Chapter 11- Her Version Of Justice.
Mr. Lee glanced at her, still unconvinced. "So... is this it? Is this how you're ending things? With them walking away with all that money? Are you truly satisfied with this outcome?"
Pari smirked, her eyes glinting with something sharper, something hidden. "Ha. Do you really think this is the end, Mr. Lee?"
What had been hidden behind Pari's seemingly innocent words was now on the verge of being exposed. Every second brought it closer to chaos.
The couple hurriedly exited the hotel after finishing their work. The lady's tone was sharp, commanding, laced with irritation as she snapped at her husband.
"I don't want any more interference from that... scary lady," she said, her eyes narrowing. "It's better to message her. Tell her the work is done, and never contact her again. All I need is the money!"
Her words dripped with greed, her eyes gleaming at the thought of the remaining payment. "I just need the rest! That's why I endured all this nonsense in the first place!"
Then, with a sudden burst of arrogance, she bellowed at him, "Hey! You! Call that lady now! And give me the phone!"
Her husband quickly dialed the number and handed the phone over.
Meanwhile, Pari, seated in her car at a discreet distance, watched the couple intently. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as her phone rang. She answered smoothly, her voice calm, collected, and deadly precise.
"Have you done my work?" she asked, her English clear and sharp.
The lady, flustered, responded immediately in broken English, even before Mr. Lee could translate her words into Korean.
"Yes, yes! I did it! My money! You give!" Her voice quivered with both greed and desperation.
Pari's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. She spoke again, serene and composed, but every word was an act.
"Good job. Well done. Now that the task I gave you is complete, you will, of course, receive the payment. Don't worry."
Her tone remained calm, almost gentle, yet it carried an invisible weight.
"But! I am very busy at the moment, and I'm about to leave Korea soon," she continued, feigning a sense of urgency. "I've arranged for the five million in the public locker near Gangnam Station. You'll have to open it and collect it yourself."
The lady's voice trembled with excitement. "Are you sure? Will I really get my money there? And... how will I open the locker?"
Pari's smile widened slightly. "Don't worry. I'll give you the code. It's locker number 17, and the code is 0700. Remember it carefully-if you fail, the money may be taken by the workers."
"Yes! No need for that! I'm going right now!" The lady's excitement was palpable. She ended the call hastily, while Mr. Lee, standing beside Pari, muttered under his breath, bewildered.
"What the hell is going on?"
Pari glanced at him, her eyes glinting with mischief, almost as if she were plotting something deliciously wicked.
"Drive to the location I gave her," Pari instructed, her voice silky and full of anticipation.
What unfolded next had been carefully orchestrated by Pari. Both the couple and Pari with Mr. Lee arrived at the locker near Gangnam Station within twenty minutes. The couple approached, tension etched into their faces, unaware that they were being watched from a safe distance.
The lady glared around nervously before barking orders at her husband.
"Move! I'll open it myself! I don't want anyone to see this money!"
She shoved him aside, placed her hands on locker number 17, and punched in the code-0700.
A loud, shrill "PEEEEEEPPPPPPPP!!!" screeched from the locker.
Her eyes widened, her heart skipped a beat. "What?! What's happening? Why isn't this working?!" she shouted, panic creeping into her voice.
People nearby began to stare at the commotion. The lady's face flushed crimson, but she forced a laugh, trying to mask her embarrassment.
"Ha! Ha! Got the code wrong by mistake! Don't worry, I know the code-this is my locker!"
Her husband, suspicious and tense, muttered, "Should I call that... boss and ask? Or did you just mess up the code?"
"You idiot! I never forget anything about money! Just call her! Something's off," she snapped, her voice sharper than before.
Unbeknownst to them, a pair of men in a car were observing everything from a short distance.
"Sir," one whispered, "that couple is trying to open the locker... number 17. Looks like the same couple ma'am described."
The other nodded. "Do we go now?"
"Not yet. Wait," came the calm reply.
Back at the locker, the couple frantically called Pari, confusion written all over their faces. Pari answered, feigning calm, her voice smooth as silk.
"Excuse me, ma'am! The code isn't working! What's wrong? Why can't I open it?!" the lady yelled, her desperation unmistakable.
"Oh, my bad," Pari said, her English impeccable, filled with a practiced innocence. "I must have given you the wrong code."
