TLWSL 06

Chapter 06

I forced down the unpleasant feeling and stared at the system.

[Warning: Reckless use of ability! Recommended for Grade B and above!]

If my grade were higher, maybe.
But apparently the workshop was out of the question.

‘Most of the time, the ability doesn’t even work properly. And even when it does, objects only show up for a few seconds. Locations would be even harder.’

Which meant I had to stop here for today.
I’d solved plenty of cases before I ever knew about my psychometry ability anyway.

I went into the workshop and turned on my phone’s camera.
“I should turn on the flash.”
Even though it was daytime, the room was rather dark.

I took some photos and videos.
After double-checking in case I’d missed anything, I came back out to the living room.

The laptop gave a loud beep as Mr. Shim Oh-han restarted it after an error popped up.
“Ahem. The laptop’s old, you see.”
“That’s fine, take your time.”

Again—whirrr, beep.
“……”
“Really, it’s fine.”
“Y-yes.”

Only the reboot sound filled the living room.

After several attempts at powering it on and off, Mr. Shim finally spoke.
“Lawyer, I probably shouldn’t say this to your face, but… I don’t like lawyers.”
“Is that so.”
“How should I put it… feels like a job that feeds off other people’s misfortune. I’ve been stabbed in the back before, so… yeah.”

If he’d had a bad experience with a lawyer, it made sense that a deep-rooted prejudice would follow.

‘Still, since he considered hiring a public defender for the first trial, I guess for him, dislike is dislike, and business is business.’

The fact that he came to hire me said as much.
And truthfully, I understood.

According to Article 1 of the Attorney-at-Law Act, lawyers are tasked with protecting fundamental human rights and upholding social justice. But I’d seen countless who didn’t.
‘Attorney Geuk was like that, too.’

“I actually agree with you, Mr. Shim. You could say lawyers are a profession that feeds on others’ unlawful and illegal acts.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Why so startled?”
“Well… I just insulted your profession.”
“And you’re not wrong. If you put it nicely, it’s a double-edged livelihood—pursuing public good while also chasing private gain. Makes it a prime target for criticism, doesn’t it?”
“……”
“Even the goddess of justice, Dike, is a bundle of contradictions. They say her eyes are covered so divine judgment won’t be swayed by human reason. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

“Ahem, it’s on now. Take a look.”

Mr. Shim opened a folder of evidence and turned the laptop screen toward me.
“Let’s start with the records.”
“Yes, sir!”

As I skimmed through the files he’d compiled, I remembered tasks I used to handle back in a corporate legal team.
“Oh, by the way, Mr. Shim. Are you an attention-seeker?”
“…What?”
“Go on, show me your attention-seeking side.”

After filing my notice of representation along with the appeal, I submitted a request to view and copy the case records: Mr. Shim’s statements, on-site investigation reports, and so on.

That’s just the basics of what a defense attorney must do.

‘The trial video from the first court won’t be available for 2–3 days until the judge grants access.’

In the meantime, I’d gather other evidence and draft my opinion statement.

At Continete, we used to write many types of statements. But for Mr. Shim, it meant one thing: a written argument to defend the client’s position in court and persuade the bench.

A simple written summary of the defendant’s stance, submitted to the court. (And updated as needed throughout the trial.)

“Now then, what’s next…”

I unlocked my phone and opened the memo app.

<The Art of Money – Defendant Shim Oh-han Case>

Jan 20–30: Seoul Emerging Artists Exhibition, hosted by the city, works displayed at Suryeon Gallery.
→ Request CCTV footage. Mandatory!
Jan 25: Commissioned for artwork.
Jan 26: Meeting at workshop.
→ Submit work notebook as evidence.
Jul 10: Deadline, artwork delivered.
Jul 20: Defendant interrogation record written.
→ Likely no video, but request anyway.
Aug 18: First trial hearing date.
→ File evidence preservation motion.
… [truncated] …
Aug 25: First trial verdict delivered.
→ Appeal within 7 days. Submit opinion by Aug 31. Done.
→ Applied for case record access and copies. Done.
→ Additional evidence?

Breaking apart this flimsy, sloppily staged case was nothing compared to the monsters I handled at Continete.
“CCTV request comes first.”

After wolfing down a late bowl of udon—
“Time to make my move.”

I got off at Jongno 3-ga Station on Seoul Subway Line 1.
Past Tapgol Park, a so-called paradise for seniors, I headed into Insa-dong’s cultural street lined with galleries.

“Good, I’m not too late.”

Though Suryeon Gallery’s open hours were over, I went inside anyway.
‘Mr. Shim said his work had been displayed to the left of the entrance.’

