DHG Ch 12

✮⋆˙

Raindrops began to fall.

Jang Seungyung climbed into a black sedan, acknowledging his subordinates’ greetings. The rain pattered against the sunroof. Through the wet windshield, a truck pulling out ahead reflected in the glass. It was the crew that had helped remove the safe.

“What’s with calling me ‘Director’ like some old geezer?”

Jang Seungyung grumbled at Secretary Hwang, who had taken the driver’s seat. He was referring to Hwang’s earlier use of the title “Director.”

Of course, he knew that lately, Chairman Jang had been loudly proclaiming “our Director Jang,” prompting underlings to tactfully address him as “Director.” But it wasn’t a welcome situation.

“A thug’s a thug. Why bother mimicking a corporate hack?”

This ostentatious luxury sedan was equally distasteful. The flashy car with its domed sunroof was a nuisance Chairman Jang had foisted on him, claiming that since foreign cars lined the alley where Benny’s was located, it was for Hwang’s convenience, not his.

“Shall I turn on the heater?”

Secretary Hwang, rolling his eyes, changed the subject. His boss was sensitive to the cold. Despite Chairman Jang’s remarks, the shirt buttons Jang Seungyung usually left undone were now fastened tight against the chilly breeze.

Jang Seungyung waved him off. Hwang bowed slightly and steered the car to follow the truck’s tail. Their destination was a hardware supplier on the outskirts of Seoul.

“Documents are in the back seat,” Hwang said.

Jang Seungyung opened a large envelope as instructed.

The first document was a list of debts collected from Kim Jinhwan. The real estate section, previously under a lien, had been won in a recent court ruling, securing a collection order. Jang Seungyung skimmed the familiar list of commercial complexes and lodging businesses once owned by Kim Jinhwan, then moved to the next document.

A neatly organized profile with a photo appeared. Hesitating, Hwang glanced at his boss and elaborated.

“This is Choi Seoa of Hyogil Industries, whom you’re meeting today.”

One of the things Hwang, a subordinate of Chairman Jang, regularly presented to Jang Seungyung was a list of potential marriage prospects.

“Oh, Chairman Choi’s granddaughter. Didn’t he say she goes to the same sauna as the old man?”

Clicking his tongue, Jang Seungyung reviewed the profile of the woman he’d meet at a concert hall in a few hours. Hyogil Industries’ heiress, omega trait, media artist.

“Talk about a catch. The old man sure knows how to pick ‘em.”

His alliance with Chairman Jang was mutually beneficial, which sometimes meant playing along with the old man’s schemes. Posing as Chairman Jang’s illegitimate son and parading himself like a stud to families of similar status was part of that.

As he flipped through the documents, they arrived at the hardware supplier, situated beside a half-dried stream. The thickening rain drew ripples on the muddy water under a bridge.

“You’re here,” greeted the burly men who had arrived earlier with the safe.

Tilting a large umbrella, Jang Seungyung stepped under the slate roof beside the supplier. Beneath massive cutting equipment, the safe was nearly dismantled. The smell of sparks from friction heat lingered in the damp air.

Finally, the safe split open, gaping wide.

“My eyes aren’t playing tricks, are they?” Jang Seungyung said, peering into the partitioned interior.

The burly men, waiting with clasped hands, exchanged glances. Not expecting a response, Jang Seungyung muttered to himself.

“Nothing.”

The item he was looking for wasn’t there.

“Stolen goods. All of it.”

The tip of his black shoe nudged at scattered gold trinkets and a few bundles of fresh-smelling cash. Jang Seungyung let out a disgusted sigh.

It’s not here.

The damn ledger.

He’d expected as much, but the irritation was unavoidable.

Hwang, observing, wasn’t surprised either. They’d known it was unlikely but had cracked it open just to be thorough.

What they sought was a ledger detailing the misdeeds of Geumsan’s old guard, specifically those from Taekang Construction.

Geumsan was a legitimate enterprise born when Jung Chunbae, a former back-alley kingpin, quietly acquired the failing “Taekang Construction.” However, circumstances prevented him from purging all of Taekang’s key figures. The merger retained Taekang’s core elders as a makeshift measure.

