Can Murder Be a Workplace Accident? Chapter 2.4

As she scribbled a signature composed entirely of capital letters, Printemps Kim posed a question to Min Isak. Her tone suggested it was information she naturally deserved to know, despite it being confidential. Min Isak answered without hesitation.

“The Seoul Museum of Modern Art.”

“Seohyun? Those guys, they looked down on me so much, acting like they were the educated ones. To win the bid against them of all people, Chief Min, you’ve made me happy starting from a Monday.”

She smiled broadly, not bothering to hide her wide, splitting grin. Thinking about what he had done to obtain that painting, Min Isak could not bring himself to smile, but he stretched his lips wide, mirroring her as if looking in a mirror.

“Money really is the best. You’ve worked hard, Chief Min. Is there anything you want? A watch? A car? Just say the word. I’ll buy you one.”

Printemps Kim said, returning the clipboard to him. It seemed she had decided to be generous in response to her son’s question of whether he would betray her if she gave him nothing.

Min Isak was silent. A watch or a car were things that most men would welcome with delight. But his face showed no sign of even considering a brand or model.

“Or is there a painting that’s caught your eye? We can include whatever you want in the next auction. I’ll buy it for you.”

“It’s alright, Madam. Just your consideration is more than enough.”

Is he just saying that because it hurts his pride to accept it so readily? Namgung Tree’s gaze swept over Min Isak’s attire. The old watch peeking out from between the ink-stain-free white cuffs was a Cartier Tank, no less. A cat-fur-like sheen flowed from his jet-black summer suit.

Like others in this industry, Min Isak was not entirely without vanity.

“Really? Don’t refuse, take it when I’m offering.”

Is he planning to ask for a raise instead of a physical gift? Or a performance bonus? That would be the safer route if he doesn’t want to get caught. It’s up to the owner how much they pay their employees, after all. Namgung Tree narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“No, it’s fine. I did it because I like the painting.”

As if to say ‘see?’, Printemps Kim winked at her son. Since he didn’t want any compensation, there was no need to give him any. He sold his body to buy the Lee Youhwan piece even though there was nothing he wanted?

Isn’t he crazy?

He couldn’t take it at face value. Namgung Tree frowned and looked at Min Isak. He didn’t avoid his gaze either. His light brown irises were as clear as a lake.

“It’s true, Director.”

There is nothing I want. He added. He could instinctively tell that there wasn’t a shred of falsehood in his words.

Well, look at the loyal subject. A loyal subject has appeared.

He was so dumbfounded he was speechless.

“Alright. Do as you wish, Chief Min. No complaining that you feel slighted later.”

Printemps Kim drove the nail in. Min Isak simply bowed his head silently, holding the clipboard.

“When does the Lee Youhwan piece arrive?”

She placed the hat she had set down back on her head. The pink feather attached to the hat fluttered in the air conditioning breeze. Now that she had seen her son and finished her business while she was here, all that was left was to return home.

“It is scheduled to be delivered tomorrow morning. Shall I request it be sent directly to your residence in Apgujeong-dong?”

“No, receive it here and… No. I’ll contact you separately.”

She stopped mid-sentence and glanced at her son. Wrinkles formed around her lipsticked mouth like a tightly shut clam. Is it something she can’t even tell her son?

What could there be so many things to hide in a gallery that just buys, sells, and exhibits paintings?

The three of them walked out of the reception room in silence. To the employees who had all stood up at the owner’s appearance, Printemps Kim left a few words asking them to take good care of the new director and walked down the hallway. Min Isak quickly pressed the button to call the elevator.

“Come to think of it, the exhibition is not far off, is it? Are the preparations proceeding without a hitch?”

Printemps Kim brought up the gallery business. Namgung Tree, who hadn’t yet grasped the gallery’s operations, looked at Min Isak in a fluster. While visitors only need to look at the paintings on the wall, preparing an exhibition is quite a handful.

“Yes. Former director Lee Yang-hee turned everything upside down, but there are no issues with the schedule. I was planning to report to you this afternoon, Director, so if your schedule allows, please attend the planning meeting.”

“Good. I feel at ease with you here, Chief Min.”

Before Namgung Tree could even ask what time it was, Printemps Kim stepped in and confirmed her son’s attendance.

“You have to tell me the time and place…”

—Fifth floor.

The elevator arrived just as he was about to argue. Min Isak meekly stepped aside, held the door, and gestured for them to get in. Printemps Kim patted Min Isak’s shoulder as a sign of encouragement.

“You must be busy, so don’t come down, just get back to work. I’ll go down with Tree.”

“Yes. In that case, please have a safe trip, Madam.”

He bowed at a ninety-degree angle to Printemps Kim. Namgung Tree glared at the top of Min Isak’s head until the elevator doors closed completely.

