Delicious Dessert

“I’ve already told you everything.”

The man sat on a metal chair, leaning slightly forward. His wrists, bound behind his back, had long since gone numb, and every attempt to shift into a more comfortable position sent an unpleasant ache through his shoulders. His shirt collar was stretched out, and dried blood crusted his lower lip. Across the narrow table sat a man in a dark shirt, an open folder in front of him. Another man stood by the door, taking no part in the conversation. For the past several hours, almost nothing had changed: the same table, the same faces, the dull hum of the ventilation, and a glass of water the man being questioned could not reach.

“Then tell us again,” the man at the table suggested.

“I didn’t pass anything on.”

“That’s not what you’re being asked.”

“But it’s true! I swear, I didn’t get a chance to do anything!”

His questioner turned a few pages, showing no interest in his objections. The man could see perfectly well what was in the folder: printouts of his messages, records of the documents he had accessed over the past few weeks, and a detailed timeline of his actions. They had shown him some of the pages at the start of the interrogation. Others remained facedown, but he no longer doubted that they contained something just as damaging. What troubled him most was how the security department had managed to collect so much evidence before he had even realized he was under suspicion.

“Almost five years,” the interrogator said, studying one of the sheets. “You worked for us for almost five years. You received your pay, carried out your assignments, and had management’s trust. As I understand it, you had no complaints about your working conditions.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then what changed?”

The man tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.

“I made a mistake.”

“A mistake?” His questioner looked up from the documents. “You spent several weeks gathering information about our employees, copying internal materials, and discussing handing them over to people who intended to go to the police. According to your messages, you even agreed on preliminary terms. That’s a long time to spend making a mistake, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wasn’t going to give them anything.”

“Then why were you getting the documents ready?”

The man had no answer. He lowered his eyes to his knees, trying to remember exactly when it had all gone wrong. At first, the offer had seemed simple enough: gather information he already had access to, take the money, and leave the organization. They had promised that once he handed over the materials, he could disappear beyond his former employers’ reach. It had sounded convincing at the time. Now he could not understand how he had ever believed someone he knew only through messages.

“Listen,” he began, trying to sound confident. “Yes, I spoke to those people. I’m not denying it. But it never went any further than that. All the documents are still here. You can check for yourselves.”

“We already have.”

“Then you understand that I haven’t done anything yet!”

“We understand that you didn’t have time to finish what you started. There’s a difference.”

The interrogator closed the folder and pushed it to the edge of the table. Footsteps sounded outside the door, making the man jerk his head around, but no one entered. Several times already, a stray sound in the corridor had made him think the person who would decide his fate was approaching. So far, he had been wrong every time.

“Marco has reviewed all the materials,” his questioner continued. “He also personally checked the account you gave us. You had the opportunity to tell us everything voluntarily, but you chose to deny even the things confirmed by your own messages.”

At the mention of Marco, the man stirred.

“Can I speak to him?”

“About what?”

“I want to explain in person. He knows me. I’ve worked here for years. He has to understand that I’m not—”

“Marco understands perfectly well what happened.”

“Then let me speak to Mr. Kwon.”

The employee by the door turned his head. Until then, he had shown almost no interest in the conversation, but the last request seemed to have surprised him.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

The man said nothing. He heard Kwon Jae-hyun’s name almost every day, but had spoken to the head of the company in person only a handful of times. Their last conversation had been more than a year ago and had concerned nothing but work. Jae-hyun had remembered his name then, even asked about the outcome of one of his assignments. For several days after that brief exchange, the man had felt considerably more confident around his colleagues. The memory offered him no comfort now.

“I only need a few minutes,” he said at last. “If Mr. Kwon hears me out, I can explain everything.”

“You’ve already been asked all the necessary questions.”

“I want to speak to him.”

The interrogator watched him for a while, then checked the time and opened the folder again. The conversation was effectively over. During the next twenty minutes, he asked only occasional questions about specific details, checking the answers against the material in front of him. The man being questioned asked for water several times, tried to find out how much longer he would have to wait, and gradually began to raise his voice. No one responded to his requests. Only when he tried to stand did the employee by the door come closer and force him back into the chair without a word.

