Chapter 9 - THE RECORDING THEY FORGOT TO DELETE
The recording arrived at 6:18 on a rainy Thursday evening.
I was sitting in my father's study, reading old corporate documents, when Director Jang knocked.
Her expression told me something had changed.
“What happened?”
“We recovered additional evidence from the mansion.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind?”
“Audio.”
I stared.
“From the security system?”
“Partly.”
Jihoon had cameras throughout the mansion's public rooms.
Most were installed for security.
But the main living room also contained a smart-home control unit that registered voice commands and certain security events.
I had forgotten about it.
So had Jihoon.
Apparently someone attempted to delete the camera recordings after I was taken to the hospital.
But the storage service had preserved an earlier backup, and investigators had obtained additional material.
Director Jang held out a tablet.
“We need to discuss whether you're ready to hear it.”
I looked at her.
“Does it show what happened?”
“It includes part of the confrontation.”
I felt my throat close.
For several seconds, I could smell the mansion again.
Expensive perfume.
Polished wood.
The faint citrus scent of the cleaning products Mrs. Kim used every morning.
I could hear Jihoon's voice.
Nari crying.
My own voice, small and desperate, asking him to listen.
I looked down at my hands.
They were trembling.
“I don't know if I can.”
Director Jang sat beside me.
“Then you don't have to listen today.”
I closed my eyes.
For years, I had been taught that being strong meant enduring something painful without complaint.
I was beginning to understand that strength could also mean choosing when to face it.
“Can the police use it without me listening?”
“Yes.”
“Then let them.”
Director Jang nodded.
I thought that would be the end of it.
But twenty minutes later, she returned.
“Seoyeon.”
I looked up.
“There's one section I think you should hear.”
“Why?”
“Because it concerns something that happened before you entered the room.”
My pulse changed.
“What?”
“Nari was speaking to someone on the phone.”
I slowly set down my father's notebook.
Director Jang opened the audio file.
The recording began with soft music.
Then Nari's voice.
Calm.
Nothing like the trembling victim she pretended to be later.
“I have the drive.”
Pause.
“Yes. The authorization is ready.”
Another pause.
Then:
“No, Jihoon doesn't know who she is.”
I went still.
Director Jang watched me carefully.
Nari continued.
“He'll believe me. He always does.”
A man's voice answered.
Faint.
Distorted by distance.
But recognizable.
Daewon.
“Don't let this become public.”
Nari laughed.
“Then stop changing the plan.”
There was a pause.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
“You wanted her frightened enough to sign. I'll make sure she's frightened.”
The recording ended.
I stared at the tablet.
The room felt too quiet.
Director Jang spoke first.
“We've provided this to investigators.”
I swallowed.
“Sign what?”
“We believe they intended to obtain authorization affecting your beneficial interests.”
“From me?”
“Yes.”
“But I refused the inheritance.”
“You never renounced it. Your interests remained protected by the trust.”
I looked toward my father's photograph.
“Then marriage was supposed to give them access to me.”
“Possibly.”
I thought about the documents Nari constantly urged me to sign.
Household agreements.
Tax forms.
Insurance changes.
Once she appeared with a stack of pages she claimed were routine marital finance documents.
I refused because they were in legal language I didn't understand.
She called me suspicious.
Jihoon shouted.
I eventually asked for an attorney.
They dropped the subject.
I remembered thinking it was strange.
Now the memory felt sinister.
“Did they want a power of attorney?”
Director Jang nodded.
“That's one possibility.”
I stared.
“And if I'd signed?”
“They might have tried to use the document to interfere with your interests. Whether they could legally succeed is another question.”
I closed my eyes.
They had not simply wanted me divorced.
They wanted control over my inheritance.
And when I refused to cooperate, Nari escalated the accusations.
Not because she needed me to confess.
Because she needed me desperate enough to sign anything.
Then another realization struck.
“What about the eight million?”
Director Jang looked at me.
“The settlement?”
“Yes.”
I remembered the twenty-seven pages.
The language releasing claims.
The clauses concerning confidentiality.
The provision requiring me to acknowledge that I had no further financial rights arising from the marriage.
I had been focused on the injuries.
The humiliation.
The silence they wanted to buy.
But perhaps the document did more.
“Check the attachments.”
Director Jang frowned.
“We did.”
“All of them?”
She hesitated.
Then opened the file.
Page twenty-six.
An appendix.
A seemingly ordinary declaration concerning beneficial interests and future claims.
I stared at the language.
It was broad.
Too broad.
“Who drafted this?”
“Myeongseong's outside counsel.”
“At whose instruction?”
“We can ask.”
I looked at the final page.
There was a blank signature line.
Mine.
The woman they believed had no wealth was being asked to sign a document that could be presented as evidence of waiving certain financial rights.
They wanted my signature.
Again.
For the first time, I understood the eight million as something more than an insult.
It was bait.
A payment large enough to tempt a supposedly impoverished woman into signing without questions.
I looked at Director Jang.
“Do you think Daewon helped write this?”
“We don't know.”
“Then find out.”
She nodded.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
At two, I walked slowly into the garden.
The rain had stopped.
The stones shone beneath the pathway lights.
Grandfather found me sitting beneath the pavilion.
“You should be resting.”
“I know.”
He sat beside me.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked:
“Did Father know people would do this?”
Grandfather looked at me.
“What?”
“Use our family money against me.”
He considered.
“Your father knew wealth made people interested.”
“Then why leave me so much?”
“Because he wanted you to have choices.”
I stared at the pond.
“Sometimes I wish he'd left me nothing.”
Grandfather looked hurt.
I immediately regretted saying it.
Then he shook his head.
“Money didn't hurt you, Seoyeon.”
I turned.
“People did.”
His voice softened.
“You don't need to be ashamed of what you inherited. You need to decide what you do with it.”
I began crying.
Not dramatically.
Just quietly.
Grandfather sat beside me.
Then he said:
“There's something your father wrote that I should have shown you earlier.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“A letter.”
“Another one?”
“This one wasn't for the company.”
“Who was it for?”
He took a slow breath.
“You.”
I stared.
“Where is it?”
“In the blue archive.”
My heart stopped.
May you like
Grandfather looked toward the house.
“And I think it's finally time we opened it.”
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