"Wrong code? But... isn't it 0700?!"
"Yes... almost. I told you the last digit incorrectly. The correct code is 0701. That's it."
The lady hesitated, anxiety and greed warring in her chest. "Are you sure this time? I... I don't want to mess this up again!"
Pari's voice was cool, confident, almost teasing. "Yes. This is correct. Go ahead."
With trembling hands, the lady entered 0-7-0-1. The locker clicked open. Her eyes widened as she glimpsed a large black bag inside. She tugged at the zipper, confirming bundles of cash stacked neatly. Ecstatic, she snatched the bag, practically vibrating with excitement, and stuffed her phone into her purse.
From the car, Pari and Mr. Lee watched the scene unfold. Mr. Lee's eyes widened.
"She even took the money... aren't you going to do anything?" he asked, incredulous.
Pari leaned back in her seat, a slow, wicked smile playing on her lips. "Patience, Mr. Lee. The fun has just begun."
Just as the lady's euphoria reached its peak, a loud shout erupted from somewhere nearby, slicing through the air.
The game had only just begun.
"STOP-HANDS UP! PUT THE MONEY DOWN-NOW!"
The shout cut through the humid air like a blade. Panicked heads turned. The couple's fingers twitched around the black bag as if the world had suddenly turned traitor. "What the hell is going on?" the man stammered, eyes darting between the uniformed officers and the growing crowd.
"We are the police! Keep your hands up!" an officer barked, advancing with the practiced authority of someone who had rehearsed this moment a hundred times. "Officer, take that bag from them!"
"No-no! My money!" the woman wailed, clutching at the zipper as if it were the last thread holding her whole life together.
The officer moved with professional calm, and the woman's gasp turned to a harsh, incredulous laugh when he pried the bag from her hands. "This isn't your money," he said, voice flat. "What a joke."
"Finally-caught you!" another officer shouted. "Money thieves!"
"This is our money!" the woman cried, pushing forward. "We earned this. We did work-legitimate work!"
"Earned?" the officer's tone was incredulous. "You stole it. And the rest-Miss Kim's suitcase ( Pari's Korean Surname)-was stolen by you two last night."
"Who is Miss Kim? What does she have to do with us?" the man sputtered. Denial clung to them like a second skin.
"She's the owner of the locker. She reported the theft. We have video." The officer's voice carried the weight of evidence, and the couple's bravado began to fray. "Arrest them. Take them to their house."
"No-wait-my money!" the woman shrieked as the handcuffs clicked around her wrists. The metallic sound was small and final. The crowd watched as police shepherded the couple into a squad car, their faces a study in fear and indignation.
Pari sat back in the car, fingers folded across her knees, expression unreadable. Mr. Lee sat beside her, eyes wide like a child watching a magician reveal the trick. "Police?" he breathed. "And the money... what's happening?"
"Wait and see," Pari said, but there was a dangerous curve to her smile. "Drive to their house."
They tailed the police vehicle at a discreet distance. Minutes later, the house-small, claustrophobic, covered in the tiredness of people who hide things-was surrounded. Officers shoved past the threshold and swept through, boots loud on wooden floors. Inside, a junior officer emerged carrying a familiar black suitcase. He held it up like a trophy.
"Sir! I found it-this bag is full of money!" he announced.
The man's face crumpled. "Our money!" he cried, collapsing toward the open suitcase as if proximity could remake truth. The woman lunged forward, voice raw with hysteria. "It's ours! We received it for work!"
The lead officer let the accusation hang in the warm air, then produced a tablet and pressed play. The video filled the front room: masked figures, a staged stop, a man tricked out of his suitcase-every frame a mirror of the crime they were accused of. The woman reeled.
"That's Miss Kim's suitcase," the officer said. "It has carved initials. She reported it stolen. Yesterday. We set a trap because you two matched the description."
The couple's protest was sharp, but weak. "The people in the video were masked!" the man barked. "That's not us!"
"So we set a trap," the officer said. "We put the money in the locker, watched who opened it, and waited." He turned the tablet so they could see their own faces-caught, unmasked, blinking in the cruel, steady glow of CCTV. "You hacked the locker code, used it, and opened locker seventeen. You can't talk your way out of that."