At last, voices sounded in the corridor. This time, the man was not mistaken: the door opened, and Marco entered first.

Tall and solidly built, he paused on the threshold in his dark suit, took a brief look around, and nodded to the employee conducting the interrogation. Marco headed the company’s security department, but his duties had long since extended beyond guarding buildings and screening employees. Most people in the regular departments knew him as a demanding manager responsible for maintaining order and overseeing internal investigations. Those involved in the other side of the company’s operations preferred not to ask how far his authority reached.

Kwon Jae-hyun came in behind him.

He was a little younger than Marco, with dark hair neatly swept back and a calm, almost casual expression. His black shirt, open at the top button, and dark trousers were simple enough, though their quality left little doubt about their price. Jae-hyun walked over to the table and stopped beside an empty chair, but did not sit. The man being questioned instinctively straightened as much as his bound arms allowed.

“Are you finished?” Jae-hyun asked.

“Yes, Mr. Kwon,” the employee replied, rising from his seat. “We’ve taken his full statement. There are still a few inconsistencies, but they don’t change the overall picture.”

Marco handed the folder to Jae-hyun.

“The key materials are in here. I sent you the rest of the findings this morning.”

Jae-hyun opened it and looked through several pages. He was in no hurry, but he did not spend more time on any document than necessary. He was already familiar with most of the material; now he wanted confirmation of specific details. The man in the chair watched his hands, hoping his expression would reveal what decision he would make. But Jae-hyun looked exactly as he had when he stepped through the door.

“When did you first discover what he was planning?” he asked.

“Three days ago,” Marco replied. “Our initial suspicions were confirmed after we reviewed his messages and document access records. We reconstructed the sequence of his actions.”

“Was anyone else involved?”

“Nothing confirmed so far. We’re still checking his other contacts.”

“Did any information get out?”

“No. The handover never took place. We’ve established that through several independent lines of evidence.”

“Good.”

Jae-hyun closed the folder and set it on the table. Until that moment, he had not once addressed the man he had come to see.

“Mr. Kwon…”

The man tried to move closer, but the chair gave an unpleasant scrape beneath him.

“Please, hear me out. I really didn’t pass anything on. They checked everything. You heard them yourself. I was going to back out.”

“I heard,” Jae-hyun replied.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone. They offered me money, very good money, but I realized I was making a mistake. I would have stopped. I swear, Mr. Kwon.”

“Why did you agree?”

The question sounded so ordinary that the man did not immediately understand what he was being asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“Why did you start talking to them?”

“I needed the money.”

“That badly?”

“I… I was in a difficult position.”

Jae-hyun did not ask him to elaborate. He turned his attention to Marco, who stood beside the table, listening calmly to the explanation.

“They did approach him first?”

“Yes. The messages confirm that. However, there’s no evidence that they reached a final agreement on the handover. Their last exchange concerned the arrangements for a meeting that never happened.”

“I see.”

Jae-hyun returned the folder to Marco. The man in the chair hurried to take advantage of the pause.

“You see? I didn’t have time to do anything. Mr. Kwon, I can keep working. I can pay the money back, if I have to. I didn’t even receive it! Just give me a chance to put this right.”

Jae-hyun looked at him again.

“You understood the risk, didn’t you?” he asked.

The man nodded frantically.

“Mr. Kwon, please, I—”

“I asked you a question.”

“Y-yes…”

Jae-hyun straightened.

“Then you understood.”

He looked at Marco.

“That will be all.”

For several seconds, the man sat motionless, as though trying to work out what those words meant. Then his eyes shifted to the employee by the door. The man stepped aside to let Jae-hyun through, and the prisoner finally understood that there would be no more questions.

“Wait… Mr. Kwon, wait! I didn’t hand anything over! You know that!”

Jae-hyun headed for the exit. Marco picked up the folder and followed him, leaving the two employees to finish what they had started. Behind them came the scrape of metal chair legs against the floor, followed by a desperate voice.

