Chapter 6 - An Audit of Sins
The fall of Kwon Industries was not a slow decline; it was a controlled demolition conducted with military precision.
By Wednesday morning, forty-eight hours after the press conference, the company’s headquarters in Gangnam was completely cordoned off by yellow police tape. The sign bearing the Kwon family name had been taken down from the facade after creditors filed for emergency receivership.
In an interrogation room at the Seoul Central District Prosecutors' Office, Kwon Sora sat at a cold steel table.
Her Chanel dress was crumpled, stained with coffee spills. The manicured nails she had so proudly displayed while sipping Earl Grey in the penthouse were chipped and broken. Her hair hung in greasy clumps around her face, which was devoid of makeup and bloated from forty hours of relentless crying.
Across the table sat Han Seojin, accompanied by Senior Prosecutor Kim.
“I told you everything!” Sora shrieked, banging her trembling fists against the steel table. “I gave you the account numbers in the British Virgin Islands! I showed you the forged purchase orders for the modern art pieces! Daeho signed them! He was the CEO! He approved the transfers!”
Seojin turned a page of her leather portfolio with clinical detachment.
“We have verified the financial fraud, Miss Kwon,” Seojin said calmly. “However, that only addresses the commercial embezzlement charges. We are here today to discuss the events of Sunday night.”
Sora froze. Her bloodshot eyes widened with animal panic. “I… I didn't touch her! I sat on the sofa the entire time! Daeho was the one who kicked her! He took martial arts lessons in college! He knew exactly where to hit her!”
Seojin slipped an audio recorder onto the table and pressed *play*.
The room was filled with the distinct, clear audio recording from the Hannam penthouse’s smart home security hub—a system that Daeho believed was offline, but which Haneul Tech’s cyber division had secretly mirrored months ago:
*“She should thank you, Oppa… Most husbands would have divorced her already… She is pretending to be innocent again… Break another one, Oppa. Make sure she can't write with that hand…”*
Sora’s voice echoed through the interrogation room, high-pitched, sadistic, dripping with malice.
The prosecutor clicked the recorder off.
“Under Article 31 of the Criminal Code,” Prosecutor Kim stated, his voice flat and stern, “instigation of aggravated bodily harm resulting in life-threatening internal trauma carries the same statutory penalty as direct perpetration. Furthermore, because you fabricated the evidence of corporate espionage that incited the assault, you are also charged with malicious false accusation and conspiracy to commit extortion.”
“No…” Sora whimpered, sliding out of her chair onto the linoleum floor, clutching Prosecutor Kim’s trousers. “Please! I was jealous! That was all! She had Oppa’s attention! She was so quiet, so perfect, and it made me sick! I didn't know she was a chaebol heiress! If I had known, I would have kissed her feet! Please… tell her I'll be her maid! I’ll scrub her floors! Don't send me to Cheongju Women's Prison!”
Seojin stood up, smoothing the front of her skirt. She looked down at the hysterical girl with neither hatred nor satisfaction—only the absolute indifference one shows toward a crushed insect.
“Chairwoman Seo has already declined your request for a settlement,” Seojin said smoothly. “In her words: *‘A viper belongs in a cage, not in a household.’*”
Seojin walked out of the room, leaving Sora screaming and thrashing against the handcuffs of the correctional officers.
***
Meanwhile, in the detention center’s male wing, Kwon Daeho sat in a three-by-three-meter holding cell.
He wore an unadorned brown prison jumpsuit stamped with the number **4092**.
His hands were raw and blistered from scrubbing the cell floor during morning inspection. The elite, refined chaebol prince was gone. In his place was a hollow, broken shell of a man whose mind was trapped in an endless loop of regret.
The heavy iron door clanged open.
“Number 4092,” the guard barked. “Visitor.”
Daeho’s head snapped up. “Is it… is it Yuna? Did she come?”
The guard sneered. “Move.”
Daeho was led through a series of reinforced security gates into a soundproof glass-partitioned booth. He sat down eagerly, his hands trembling as he lifted the heavy plastic intercom receiver.
On the other side of the glass sat his father, Kwon Mansik, the retired founder of Kwon Logistics.
The old man looked twenty years older. His back was hunched, his hands shaking so violently he could barely hold the receiver to his ear.
“Father…” Daeho choked out, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “Father, you have to get me out. Call the emergency legal defense fund! Use the family trust assets in Singapore!”
The old man stared at his son through the glass with eyes full of venomous despair.
“What trust assets, you fool?” the old man rasped through the intercom. “What defense fund?”
Daeho blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Your sister pledged the Singapore assets as collateral for her art loans six months ago,” his father wept, his voice shaking with ancient grief. “The receiver seized them yesterday morning. We have nothing left, Daeho. Not the company. Not the house in Hannam-dong. Not even your mother’s ancestral burial plot in Gyeonggi-do. Haneul’s legal team bought up the surrounding land and re-zoned it for a toxic waste processing facility.”
“No…” Daeho gasped, pressing his forehead against the scratched glass. “No, they can't do that!”
“They can do whatever they want!” his father screamed, pounding his frail fist against the partition. “They are Haneul! They own the ports, the banks, the courts, and the dirt beneath our feet! Why did you do it, Daeho? Why did you touch that girl? For three years, you had an angel in your house! An heiress who chose you over the most powerful dynasty in the country! You could have been the prince consort of the entire nation! And you broke her ribs for that manipulative little snake Sora?!”
“I didn't know…” Daeho sobbed, his chest convulsing. “I didn't know who she was…”
“A real man doesn't need to know his wife's net worth to treat her like a human being!” his father spit onto the glass. “You ruined us. You killed this family. Die in this cell, Daeho. Don't you ever call me father again.”
The old man slammed the receiver down, struggled to his feet, and walked out of the visitation room without looking back.
May you like
Daeho sat alone in the booth, holding the dead receiver to his ear, listening to the hollow, humming static of total ruin.
***
