Day in and day out I spend seated at my desk. It was an old, dusty desk that someone had bought well before I was even born. Many people had been seated at that desk throughout the years, many coffees had spilled onto its surface, and many bread crumbs had seeped into its cracks. Besides, the desk of a chief in a police station is always the most used one.

So, at my oh-so-ripe forty years of age, I spend days and nights seated on a chief's desk. A position I easily snatched from my boring, useless, and worthless co-workers, who barely get through the cases they're assigned to, before they get cold. With a total of nine cups of coffee and not nearly enough meals and nutrients a day, I strain my back over countless case files, no one could ever solve. Usually, there were older murder cases, or assaults, thefts, hit and runs, in which the perpetrator was some chief's family member or close friend, so he had to sweep everything under the rag. Among boring cold cases, there are occasional gems, that light up my day and remind me the reason I'm even alive. I owe my career to those hidden, little gems. And so, you can understand how meticulous I am about finding more and more of them, as if I'm mining for diamonds.

One of those diamond cases found me at a very random time. On an ordinary Monday, on an ordinary July, on a very eventful year of two thousand and twenty-one, and while I was about to down my eighth cup of black coffee for the day, an elderly couple walked into my office. They came in completely uninvited and without me being notified prior to their arrival, so I fairly assumed that they were a pair of wealthy and influential people. People like them get to come in after pulling many strings, so no one ever lets me know, in case I refuse to see them. And so, once in a while, these types of people will arrive at my place of work— in which I don't take appointments, by the way— and present me with either their financial crimes, asking me to help them out, or some special type of case they want a solution to (they usually vary from framing their rivals and helping their kidnapped children, to covering up suspicious deaths).

This particular couple, however, was different. Along with their expensive clothing and accessories, they carried a large bag of paperwork, that they delicately touched upon my desk. It was a heavy, large, leather briefcase, that had my poor desk shaking and cracking.

"Detective Yoo, we are the Ims," they told me after breaking my desk with their heavy paperwork, their eyes full of hope and cataract. "We heard of how amazing and fast your work is, and we came to sincerely ask for your help."

Presenting me with their leather briefcase, and after they replaced my broken desk, they proceeded to talk payments. Usually, high profile cases offer money before evidence, so that they can seal our chapped little cop lips. However, no matter how much I would like to take the bribes, I wished to remain a lawful citizen and a clean cop (unlike most of my fellow coppers).

"I'm paid by the government just enough. No need to pay me extra to do my job." I lie, because the government surely does not pay me enough for the amount of work I'm doing.

And so, we move into actually opening the leather briefcase. Which, clearly, was a treasured possession. Inside were tons of paperwork; adoption papers, old newspapers, handwritten profiles of random people along with their photos, birth certificates, maps, and letters dated as far back as the year nineteen eighty-one.

With a serious expression, the elderly couple explain the story behind this pile of paperwork, and with a trembling voice they speak in unison.

"We think our adoptive daughter is a murderer." as they spew these words, the mother breaks down in tears, bringing an expensive piece of cloth to dab on her moistened eyes.

That simple catchphrase, 'We think our adoptive daughter is a murderer', was enough to sell me into taking on this case, and without thinking it twice, I had ended the first meeting with the elderly couple on a good note.

"I will look into your material, and let you know my next move."

And that I did. I spent that same evening cooped up into my office, like every other day, reading files upon files, and getting to know our suspect; Im Nayeon, born on a rainy day of the twenty-second of September in the year nineteen eighty-one. At the age of nine years old she is found at the side of some village road, roaming around, and when asked where her parents are, she simply shrugs. After two months of intense search for her parents, who she failed to name to the police officers, little Nayeon is placed into an orphanage and a year later is adopted into the family of mister Im.

Mister Im is a wealthy businessman, who had ties with the government, and frequently drank tea with the conservative party's leader. He and his wife were not fortunate enough to be able to have their own child— one of them, at least—, so they decided to adopt Nayeon after reading the tragic story of her life on a newspaper.

However, as I looked into the material provided by the couple, something didn't add up. Little Nayeon's unnamed parents, who had never been found neither dead nor alive, but were named by neighbors as Kim Seyeong and Lee Chohee, were poor farmers in the same province little Nayeon was found roaming around. Which, makes perfect sense. But, also doesn't, since that same week of their sudden disappearance, local newspapers reported that the lucky poor farmer couple had won the lottery. That money, that they reportedly won and took home a couple of days before their death, was never found. The money had vanished into thin air, and even little Nayeon seemed to not be aware of its whereabouts.

So, the conclusion would be simple; someone killed Nayeon's parents for their money. End of story? Right? Riiiiiiight?

WRONG!

"Once we took our little girl in, we noticed she had this certain pair of pants that she refused to take off," the Ims had told me on our second meeting, two days after our first one. "Neither us, nor our maids, could ever bathe her because of that. So, we ended up just letting her do her own thing for a while."