“Please! I’ll never do it again! Mr. Kwon!”

The door closed, cutting off the last words. Jae-hyun had gone several meters down the corridor when a muffled gunshot sounded behind him. He did not slow down, merely put away the phone he had taken from his pocket a few seconds earlier.

“What about the rest of the materials?” he asked.

“We’re working on them,” Marco replied. “At the moment, there’s no reason to suspect any other employees. But I want to finish checking all his contacts.”

“Finish it. And prepare a separate report on how he gained access to documents outside the scope of his work.”

“I’ve already assigned someone to it.”

“Good.”

They went down to the ground floor and left the company’s ancillary building through a side entrance. It was beginning to get dark outside, and Jae-hyun’s car waited near the gate. When the driver saw them, he got out and opened the rear door. Marco stopped beside the car, reading a message that had just come in.

“Tomorrow’s meeting is confirmed,” he said. “Eleven o’clock. The partners’ full delegation will be there.”

“And the revised terms?”

“They sent them late this afternoon. Finance is already preparing its comments.”

“They changed the allocation of the initial costs again?”

“Yes.”

Jae-hyun gave a displeased half-smile.

“Then we’ll discuss it tomorrow. Send me the documents again, with the latest revisions.”

“All right. The finance director asked for time to go over them with you before the meeting.”

“Make it nine thirty. Invite the head of investments as well.”

Marco acknowledged the instruction, and they briefly discussed a few more work matters. There was nothing unusual on the agenda for the following day: an internal meeting, negotiations with the partners, approval of documents, and dinner with a representative of one of the banks interested in the forthcoming project. Jae-hyun got into the car and spent the journey reviewing the figures Marco had sent him. There were changes in the partners’ proposal that he did not like, but he was not inclined to jump to conclusions. The initial terms of investment agreements rarely remained unchanged all the way to signing, especially when sums of this magnitude were involved.

The next morning, he arrived at the office shortly before nine. The company occupied several floors of a modern office building in Gangnam. The reception staff were already at work, two visitors were talking near the elevators, and a young man carrying a folder of documents almost collided with Jae-hyun as he tried to hold a cup of coffee and answer his phone at the same time. Recognizing the head of the company, the employee hastily bowed and stepped back, clutching the folder to his chest.

“Good morning, Mr. Kwon.”

“Good morning. Careful with the coffee.”

Jae-hyun continued to his office, giving the incident little thought. For most employees, it was an ordinary workday morning, no different from dozens before it. They worked in real estate, investment, property management, and transaction support. The company genuinely earned money from those activities, paid salaries on time, and ran projects that could generate income for years. Most of the people who came to its offices every day had no connection to the activities that went unmentioned in the annual reports.

In his office, Jae-hyun took off his jacket, left it over the back of his chair, and switched on his computer. The documents his secretary had prepared lay on the desk, beside his meeting schedule and several letters awaiting his signature. The broad windows overlooked neighboring office buildings and a busy street. Jae-hyun barely noticed the view: the investment project presentation was already open on his screen, with several new slides added the previous evening.

The project concerned the redevelopment of a commercial district, much of which consisted of aging retail and warehouse properties. The preliminary concept called for a mixed-use complex with offices, shops, restaurants, and underground parking. Several parcels of land still needed to be consolidated into the development site, some of the existing buildings would have to be demolished, and the final scope of construction depended on approvals for which the project team was only beginning to prepare the applications. The total cost was estimated at tens of billions of won, and the figures would inevitably change as the project moved from the preliminary concept to detailed plans and specifications.

Jae-hyun was less interested in the scale of the construction than in the subsequent operation of the complex. The district was gradually changing: the number of offices was growing, demand for smaller commercial units was rising, and existing property owners increasingly preferred long-term leases to outright sales. If things developed favorably, the project could provide the company with a steady income for many years. But too many questions remained between an attractive presentation and a genuinely profitable property for him to take the initial calculations at face value.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Marco appeared with a tablet in his hand. Today he wore a light gray suit, and under ordinary circumstances, an outside visitor would hardly have suspected that this was the man in charge of the most secretive part of the company’s internal security operations.