What does he gain by being so obedient? He couldn’t understand Min Isak’s attitude at all.

The two of them stared straight ahead without a word.

“I may be fine with it, but your father hasn’t finalized giving you the gallery yet.”

She broke the silence. Namgung Tree was startled.

“Dad’s something else. Always trying to hold on to everything.”

He thought it had all been settled when he was appointed director, but apparently not.

The doors opened. The late summer sun was so harsh that he had trouble opening his eyes properly.

“This exhibition will be the first test. Work well with Chief Min. Mom believes in her son.”

The large brim couldn’t block the sun, so she ended up raising a hand to her forehead. The driver, who had been resting in the shade of the building, shot out like someone stung by a bee and brought the car around.

“Keep in mind what I said inside.”

“I know. You can go.”

He sent her off, barely listening. The cicadas in the nearby park forest chirped until his ears hurt. Namgung Tree turned his back and looked at Gallery Spring.

The shadow of the black brick building was unusually long today.

It was only just past ten in the morning, but he felt as drained as if he had run a marathon. After seeing Printemps Kim off, Namgung Tree returned to the elevator.

He leaned his heavy body against the handrail and let himself hang. His back was damp.

He took off his blue linen jacket and tucked it between his left arm and his side. He also completely loosened the necktie that was choking him and stuck it in his back pocket, and unbuttoned his shirt down to just above the first button of his vest.

He also swept his bangs, which had been annoyingly half-down, up over his forehead.

Printemps Kim’s request came to mind.

Know, but pretend you don’t. That is the way to protect yourself.

“Fuck. What kind of bullshit is that? It’s not like I have dementia.”

Such words were nothing but a deception. How could something you know become something you don’t? It was impossible unless you could turn back time or get shot in the head.

She should have just sent me money to live well in New York.

He resented his mother for calling him back so suddenly. He was also annoyed with himself for being unable to say let’s just pretend it never happened, greedy for the fortune that would grow from tens of billions to hundreds of billions of won in just ten or twenty years.

It was enough money that, even if just left in the bank, it would multiply and be more than enough to squander until he died.

It’s not like I’m a monk who shaved his head and went to live in the mountains. How can I turn away that money? I’d grow my shaved head back and come down from the mountain.

So what should I do?

Namgung Tree knew himself. He was too much of a snob to kick away money that would fall into his lap. He liked money, and he also liked the power and prestige that came with it.

There was no moment more thrilling than when he ostentatiously presented his American Express Black Card in front of the long open-run queue outside a luxury store and ordered them to pull down the shutters.

For Namgung Tree, his drug was splurging money. Dopamine shot up like a fountain. It was the source of his inspiration. When his painting wasn’t going well, he would go shopping first, which said it all.

But to pretend not to know what Min Isak and his mother were doing, his conscience, which was close to a vestigial organ, pricked at Namgung Tree.

Seeing Min Isak come in with dirty traces on him, anger flared up without him even realizing it. Namgung Tree interpreted this as being due to his paltry conscience.

The so-called ethical consciousness of an artist. Even if works of art were produced through all sorts of sordid acts, the work itself had to always remain something pure. Like a lotus flower blooming from a mud field.

Min Isak and his mother were picking the lotus flowers with muddy hands and selling them here and there. That’s what middlemen or merchants do. Moreover, for Min Isak, who had explored painting so purely, to be actively involved in such acts. He couldn’t bear to watch it even more.

—Fifth floor.

The elevator doors opened. Standing before him was Min Isak, dressed in a jet-black suit.

His face, grinning as if he had been waiting, looked like a devil who had just come up from hell. It was vile enough to slap the face of Judas Iscariot in <The Last Judgment>.

A decision had to be made.

“Min Isak…”

Right, I have to get rid of that guy first.

If I can’t fire him, I can make him leave of his own accord.

If the gallery would close down because one person is gone, then it’s fine if it goes bankrupt. In any case, a gallery’s value is measured not by its staff, but by the works it possesses. And it’s not like the paintings would go anywhere if the gallery went bankrupt.

“Chief Min. Would you mind moving?”

Namgung Tree lifted his chin high. Now that he had made up his mind, Min Isak seemed truly pathetic.

Min Isak took his hands out of his pockets, crossed his arms, and slowly nodded. It seemed he had no intention of moving aside nicely.

“What. You have something to say?”

“I sincerely congratulate you on getting on the same boat, Director Namgung Tree.”

Lifting his head like a snake, he stared intently at Namgung Tree as if in a staring contest. His lips, offering congratulations, trembled.

Though his words were full of thorns, his expression was pained, as if he himself had been pricked.

“The same boat? What are you talking about?”

“You know. How I acquired the Lee Youhwan piece.”

With a vague answer, he tapped his own long neck with his finger. His finger traced the patch stuck to his long, white neck, then caught the edge and tore it off.