That certain pair of pants that little Nayeon refused to take off or wash was soon, however, taken from her while she slept. The stench from her unwashed clothes kept the staff in the Im's mansion up for days on end, so one night their maid sneaked into her room and stole the dirty, beat up, and surprisingly heavy pants. To everyone's surprise, there were thousands of won stitched on the seems of the pants, making them appear baggy and full.

The amount of money was around the same amount her parents had won on the lottery, which made sense that no one found it at their family home, or workplace. Little Nayeon had seemingly hidden this obscure amount of money into her clothes, after what looked like purposefully not being able to name her missing parents.

"So, you think a nine-year-old girl killed her parents and ran off with their money?" I had asked the couple, a blue ballpoint pen in my fingers as I scribbled away on our notebook.

"We do."

"And the reason would be...?"

The evidence seemed to suggest that it was just to get closer to the Ims. Throughout the many documentation they provided me with, it seemed as though mister Im had an affair with one of their cleaning staff. The woman's name was Lee Chohee, who had just gotten married at the time of the affair, and lived in the province closest to the Im's mansion. After falling pregnant and failing to hide it, Lee Chohee was fired, and the child she bore remained a secret between her and the child's father; mister Im. Back then, he had written a letter to Lee, expressing his want to provide for the baby, but stated that he was unable, because of his wife and his precious reputation. He promised to send money every once in a while, but ultimately chose not to, because it would be hard for Lee to keep making excuses to her husband.

Far-fetched, but mister Im's paperwork seemed to suggest this was the most logical story line. The money in her clothes, her extreme attachment to the Ims even before they adopted her, the many failed attempts of naming her parents to the police, and her complete disregard of the fact that they had gone missing so suddenly. For a nine-year-old, little Nayeon seemed to be quite bright.

"We figured she was different, when she expressed an interest in real estate at a very young age." mister Im had described, and pointed over to pictures of a vacant lot. "After she turned eleven years old, she asked us to buy her this piece of land. She said she saw something in it, although to my eyes it was completely worthless. But, I didn't refuse. I don't mind spending some extra millions of won for my only daughter."

Turns out the land belonged to her parents, and was purchased right before they won the lottery. It is suspected that they planned to build a home there for them, their daughter, and the newest addition to the family, that was coming in about nine months.

"The theory is," at our last meeting as detective and clients, the Ims and I discussed plans. "Little Nayeon finds the letter mister Im sent to her mother years ago about being her father, steals her parent's money, kills them, buries them on their newly purchased property, and gets adopted into the mansion of her biological father with some ulterior motive."

The couple nodded. We were out on a fancy dinner somewhere far from the station. For the life of me, I could never ever fit in a place like this, if I wasn't escorted by limousines and armed men.

"But we have no idea what the ulterior motive is." I continued, munching on the expensive steak they had bought for me. It was the only real food I had gotten into my system in weeks, and I couldn't let it go to waste.

The couple nodded once again. In unison, like they always seemed to be, they grabbed their tall wine glasses and took a small sip of red wine. In front of them was some type of salad, which they had barely touched since it arrived at the table.

"Does this sound absurd?" mister Im asked me, his concerned voice wavering.

"Evidence is never absurd," I answered and took a sip of the expensive wine I had been served. Gosh, I wish I had some soju. "And you seem to have plenty."

The only thing we needed, was to seal the deal. The bodies of Nayeon's parents, or any evidence of their whereabouts, would be enough to get the job done. This case was so rich with evidence, that I could almost feel the judge's gavel echoing througout the courtroom, as he sentenced Im Nayeon. The thought of cuffing such briliant criminal up made my stomach churr in excitement.

We simply needed the bodies, and a hell of a plan to get to even approach Nayeon, and the clues that would lead us to them.

The main theory we had come up with so far into our meetings was that nine-year-old Kim Nayeon kills her newly rich parents, buries them in their newly purchased land, and manipulates her way into a rich family, now named Im Nayeon. After that, she buys that same land she buried her parents in, feigning to have an interest in real estate from a young age, and once she is old enough, she builds a mansion over her dead parent's bodies, to keep any evidence from seeing the light of day. In that same mansion she would live alone until her own body would perish, after she had taken advantage of her biological father's wealth, potentially destroying him, as a way to get revenge. Mister Im was adamant that his daughter was slowly, but surely planning to take him down, destroy his reputation, and steal all of his money.

"All I need is to get into that mansion," I had spoken, mouth full of delicious gelato that was served for dessert in that ridiculously expensive restaurant. "If I can get in, I'll find a way to find the bodies."

Nayeon's intimidating mansion was my goal, and the only way I could pull this whole thing off. Once I got my peasant little feet on its marble floors, I could certainly find a way to its foundation and to the decaying remains of her parents.

"I have my annual party coming up this weekend," mister Im smiled, handing me a velvet envelope. "Our daughter is going to be there."