“Good morning. The finance director is here. The head of investments will be along in a few minutes.”

“Send them in when they’re both here.”

Marco set the tablet on the edge of the desk.

“The partners sent another amendment to the terms.”

“I saw it.”

“The changes concern the allocation of costs in the first phase.”

“I saw that too.”

Marco smiled faintly.

“Then I have no good news for you yet.”

“I noticed that as well.”

Jae-hyun closed the presentation and turned toward him. They had worked together long enough to dispense with detailed explanations on matters they both understood the same way. Marco rarely became directly involved in financial decisions, but Jae-hyun considered his assessment of the people and organizations they would be dealing with no less important than the investment department’s calculations.

“What do you make of the new head?” he asked.

“Too early to say.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“He’s cautious enough not to show his intentions in the first few meetings.”

“So he has a brain.”

“Without a doubt.”

Jae-hyun gave a small smile.

“That’s a start.”

The organization they were discussing had worked with the company since the time of Jang Myeong-seok, Jae-hyun’s predecessor as its head. Their first joint projects had been modest in scale but profitable for both sides. Over time, the partnership had expanded to larger properties, investment deals, and individual business ventures where the two companies’ interests overlapped. There were also arrangements that were never discussed in front of regular employees, but those did not prevent either organization from operating a genuine, legitimate business.

The relationship had survived the change in the partners’ leadership. Their new head had taken over the previous year and had already made it clear that he intended to develop the commercial side more actively. Jae-hyun had met him in person several times. Their conversations had been polite, the projects under discussion looked promising, and so far their disagreements had amounted to no more than the usual bargaining. Even so, Jae-hyun was not ready to judge his new partner solely by how pleasant he was over lunch.

“He’s interested in expanding the partnership,” Marco observed.

“The question is, on what terms.”

“Exactly.”

“Have you checked the people they’re proposing for the project team?”

“We’ve collected the basic information. Nothing that calls for immediate intervention. The detailed report will be ready by the end of the week.”

“Good. I’m particularly interested in the person they want to put in charge of day-to-day management.”

“I’m paying particular attention to him.”

Jae-hyun nodded and opened the next page of the documentation. A few minutes later, the finance director and the head of investments entered the office. Both had brought laptops, and the latter also carried a folder of printed site plans. Jae-hyun invited them to the meeting table by the window. Marco stayed for the discussion: the forthcoming project involved close cooperation with an organization whose relationship with them extended beyond official contracts.

“Let’s begin,” Jae-hyun said once everyone was seated.

The finance director brought up a spreadsheet of revised figures on the large screen. Over the past week, the team had reviewed the cost of preparatory work, potential sources of financing, and the preliminary allocation of costs among the participants several times. There were no significant changes to the overall project estimate this time, but the partners’ new proposal differed noticeably from what had originally been discussed.

“We’ve received their revised financial model,” the director began. “The total project cost hasn’t changed significantly, but they’re proposing that we increase our share of the first-phase financing.”

“By how much?”

“An increase of approximately eight percent over our initial contribution under the previous proposal.”

Jae-hyun looked at the spreadsheet.

“And their commitments?”

“Their overall commitments remain unchanged. They propose making up the difference in the later phases.”

“With what?”

The finance director switched pages.

“Projected proceeds from the sale of some of the commercial units.”

“Projected,” Jae-hyun repeated.

“Yes.”

“So they want us to put in more of our own money now, expecting part of the cost to be recovered from money that doesn’t exist yet.”

“In simple terms, yes.”

“Then why would we do that?”

The head of investments leaned forward and opened his notes.

“They say the change is needed to accelerate the preparatory phase. Their assessment is that the previous funding allocation could delay some of the work. If we increase our initial contribution, the project can go ahead without waiting for additional funds to come in.”

“Do we have our own assessment?”

“A preliminary one. We don’t currently see a significant risk to the schedule.”

“Then I don’t see why we should rush.”

