TLWSL 08

Chapter 08

October 13.

At last, the first hearing of the appeal trial.

“That was close.”

It was a good thing I left an hour early, just in case.

I had expected it would take about an hour from my place near Soongsil University Station on Line 7 to Dobong Station on Line 1.

“But who would’ve thought Line 7 would be delayed?”

Who could’ve predicted that animals would escape en masse from the Children’s Grand Park?

On an autumn day with sharp temperature changes, the escaped animals had made their way into the subway station.

Strange things do happen.

“Still, I managed to arrive around the same time I told Mr. Sim Oh-han I would.”

Some people might say, “It’s normal to be late sometimes.”

But one of the courtroom etiquettes that a lawyer must always uphold is punctuality.

For someone else, being late by just a minute or two might not seem like much.

But considering that each case only gets about ten minutes in court, lateness can cause critical delays.

In that situation, not only the judge but also the parties involved—being human—might let their irritation show in their tone. It might even feel like it influenced the ruling, however slightly.

‘That would be a nightmare.’

That’s why I always teach new associates: if you’re late due to an unavoidable disaster, you must apologize to the judge and the opposing party before the trial begins.

‘After that, the next lesson is always to check deadlines carefully.’

Still, every year, when I check the Bar Association’s list of disciplinary actions, the reasons are ridiculous.

“Attorney Cha!”

Mr. Sim Oh-han was waiting for me in front of the courthouse.

His face looked worse than it had the day he first visited my office.

“Mr. Sim, you’re early.”

“I couldn’t sleep. But, Counselor…”

“Yes?”

“When you hire a lawyer, aren’t you supposed to not have to show up in court yourself?”

‘Ah, so that’s why he looked a little upset.’

In civil cases, defendants don’t need to appear at the sentencing.

“But in criminal cases, the defendant must appear, unless in rare exceptions.”

“…Ah.”

“If you receive a trial date notice and fail to appear, a detention warrant may even be issued.”

“Gasp.”

“If it’s absolutely unavoidable, you must file a motion to change the trial date and then attend the rescheduled hearing.”

“I see…”

It seemed he had heard something misleading from somewhere.

“For reference, unless it’s a very minor case with only a fine of up to 5 million won, or a case clearly destined for dismissal, you must attend the sentencing as well.”

“Then… how many times do I have to show up?”

“Well, that depends on how the evidence challenges and witness examinations proceed.”

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Sim scratched his head.

“Simply put, we’ll have to question witnesses regarding the parts of the indictment you’ve denied. Both the prosecution and your side.”

“Right.”

“But if there are many witnesses, it could take several hours in one session, or be spread across multiple sessions.”

“Ah…”

“Judges are office workers too, you know.”

They could spend hours on one case, but then they’d have less time for the rest.

It all depends on the judge’s discretion.

“Also, we’ll likely need to request fact-finding and expert opinions, which will lengthen the process.”

“So that’s why lawsuits drag on…”

Lawsuits are, by nature, battles against time—and the reason people hire lawyers is because they can’t handle it all alone.

“Yes, especially since judges only deal with the witnesses and evidence presented before them.”

They don’t usually involve themselves in things not raised or submitted by either side.

That’s why, even before pre-trial procedures, I told Mr. Sim to gather every piece of evidence he had—his past works and leftover pamphlets.

All to prove his innocence.

“Attorney Cha, but will this really count as evidence?”

“It’s more than enough.”

Mr. Sim wrung his trembling hands.

“Then why didn’t the prosecutor take the sketches and pamphlets?”

“As I said, judges only consider submitted evidence.”

“Huh?”

“If we submit them, it increases your chance of acquittal. That’s why the prosecutor deliberately didn’t take them. Who knows the exact reason, though.”

I knew it was a planned prosecution, but it was better not to overwhelm Mr. Sim with that.

“Still, is that even allowed? A public servant, paid by taxes, doing this kind of thing against a law-abiding citizen?”

“Because there’s something to gain. Conspiracy theories might say it’s for political maneuvering or corporate demands.”

Mr. Sim’s jaw dropped, his face blank.

I grinned.

“I’m joking. Just a joke.”

“Phew, I really thought you were serious for a moment.”

If I admitted it was true, he’d probably faint. Best to let him believe it was a joke.

After all, there was that piece of paper…

“So, did you write your closing statement?”

“I drafted something, but… why do I need to write one at all?”

“To leave a good impression on the court, even in a short time.”

“An impression?”

“Yes. Instead of just saying, ‘I didn’t do it,’ if you explain, ‘I understand why the prosecution indicted me in this case, but I had no such intent,’ how do you think the court will see you?”

“Oh, like… ‘Not bad, he’s thoughtful’? Something like that?”

“……”

Mr. Sim tilted his head.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No. But since our goal is acquittal, you must not lose focus until the very end. I’ll review your statement after the trial. You wrote it on A4 paper, right?”

