Chapter 7

Special Clause

At eleven at night, I was sitting at my office desk with a blank contract form spread out. My wet trousers were drying over the back of the chair. Writing a contract in shorts was a first in ten years.

That was my ninth coffee mix of the day.

First, I pulled the registry transcript. Sillim 9-4, Daeseong Dyeing factory site. Owner: Cha Gapdon. Title transferred May of last year. Purchase price 110 million won. No mortgage, no provisional seizure.

Clean. Land bought in cash, without a single won of loans.

May of last year was six months before Cheolho signed his jeonse on 7-2. Han Soyeong signed for 4-11 in April of last year. So Gap-dol took 60 million from Han Soyeong in April and bought this land in cash in May. Then in November he took 80 million from Cheolho and bought something else somewhere, I'd bet.

More than half of the 110 million was Han Soyeong's first-home money, turned into this factory land. That there was a B-rank dungeon underneath, neither Gap-dol nor Han Soyeong knew.

I tapped the purchase price on the registry transcript with my pen. Tapping on contracts is an old habit of mine. It comes out when I'm stuck.

The problem was why Gap-dol would hand over this land.

From Gap-dol's point of view, the money he owes Cheolho and Han Soyeong is money he doesn't need to pay. Transfer 7-2 and 4-11 to a straw owner, and the obligation to return the deposits goes along with them. That's how the Dungeon Management Act works. Same as a house. The new owner has to return the deposit. If the new owner has bad credit, that's the end of it.

So Gap-dol has no reason to give Cheolho and Han Soyeong land. Why would he give land when he doesn't even have to give money?

There was one reason.

I went back over what Gap-dol had said at the karaoke bar. Kid posted about it online. He deleted it, but I'd already seen everything. On Cheolho's post, a victim from Bongcheon and a victim from Sadang had commented. Gap-dol saw that. And twenty minutes after the post went up, those comments with all-different usernames appeared.

Gap-dol was afraid of the victims getting together.

Transfer the title to a straw owner and he doesn't have to return the deposits. But if a bunch of victims get together and file a fraud complaint, that's a different story. A straw owner can shield the civil side, but not the criminal side. A fraud charge follows Gap-dol's own name. And if the police go through Gap-dol's bank accounts, the name of whoever's fronting the money from above might come out, too.

What Gap-dol wanted badly enough to hand over land for was quiet.

At the top of the contract form, I wrote: Sales Contract. And behind it I attached one more page. Settlement Agreement.

The contract took three hours.

Seller: Cha Gapdon. Buyers: Na Cheolho, Han Soyeong. Subject property: Sillim 9-4 factory site and the entire underground dungeon. Purchase price: 140 million won.

140 million. Forty million on top of the 100 million Gap-dol had named with a yawn. The two deposits combined. I laughed as I wrote that number. Clients who wanted to pay forty million extra for a leaking F-rank dungeon. Gap-dol would laugh when he saw it. I intended to let him.

Method of payment: The buyers' claims against the seller for return of jeonse deposits, totaling 140 million won, shall be set off against the purchase price in equal amounts.

Not a single won of cash changes hands. Gap-dol is treated as having paid back 140 million, and Cheolho and Han Soyeong get land worth 140 million. On paper, it's fair. On paper.

Settlement Agreement: By this contract, the buyers shall bring no civil or criminal claims relating to the jeonse deposits for Sillim 7-2 and Sillim 4-11.

My pen stopped there for a long time. That one line was the thing Gap-dol was buying. Quiet. And because of that one line, Cheolho and Han Soyeong would lose their chance to see Gap-dol punished. I didn't know if Han Soyeong would accept that without a fight. I wouldn't.

I added a proviso to the end of that line. Provided, however, that this agreement is limited to the above two matters of the two buyers and shall not affect claims by any third party.

The victims in Bongcheon and Sadang could still file complaints. The quiet Gap-dol was buying was only half the quiet. Whether Gap-dol would notice, I didn't know. Scammers usually don't read contracts to the end. Unless they wrote them.

Next came the special clauses.

Special clauses 1 through 6, I wrote plainly. Delivery date, registration transfer costs, settlement of utility charges. The things that go into any contract.

At special clause 7, I put down my pen and made one more coffee mix. Number ten.

Clause 7 was the whole contract.

The subject property shall be delivered in its condition as of the contract date, and the buyers have confirmed the grade (F) stated in the certified appraisal. Even if subsequent appraisal results or deposited resources are found to differ from the certified appraisal as of the contract date, neither the seller nor the buyers may, on that ground, demand rescission, cancellation, or any increase or decrease of the purchase price.

When Gap-dol read it, it would read like this: even if it later turns out to be an even worse hollow than an F, you can't ask for a refund. A seller-protection clause. Gap-dol would like it.

But the sentence reads both ways. Even if it later turns out to be better than an F, Gap-dol can't ask for it back either.

I rewrote clause 7 three times. If even one word tilted to one side, Gap-dol would catch on. Equally heavy on both sides. Like a scale.

Last, I wrote the brokerage fee clause. Of the seller's brokerage fee, the sum of 500,000 won has already been received by the licensed broker and shall be deducted accordingly.

I took the empty envelope out from between the binders. The envelope Gap-dol had pressed into my hand at the karaoke bar. The 500,000 that had been inside was already in Kim's safe. Only the envelope was left.

With this one line, that 500,000 became an advance on the brokerage fee—money Gap-dol had simply paid me ahead of time for what he'd owe me anyway. And the moment it was written into the contract, I no longer had any reason to stand on Gap-dol's side because of that 500,000.

I set the empty envelope on top of the contract. And looked at it for a long time.

At two in the morning, my phone rang. My father.

"Son. You asleep?"

"No. Working."

"What work at this hour? Real estate's open at night now?"

"I'm writing a contract."

My father didn't say anything for a while. For someone who raises cattle in the countryside, being up at two in the morning is common. When a cow is calving. From his end of the line came the sounds of the barn.

"Saw on the TV you can buy and sell dungeons these days."

"Yes."

"You doing that too?"

"...Looks like I will be."

"I see. But, son."

My father yawned. A long one.

"If you're selling dungeons, when are you going to raise cows?"

I laughed. This time I really laughed. My father wouldn't have known why. In his head, his thirty-four-year-old son was still someone who'd come down to the country someday and raise cattle. When I lost the shop ten years ago, he said the same thing. Come down and raise cows.

"Dad, the cows can wait."

"Wait till when?"

"Till this contract's done."

My father snorted as if he didn't believe a word and hung up. I put down my phone and read the contract again from the beginning. Article 1 through special clause 7. The empty envelope was still sitting on top.

The alley in Sillim outside the window was quiet. Across the street, the light on Mr. Wang's sign was off.

I loaded paper into the printer and pressed print. Three pages of sales contract and one page of settlement agreement slid out slowly, twice over.

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