Jae-hyun leaned back in his chair. He looked again at the comparison table, which set the previous terms alongside the new proposal. The difference posed no threat to the company’s financial stability, but he had no intention of agreeing to it merely to keep relations with the partners pleasant.

“We’re discussing a property that’s meant to generate income for the next twenty years. I see no reason to take on additional commitments just because someone wants to sign the agreement two weeks earlier.”

“Of course,” the finance director replied. “But if we agree to increase the initial contribution, we could try to renegotiate the distribution of income in our favor.”

“We could. But first, let them explain why the increase is necessary at all. A temporary funding gap is one thing. Trying to shift some of their own commitments onto us is another.”

“We’ll prepare some additional questions.”

“And an alternative proposal,” Jae-hyun continued. “If they’re genuinely interested in moving faster, let them propose terms that make sense for both sides.”

The head of investments made a few notes, then brought up a detailed plan of the district. The site was divided into parcels, marked in different colors according to the current status of negotiations with the owners. Discussions on most were already well advanced, but two properties continued to present difficulties. One belonged to several owners whose interests did not align; the other was a commercial property still in use by a long-term tenant.

“Where do we stand on the land parcels?” Jae-hyun asked.

“We’ve reached preliminary agreements on most of them. Negotiations on these two are ongoing.”

“Will that affect the schedule?”

“Potentially, yes. But at the moment, there’s no reason to expect a serious delay.”

“I need more than assumptions. Prepare a separate report on those properties. Before we sign the final agreement, I want to understand which issues are still unresolved.”

“We will.”

“And don’t include income from space we don’t yet control in the final financial model. Settle things with the owners first. Then we can discuss rental rates.”

The finance director nodded. It was not the first time Jae-hyun had brought the team back to questions like these, and over the years, the employees had grown used to the fact that attractive forecasts alone did little to impress him. He did not demand impossible precision at the preliminary planning stage, but he had little patience for uncertainty concealed behind confident wording. If a deadline depended on an approval, the documents needed to say so. If income existed only in projections, it could not be presented as guaranteed.

The next topic was the allocation of project management responsibilities. The joint development would involve setting up a separate project company through which the main contracts would be signed and the work financed. The partners were proposing their own candidate to oversee day-to-day operations, citing his experience with contractors and his knowledge of the local market. There was nothing unusual about the proposal itself, but Jae-hyun wanted to establish in advance which decisions the man could make on his own and which would require approval from both sides.

“Who will approve major expenses?” he asked.

“Under the current draft agreement, the project company’s board,” the head of investments replied. “But they’re proposing to delegate some of those powers to the executive in charge.”

“How much authority?”

“The wording is still too broad.”

“Then we’ll clarify it. I don’t need a manager who has to get every participant around a table over every decision. But he shouldn’t be able to commit us to substantial sums outside an approved budget either.”

“We’ll define the scope of his authority.”

“And the reporting procedure. Both sides need to see whether spending is in line with the budget. Not just at the end of the quarter, when the money’s already been spent.”

The finance director moved to the section on cost control. For several minutes, they discussed reporting frequency, the involvement of independent specialists in reviewing financial results, and the procedure for approving changes to the construction cost estimate. For Jae-hyun, these were not formalities. He intended to invest a considerable amount in the project and would treat that money accordingly, regardless of how many years he had been working with the other party.

“I don’t think the partners will object to reasonable oversight,” the director observed.

“Neither do I. So let’s start by proposing reasonable oversight.”

Marco, who had followed the discussion in silence until then, smiled slightly. Jae-hyun noticed but made no comment. They both understood perfectly well that any agreement between two large organizations involved not only a financial interest but also a certain struggle for influence. The more expensive the project became, the more attention they had to give to matters that, with a smaller investment, could have been settled in a phone call.

The meeting lasted more than an hour. They reviewed the schedule, agreed on a list of comments on the financial model, and decided which issues to raise in the upcoming negotiations. Jae-hyun rejected several proposals outright and asked for further calculations on others. At the end of the meeting, the finance director returned to the most contentious point: the increase in the initial contribution.

“If they insist on the terms as they stand, how far are we prepared to go in the negotiations?”