---

Seoul Northern District Court.

Criminal Standard Courtroom No. 502.

When the clerk announced the judge’s entrance, everyone stood.

The judge, robed and stern-eyed, bowed slightly toward the gallery before taking the bench.

Mr. Sim swallowed hard.

In the defendant’s seats were Mr. Sim and the detained clients who had commissioned the works.

Their lawyers sat at the defense table.

I positioned myself close enough to speak directly to my client—a vital spot.

The judge began.

“Case number 2023No1234, defendants Jeon Jae-hyun, Min Yi-young, and Sim Oh-han. Step forward one by one.”

At the start of a criminal trial, the judge informs the defendants of their right to remain silent and confirms their personal details.

Unlike Mr. Sim, the other clients were detained.

After their confirmations, it was our turn.

The judge switched on the microphone.

“Identity check. Defendant Sim Oh-han, state the first part of your ID number.”

“930325.”

“Your occupation?”

“Artist. Freelance illustrator.”

“Your residence?”

“25, Seongbuk 14-gil, Seongbuk-gu, Seoul. Unit B2.”

“Your registered domicile is 68, Seonjam-ro 5-gil, Seongbuk-gu, Seoul. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“If your address changes, you must notify the court. Sit down.”

The identity check was complete.

“Prosecutor, state the summary of charges.”

Prosecutor Han Seo-won—someone I knew—stood and read.

“On February 2, 2023, around 4:30 p.m., at the studio of the defendant Sim Oh-han located at B1, 25 Seongbuk-ro 14-gil, Seongbuk-gu, Seoul, defendants Jeon Jae-hyun and Min Yi-young conspired to counterfeit 50,000-won banknotes for use, and handed Bank of Korea banknote paper to Sim Oh-han….”

Mr. Sim’s head drooped as if the charges were undeniable fact.

Moments like these always frustrate me.

Defendants often make the mistake of thinking they’re already criminals.

In some cases, they may indeed be guilty. But until the verdict is pronounced, a defendant is not a criminal.

A defendant is someone who can either admit or deny the charges in the indictment.

In other words—

They are another witness, one who knows the case best.

I nudged Mr. Sim’s side sharply.

“Mr. Sim, do you want to waste my fee? Trust me and stay sharp.”

“Ah, yes, yes.”

His eyes regained the sharpness I saw the first day.

“…The defendant Sim Oh-han failed to complete the counterfeiting and only attempted it.”

Prosecutor Han smirked after reading.

He was a fellow from the 53rd Judicial Training Institute—someone who barely made it as a prosecutor after others left for private practice.

‘Too drunk on the prosecutor’s power to even recognize his peers, huh?’

I cursed him silently and turned away.

Mr. Sim bit his lip.

Having already been convicted in the first trial, he was at a disadvantage.

Under current law, based on strict evidentiary rules, the court judges solely on submitted evidence.

Ironically, the one who knows the most—the defendant—must entrust their fate to others who know less.

‘That’s why this case is worth fighting.’

After the prosecutor’s opening statement, the judge asked the defendants whether they admitted the charges.

“Defendant Sim Oh-han, state your position. Do you admit the charges?”

“I deny them.”

After the defendant’s statement, the judge organized the issues, sometimes questioning the defense or prosecution.

“Before examining evidence, both prosecution and defense may state arguments regarding proof of the charges.”

After the prosecutor spoke, I rose.

“Your Honor, first I request a correction of the facts.”

“……!”

Prosecutor Han’s eyes widened.

“The first meeting between defendants Jeon and Min and Mr. Sim took place on January 24, 2023, at around 4 p.m. at Suryeon Gallery in Insadong. At that time, they commissioned Mr. Sim to create a series of works titled Art of Money. The work in question, Art of Money 2, submitted as evidence, is now being misrepresented as counterfeiting.”

“Wait, Attorney Cha Do-hyeok. Are you saying the prosecutor omitted the relationship between defendants Jeon, Min, and Sim?”

“Yes. During questioning, Mr. Sim repeatedly asked the prosecutor to correct this, but it was omitted. Please confirm the facts.”

“I’ll confirm. Submit the correction materials.”

The prosecutor raised his hand, but I quickly addressed the judge.

“Your Honor, I also submit as evidence the Art of Money exhibition piece and its catalog, which the prosecutor failed to submit. Additionally, I submit sketches proving there was no intent to use counterfeit currency.”

The judge’s expression cracked, ever so slightly.

“…Submit them.”

The investigating prosecutor had erased the first meeting.

The investigating prosecutor had omitted the defendant’s statements.

The investigating prosecutor had withheld evidence.

Trial prosecutor Han must have been panicking—because this looked like sabotage of the court.

Perhaps that’s why—

In desperation, he played his best card first.