I glanced up at the ceiling, checking for CCTV cameras.
“Mm.”

Under the soft lighting, a woman in a two-piece suit was inspecting a work.

I walked toward her. Step, step.
She turned, and our eyes met.

“Viewing hours are over. Please visit tomorrow between 10 a.m. and 7 p.m.”
“I’m not here as a visitor. I came to see the director.”
“My apologies. Please follow me.”

Hurriedly removing her gloves, she led me out of the exhibit hall into a space partitioned by frosted ornaments.

“You’re Suryeon Gallery’s resident curator?”
“Yes.”

‘Was she here back in January, when Mr. Shim’s work was displayed?’

“You seem very young to be a resident already. You must have quite the discerning eye.”
“Oh, I think we’re all similar in that regard.”
“Is that so. By the way, when did you start at Suryeon Gallery? I’ve visited a few times, but never saw you here.”

(I’d never been, but if I was headed to the director’s office, I had to pretend I’d been a few times before.)

“It’s been a year or two. I’m usually not stationed in the exhibit hall during the day—that’s probably why.”
“I see.”

Before long, we stood before the director’s office.

Knock, knock.
“Director, you have a visitor.”
“…A visitor? All right.”

The curator clasped her hands politely.
“Would you like some tea or refreshments prepared?”
“No need. I only plan to have a brief word with the director.”
“Understood.”

The door opened, and I entered.

The office was decorated with objects befitting an artist.

The director sat before a monitor.
Glossy skin, shiny hair falling over her shoulders.
Late thirties, perhaps. Or early forties, judging from her hands.

She rose from her seat.
Instead of explaining myself immediately, I sat on the sofa, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and waited until she sat opposite me.

“Pardon me, but who are you? Were you referred here by someone?”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Attorney Cha Do-hyuk.”

I drew out my business card case from my jacket.
The director took my card and checked both sides.

“And what brings you here, Attorney Cha? If it’s about buying or selling works, you could’ve spoken with our curator. Did she perhaps inconvenience you?”
“Not at all. I’m here about the Seoul Emerging Artists Exhibition held mid-January.”
“Mid-January? That was quite a while ago. What’s this about?”

She looked genuinely puzzled.
‘So the police or prosecution haven’t contacted her. All the better.’

“Do you recall an artist named Shim Oh-han, whom you spoke with over the phone?”
“Shim Oh-han…? The name’s vaguely familiar.”

Her fingers lightly tapped her arm.
‘Mr. Shim said he’d asked, but she doesn’t remember? Guess I’ll have to bring it up myself.’

“I heard that regarding the piece The Art of Money, he requested to view the CCTV from that time.”
“Oh… that phone call.”
“Yes, exactly. If possible, could we request a copy of the CCTV covering the area around Mr. Shim’s work?”
“No.”

The director crossed her arms, clearly displeased.
“Why should I show you CCTV? Unfortunately, that’s highly private information—tracking who came and went. Impossible.”

How typical.
People tend to forget that nothing matters more than their own safety.

A faint smile crossed my lips.
“Calling it private doesn’t quite fit, does it? After all, Suryeon Gallery only leased space for a city-sponsored exhibition.”
“…Private or not, visitors’ information could still be leaked.”
“I’m not asking for the entire footage—just a copy covering the defendant’s work.”
“I said no.”
“From what I saw, the left side of the gallery had one camera covering Mr. Shim’s section. That alone would suffice. Surely that’s possible. Wouldn’t this even work to your advantage?”
“…What do you mean?”

I leaned back, speaking slowly and confidently, almost arrogantly.
“Mr. Shim’s work—it isn’t bad. You’re surely aware it’s been discussed in the MinorArt community.”
“I heard he was convicted of document forgery in the first trial. Which is why the chatter only grew louder.”

‘So she did know.’
And yet she’d pretended not to.
That meant this was already a fight I’d won.

“If a copy of Suryeon Gallery’s CCTV were to prove Mr. Shim’s innocence, what then? People would ask—did he really capture money so vividly? And wouldn’t they start contacting Suryeon Gallery to see more of his work?”
“…!”
“Next year’s Emerging Artists Exhibition could bring even greater benefits for your gallery. Especially if it comes with the story that you held a crucial piece of evidence in such a case.”

‘The gallery that discovered a star—its prestige would soar.’

If even after all that she remained stubborn, then she was truly hopeless.

“But if you feel showing the footage goes against gallery policy, then I’ll take my leave.”
“…What?”

I stood and looked down at her.
“Because I can simply request the footage from the city itself.”