Superintendent General Soonkyu Lee is not the kind of high-ranked officer who shies away from field duty. At some point in her career, she has learned that being a woman in the corps demands twice the work and thrice the determination, and so that is what she does. She makes up the grueling long hours with acute meticulousness, muscle power with the agility of a seventh-dan black belt in taekwondo, and cynicism with blue-collar wit. Her former division loved her for all those, and some of them took it hard when she moved up the hierarchy to serve as a Deputy Chief. On the day she moved out to the Seoul MPA headquarter in Jongno-gu, she told Kwon to take the whole division to their regular watering hole and billed the tab to her. It cost her half of her monthly pay, and for the last week of the month Kwon supplied her with instant noodles and rice cakes. Half a year later, all of them stood by her when a personal tragedy came close to derail her in her new post.

Reflexively, her hand moves to her left side where she usually puts her wallet, where she keeps a picture of her former division, in the inner pocket of her coat. She wonders what someone like Sooyoung Choi will think of that kind of sentiment.

Someone like Sooyoung Choi, she repeats. Then she spits out the foul taste. By thinking of Choi like that, she has unconsciously admitted that Choi may have some advantage over law enforcement. Class and cash advantage. The dirtiest, grittiest advantage of it all. At only 33, Choi is one of the strong contenders to rise to the highest position at Choi Pharmaceutical, a company that her grandfather founded after the Korean War and is now Korea’s fourth biggest pharmaceutical company. As director of business development and strategy, Choi oversees many of the company’s latest projects that bring it closer to the populace—and to more profit, of course.

Sighing, Lee scans the shelves on one of the walls of this office she is made to wait in. There are two trophies, a picture of a younger Choi, and a large nagak, Korean horn made of Triton’s trumpet. Modest, she thinks. Maybe she has to revise some of her assumptions of Choi.

Who chooses exactly that time to enter the office. Lee inventories what she sees: form-fitting dress, long legs, heels. Then she frowns. Legs. And scowls to herself. Where does that come from, Soonkyu Lee.

“Superintendent General Lee,” Choi greets her, bowing cordially. “Good morning.”

“Director Choi,” she returns, bowing as well. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.” Choi sits across from her. Straight-backed but not tense, hands clasped on her lap, head a little tilted. “I assume we should wait for your lawyer?” 

As if perfect timing is in the Chois’ DNA, a man in sweater and tapered pants opens the door to the office and enters. Long face, square chin, bright eyes, and a seemingly perpetual frown between his eyebrows. He sidles to Choi, who scoots to give him space to sit beside her. Familiarity, trust, ease, Lee observes, though a little distracted. With Choi now sitting closer to her, she can smell the sweet scent of Choi’s perfume. Iris, hyacinth, and a hint of lily of the valley. Classic, she thinks.

The man smiles and bows at Lee. “Hello. I’m sorry I’m a little late. I’m Kyungho Jung. Nice to meet you, Superintendent General Lee.” 

Ah. The husband. “Please, just call me Lee.”

Choi looks amused by the offer but doesn’t comment on it. “Well,” she says. “Now that the lawyer is here, I believe we can start.” 

I see, Lee thinks. “Director Choi, Mr Jung, as I have explained to your communication staff, I’m here to give an update on the case directly.” She wants to say, the fact that the HQ sends me, a deputy chief, should tell you how serious we’re handling this, but she trusts that the Chois are smart enough to figure it out.

The couple nods.

She opens her suitcase, takes a folder, and shows the photographs taken from the crime scene. “As you have known, a man who broke in to this building,” she pauses to take a glance—now that she has mentioned it, something about the compound doesn’t sit right with her, “was found dead in a Blanc and Eclare store in Gwangbok-dong yesterday. A shop assistant whose duty was to open the store found him at 4:50 and called the police immediately. Our forensic medical examiner ruled that he had been dead for about three hours before he was found.”

“It takes around 20 minutes from here to Gwangbok-dong,” Jung says. “Does that mean he was here around—uh—an hour past midnight, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

“With proper warrant, I’m happy to tell our security staff to allow you and your team access to our security surveillance.”

“That is much appreciated, Mr Jung,” Lee states. “My team will contact you with further details.”

Choi returns the photographs to Lee. “Any idea about this man?”

“Ryeowon Kim, 23-year-old, resident of Eunpyeong, been charged with a couple of minor offenses in the last four years.”

The Chois ponder the information for a while. “That did not explain how he broke in to our building,” Choi says.

For a brief moment Lee thinks that both Chois’ perpetual smiles disappear. “That’s what we are investigating, Director Choi. I don’t want to offer any premature conclusion, so I want to make sure we see eye-to-eye here.” She pauses. “We both know that simply breaking in to this building, let alone your office, is not a feat a random safe-cracker can accomplish. This is not just about surveillance access, and you know it. I mean, just look around.” She does, a rather excessive gesture, because the Chois don’t. “I’m happy to come back with the warrant letter you want later today, but the sooner I can see your office, the one where your stolen documents were kept, the faster my work can progress.”

A corner of Choi’s left eye twitches, as if she’s holding back from squint