
Then an outside law firm.
All three confirmed the succession records.
By ten, Jihoon was calling me again.
The messages changed.
Seoyeon, call me.
We need to discuss this misunderstanding.
I didn't know about your family.
I stared at the last sentence.
That was true.
He hadn't known.
But why did that matter?
Had he known I was wealthy, would he have treated me differently?
Would he have listened when I denied Nari's accusations?
Would he have stopped before I was injured?
The questions disgusted me.
At eleven, Director Jang entered with another update.
“Your husband has arrived at Haedam headquarters.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“He wants to meet your grandfather.”
“He has no appointment.”
“He says it's an emergency.”
I looked toward the window.
Seoul was bright beneath a pale autumn sky.
The city looked perfectly ordinary.
Cars moved.
People went to work.
Somewhere, a woman was probably choosing a wedding dress and believing her future husband would protect her.
I remembered that feeling.
Director Jang waited.
“Should we permit the meeting?”
“No.”
She nodded.
“Not yet.”
I thought carefully.
“Ask him to submit any business concerns through Myeongseong's legal department.”
“Understood.”
“And the allegations that I stole company documents?”
“We've requested the original evidence.”
“Has he provided it?”
“Not yet.”
I almost smiled.
That wasn't surprising.
My husband had never needed evidence to condemn me.
By noon, the succession acceptance documents were ready.
Director Jang brought them to my hospital room.
I read every page.
Not because I distrusted her.
Because I had spent three years learning what happened when I surrendered the right to understand decisions affecting my life.
The documents confirmed my acceptance of the beneficial interests my father had left me and authorized the transition of voting control under the trust's governance provisions.
I signed slowly.
My hand trembled.
The pen felt heavy.
Director Jang witnessed the signatures.
My grandfather signed the administrative acknowledgment.
Then it was done.
Not the entire corporate transition.
But my decision.
The decision I had avoided since my twenties.
I was finally coming home.
At 1:40 p.m., Jihoon arrived at the hospital.
His attorney accompanied him.
So did Nari.
I heard the commotion outside my room.
A raised male voice.
A security officer answering firmly.
Then Nari crying.
Of course.
Director Jang opened the door only far enough to speak.
“Mr. Cha, the patient does not wish to receive visitors.”
“She's my wife.”
“She has declined contact.”
“You can't keep me from her.”
“She has the right to refuse your visit.”
Nari's voice trembled.
“Please. We just want to apologize.”
I almost laughed.
An apology.
Less than twenty-four hours after she watched me struggle to breathe.
I looked at the hospital door.
Then said loudly enough for everyone outside to hear:
“Director Jang, please ask Ms. Cha whether she's brought the original USB drive.”
Silence.
For the first time, Nari had nothing ready to say.
Then Jihoon spoke.
“What USB drive?”
I closed my eyes.
The smallest part of me still wanted to believe he was simply foolish.
That perhaps he had not known Nari fabricated the evidence.
But the truth was worse.
He had hurt me without even knowing what the evidence was.
Director Jang returned.
“They've left.”
I nodded.
Then she added:
“Mr. Cha's assistant called separately.”
“Minseok?”
“Yes.”
“He says there's a problem with the document Nari submitted.”
I opened my eyes.
“What problem?”
Director Jang showed me a screenshot.
A file-transfer authorization bearing my name.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
I stared.
It looked almost perfect.
Almost.
Then I saw the date.
And my stomach tightened.
Because the document claimed I had been inside Myeongseong headquarters on a day I had spent in the hospital visiting my grandmother's former nurse.
I had receipts.
Photographs.
And witnesses.
Someone had forged my signature.
I looked at Director Jang.
“Tell Minseok I want to meet him.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the document again.
“My husband thought he destroyed our marriage because of stolen files.”
May you like
I swallowed carefully.
“Now I want to know who actually stole my name.”