But from the founding ceremony, Taekang’s elders aligned with Jung Chunbae’s half-brother, Jang Cheonwoong, subtly undermining him at every turn. Jang Jooshin, the heir and long-rumored to be at odds with his father, began supporting them as well.

Like many old-timers, Taekang’s elders had a long, sordid history of debauchery. Taekang’s fall into ruin wasn’t without reason.

And Kim Jinhwan, long backed by Jang Cheonwoong and now Jang Jooshin’s confidant, held a ledger meticulously documenting that filthy history.

That was why Jang Seungyung was after it.

“About Kim Jinhwan’s real estate list,” Jang Seungyung said, turning away from the gutted safe with mild annoyance. “Flip it again. Call in contractors or whoever, and this time, dig into the walls.”

“Understood.”

“Sell the gold at a fair price. Use the cash for the crew’s dinner.”

“Yes. What about this?”

Hwang pulled out a handkerchief and picked up a small, black device from the scattered junk. The last item found in the safe’s corner.

An old cellphone.

“Crack that open too.”

It looked as meaningless as the other debris, but just in case, they’d have an electronics shop check it.

Jang Seungyung glanced at his watch. Time to meet Hyogil Industries’ heiress. He gave a cursory nod to the burly men lined up precisely in front of the supplier and got back in the car.

As Hwang took the wheel, a thought struck him, and he spoke up.

“Does Kwon Heewoo really know nothing about the ledger?”

“He seemed as clueless as those Kang twins. Still, gotta poke at him, right?”

Jang Seungyung replied, his voice noticeably lighter than when inspecting the safe. Hwang glanced at the rearview mirror. His boss, tossing aside the documents, had a sly grin.

Hwang hesitated before speaking again.

“Since it came up, I heard Pyo Mingeon, the youngest under Won Madam, was asking why we keep watching Kwon Heewoo.”

“And?”

“I figured Kwon Heewoo might be questioning the situation too.”

Of course, Kwon Heewoo had stayed quiet. Likely because of Kim Jinhwan’s sudden attack on Benny’s in September. He probably thought it was protection, not surveillance.

“Does it matter if some intern thug or Kwon Heewoo has questions?”

“…No, sir.”

Hwang turned the wheel. Truthfully, it was just a segue. The real topic, stuck in his throat for a while, was too heavy to dive into directly.

“Why are you so interested in Kwon Heewoo?”

Today’s sudden summoning of Kwon Heewoo had solidified his lingering suspicions. Hwang recalled an earlier incident—when Kim Jinhwan stormed Benny’s, and his boss personally took a collapsed Kwon Heewoo to the emergency room.

His boss’s odd behavior didn’t stop there. Hwang had nearly proven his competence by finding an open clothing store at dawn. Luckily, Jang Seungyung already knew a supplier for the broadcasting industry.

In any case, his boss had bought clothes for Kwon Heewoo that day.

Hwang had wondered if he’d stay to nurse Kwon Heewoo, but thankfully, Jang Seungyung came to his senses. He left only his card and walked away. From what Hwang heard, Pyo Mingeon, who received the card, had the sense to keep quiet.

Meanwhile, Jang Seungyung was reflecting on himself.

“Hm.”

When he first heard about Kwon Heewoo, he’d found it unsettling, like hearing about some bizarre fetish. He’d mocked Kim Jinhwan for being so attached to a guy, especially one who wasn’t even an omega.

“He’s pretty.”

But seeing him in person, his appearance was striking.

“Is this kid the next Sunsoo?”

Jang Seungyung recalled Kwon Heewoo’s first appearance, dragged into the wrecked boss’s office. A baggy, stretched-out black printed tee that looked like a sack, oversized jeans. His face, half-swollen and bloodied from a beating, lips busted.

Yet he was beautiful. Like a white flower blooming over stagnant water.

How could anyone hit that? The scrawny kid, buried in his clothes, looked like one punch would finish him. Wouldn’t it be a shame if he got more broken? That’s why, unlike Kim Jinhwan’s former lackeys, Jang Seungyung hadn’t laid a hand on him.

Instead, he deliberately took the necklace. He wanted to touch the scarred, sweat- and blood-soaked skin just once. The body heat under his fingertips was strangely intense.

That vague impression of beauty and heat began to deepen the day Kim Jinhwan stormed in.