Silence settled. For a heartbeat they had nothing-no words, only the slow, dawning realization that the story they'd told themselves was unravelling. Then the woman, panicked and keening, fumbled for a defense. "We got this money from a lady who paid us for work-"
"You are lying," the officer cut in. "We found the contract you mentioned? Go check it if you like."
A junior officer hesitated, glancing at the lead and then at the couple. "There's something in the cupboard," he said, uncertain. "She said the contract's in the cupboard."
"Go. Check." The command was a blade; the junior officer moved. The house fell into a brittle hush.
Pari stepped out of the car like a woman walking onto a stage. The crowd turned-some in curiosity, some in retribution. She walked with the steady, effortless authority of someone who owned every step. "Sir," she said in flawless Korean, voice clear enough for everyone to hear, "I came here to see who stole my money."
Shock hit the couple like cold water. "You-what-how can you speak Korean?" the woman shrieked. Panic had sharpened into anger. "Officer! She's the one who gave us the money! She paid us-she's the foreign CEO-she made us sign a contract!"
The officer's face was unreadable, professional. "Prove it."
"Wait-I have the contract!" the woman blurted. "It's in the cupboard-"
"Go," the officer said. "Check. Confirm."
They let the house breathe and moved inside. For a suspended moment, Pari walked up to the woman, close enough to study the greed etched into her features, the puffy anger of a person who measures the world in cash. She reached into her bag and produced a scrap of paper. The woman stared, confusion flashing through her like a fault line.
"How do you-what is that?" she hissed, reaching out.
Pari's eyes were hard. "Oh, you'll find nothing," she said, voice soft enough to be cruel. "The contract's gone. I burned it."
Rage exploded from the woman, a hot, frantic thing. "You-how dare you! You lied-made us do the job-"
"What did you receive?" Pari asked, calm as winter. She held the woman's gaze until it broke.
"Satisfaction," Pari said, and now there was no acting-only steel. "That's what you took from a boy you abandoned. Have you ever thought how he must have felt? A child with empty pockets waiting for his mother and father to come back. You gave him nothing but a fractured childhood. I wanted you to taste how it feels to be wronged."
Silence dropped like a curtain. The officers stepped back into the doorway; their faces told the couple everything. The house had been searched-empty-handed; the contract evidence was gone. The lead officer spoke in the voice of someone closing a case. "We've checked the cupboard. There's nothing. Get them in the car."
Tears leaked out of the woman's rage and slid into helplessness. "No, you can't-" she sobbed. "It's ours!"
"Miss Kim," the officer said, turning politely. "We're sorry for the trouble. We'll return your property after completion of legal checks. Please cooperate."
Pari nodded as if accepting a courtesy. A secretary would collect the recovered items, she added, and the officers retreated with their prisoners and their evidence.
When the police car pulled away, Pari watched the couple being led to the station-two people with rich mouths and hollow chests. She let herself smile, a small, satisfied thing. Mr. Lee, finally understanding, exhaled and laughed-part disbelief, part admiration.
"That was my plan," Pari said, eyes bright with something close to triumph. "After I left their house yesterday, I called the police and filed a theft report for my suitcase. I staged a video with actors-created a fake altercation-and had it planted in the CCTV. We fed the story to the police, and they set the trap."
Mr. Lee stared. "You filmed actors? You inserted it into CCTV?"
"I did." Pari shrugged, feigning modesty. "A little theatre goes a long way. The rest was timing and patience." She watched the station's blinking lights recede into the distance and felt, for the first time in a long while, the soft warmth of completion. "I think I could have been an actor," she added with a laugh that had no regret in it.
Mr. Lee grinned until his eyes crinkled. "You never disappoint. That was-amazing."
Pari's face folded for a moment into something softer. "Soo-han deserved this," she said quietly. "I hope he's living a better life now. A child shouldn't have to learn how to survive on bitterness."
Mr. Lee's smile faded into a look of shared understanding. "You did something brave," he said. "Not many would."
She tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat and let the night wrap around her. The city breathed on-the hum of life far from the raw edges of that stolen money, far from the mean calculus of people who barter love for coins. For Pari, revenge was not the final scene; it was a beginning. The boy who had been wronged could now turn a corner. She had made sure of it.
And somewhere, in the slow quiet that followed, Pari allowed herself one small, private victory-a laugh that tasted like relief and the sharp, particular sweetness of justice served.