“…!”

Namgung Tree clenched his fists. Purple and yellow. Even though it had faded to some ambiguous color in between, he could still recognize the mark on his neck as a lip mark.

The trace of a transaction where he had offered his body in exchange for winning the Lee Youhwan piece at a low price. The anger from Friday night, the feeling that a work of art had been sullied, returned.

“The moment you signed the approval documents, you tacitly approved of my business methods, Director.”

“Chief Min!”

Unable to hold back, he shoved Min Isak. His skinny body flew helplessly and hit the wall. Before he could right himself, he walked quickly forward. The sound of his dress shoes hitting the tiles echoed loudly in the hallway.

“…Gack!”

“Fuck, this bastard. I was trying to hold it in, but you’re really getting on my nerves.”

A large hand gripped the slender neck. He pinned Min Isak against the wall. Veins bulged on his knuckles as if he were about to break him. There had been a time when he had chipped away at granite with a chisel and hammer as a hobby, so he could break human bones as much as he wanted if he put his mind to it.

“You seem to be mistaken about something because you’re close with my mother, but I’m the director.”

“Keuk!”

His anger was greater than he had thought.

He could feel his pulse against his palm. Namgung Tree gradually applied more force. The venous blood just under the skin was pressed, and blood rushed to his face. His pale complexion turned dark red.

“Where does a parasite crawl up on a person?”

The heart, sensing a lack of oxygen in the brain, pumped harder. Thump-thump, thump-thump. It felt like the inside of his palm would burst with his pulse. Fingernails scratched the back of his hand, and legs flailing in the air kicked at his shin.

“Do more. You’ll have to scratch harder than my cat for me to even think about letting go.”

“F, uck…”

His earlobes, flushed as if they would burst, were hot. Feeling as if he were holding a ball of fire in his hand, Namgung Tree whispered.

“Listen carefully. I decide the business policy here.”

“Let, go. You, son, of, a, bitch.”

In the agony of being choked and about to suffocate, Min Isak desperately glared.

“This is the only time I’m condoning this. Because I wasn’t the one who ordered it.”

His tenacity was something else. It was admirable. Even as his life hung in the balance, he stubbornly held his ground. So stubborn, yet how did things end up like this…

“Do you understand? From now on, Chief Min, you work my way.”

“Heok!”

As soon as he slightly loosened his grip, he squeezed the neck with great force. Min Isak’s face, which had been able to breathe for a brief moment, contorted even more wretchedly. Tears, snot, and saliva dribbled down his bright red face as he clung to Namgung Tree’s hand.

“Did you understand?”

“Heuk, eut… St-stop.”

The warm smell of flesh and the menthol scent of the patch that had been stuck there until a moment ago made it hard to breathe. His moans were so faint they sounded like they would break off at any moment. It would all be over with that short, simple word ‘yes’, but he still resisted.

“Still holding up, are you?”

He pressed harder on his Adam’s apple. Min Isak kicked at the wall his back was against.

“Answer me.”

Namgung Tree growled, their noses almost touching. Anger, contempt, bewilderment, resignation, deceit. All sorts of emotions floated in Min Isak’s eyes. Now that he looked, the irises he had thought resembled topaz were the color of dark, muddy water.

“Answer!”

“…Heuk, yes.”

The hand fell away at the same time as the answer. Min Isak fell forward, almost collapsing to the floor. Namgung Tree wiped his sticky hand on his forearm.

“Heup! Heu-euk.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to die than to live like that?”

The sight of him desperately gasping for air to live was pathetic. Namgung Tree closed his eyes and covered one ear with his hand. It was an instinctive expression of avoidance. Still, it was impossible to escape the hiccupping gasps.

He pressed his fingers against his hot eyelids to cool them down. When he opened his eyes, Min Isak was still kneeling on the floor. Min Isak wiped his face with his sleeve. The black jacket sleeve was already glistening with what was either tears or snot.

“You piece of trash.”

Glaring down, he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and threw it. The piece of white cloth with a blue embroidered border fluttered and landed on Min Isak’s head.

“…?”

Min Isak lifted his head as if demanding an explanation for the sudden action. But Namgung Tree turned his body away. It was an act purely for humiliation. He didn’t care whether he picked up the handkerchief or not.

He hated the sight of the sob-like cough, the doughy face that had not yet regained its color, and the shaking shoulders.

“Bring the exhibition proposal to the director’s office in thirty minutes. Don’t forget to clean up that filthy face before you come in. The employees will see.”

“…Yes, I understand.”

He answered in a hoarse voice. The way he answered so obediently was strangely grating. He had expected to hear a curse or a grumble, but he was surprisingly compliant. Fighting the urge to turn around, he only rolled his eyes to the side to check on him.