Jae-hyun closed the folder in front of him.

“As far as it makes business sense for us.”

“Even if that means postponing the signing?”

“We haven’t reached that stage yet. There’s no reason to behave as though the agreement has already been signed.”

“Understood.”

“It’s a good project,” Jae-hyun continued. “I want to be involved. But that doesn’t mean we have to accept every proposal. We have our own money, our own specialists, and enough experience to assess the terms without being rushed by someone else.”

He pointed to the last page of the printout.

“Prepare two financing options. The first in line with our original proposal. The second with the increased contribution, but with revised financial terms in our favor. We’ll discuss both at the meeting.”

The employees acknowledged his instructions and began gathering their documents. Less than half an hour remained before the partners’ representatives were due to arrive. Jae-hyun asked the finance director to stay a few minutes longer to clarify the bank financing figures, then dismissed him along with the head of investments.

Once the door had closed, Marco came over to the desk and picked up the tablet he had left there.

“Think they’ll budge?” he asked.

“On some of the terms, yes. We’ll have to negotiate the rest.”

“The new head likes to bargain.”

“Then we’ll have something to talk about.”

Marco checked the time.

“By the way, he won’t be coming himself today. He’s sending a representative. Apparently, he’s tied up in negotiations on another property.”

“I know. They told me yesterday.”

“That doesn’t concern you?”

“No. We’re still negotiating the terms, not making final decisions. If we need him involved, we’ll meet separately.”

Marco nodded. He was about to leave, but paused by the door as he remembered one more matter.

“You’ll have the report on yesterday’s investigation this evening.”

Jae-hyun looked up from the documents.

“Good. If you find a connection to anyone else, tell me immediately.”

“Of course.”

That ended the conversation. Marco left, and Jae-hyun returned to the calculations the finance director had left open on the screen. There was enough time before the negotiations to check the most contentious figures once more. He did not like going into meetings with questions his own staff could have answered beforehand.

At half past ten, his secretary brought fresh coffee and told him the conference room was ready. Jae-hyun thanked her, signed two documents unrelated to the upcoming deal, and spent a few more minutes answering emails. When a message appeared on his phone announcing the guests’ arrival, he finished his last sentence, saved the document, and rose from his desk.

Marco was already waiting for him in the corridor. Through the conference room’s glass wall, several men in business suits could be seen seated around a large table. One was on the phone; another was studying the materials prepared for the meeting. An employee from the investment department was with them, explaining something as he pointed to the project plan.

“Is everyone here?” Jae-hyun asked.

“Yes. A management representative, a financial consultant, and two project specialists.”

“Have any of them worked with us before?”

“Two. The others joined after the change in leadership.”

Jae-hyun adjusted his shirt cuff and handed Marco the folder containing his comments on the proposed terms. Marco quickly read through the first page, pausing over several marked points.

“You’re going to open with this?”

“Why put it off?”

“They were expecting to discuss the overall concept first.”

“I’m satisfied with the concept. That’s not what we’re here for.”

Marco returned the folder, and Jae-hyun headed for the conference room. The men rose when they saw him. Greetings and handshakes followed, along with a few of the usual remarks about traffic, the weather, and busy schedules. Jae-hyun smiled pleasantly, addressed familiar faces by name, and listened carefully as the new participants were introduced. Nothing in his manner or his tone suggested any dissatisfaction with the terms the partners had proposed the day before.

Once everyone was seated, the other company’s representative opened his folder.

“Mr. Kwon, first of all, I’d like to thank you for the opportunity to discuss this project in person. We greatly value our long-standing partnership and hope this new agreement will mark another successful step forward for both companies.”

“Likewise,” Jae-hyun replied. “We’re also interested in continuing the partnership.”

The representative smiled and prepared to continue his rehearsed introduction, but Jae-hyun had already opened his folder.

“I suggest we go straight to the financial terms. I have a few questions about the latest version of your proposal.”

He turned the document so that the man opposite could see the marked passages and slid it toward the center of the table.

“Let’s start with the initial contributions.”