The courtroom was hushed with tension as jury foreman Mr. Reyes stood and delivered the verdict.
"On the charge of second‑degree rape, your verdict is guilty."
Gasping rippled through the gallery.
"For the charge of preditated murder, your verdict is guilty as charged."
A hard murmur passed through the room.
"And for obstruction of justice—guilty."
Lang’s shoulders sagged. Park stared down at the table, face pale. Jason watched quietly from his seat, silent satisfaction in his gaze. On the left, Daisy quietly tapped her tablet, already prepping next steps.
"Gerard Lang and Dae‑Hyun Park, by your verdicts, this court finds you guilty on all counts. Sentencing will resu tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. Court is adjourned."
-The Next Day-
Lang and Park returned, both in gray prison uniforms. Emotion weighed heavily on them. Lang’s wife, pale and composed, sat in the front row. No family support was in the house.
Voss, the ADA, walked up. "Your cris are a stain on this community. For robbery of autonomy, abuse of power, and taking a life—this court sentences you each to life imprisonnt, no parole."
A collective shudder passed across the courtroom. Lang’s face was blank for a mont before cracking.
Jason, standing near the back, didn’t clap. He only watched as the judge read the final decisions.
Lang sat in the holding area, cuffed, still reeling from the verdict. The din of officers and footsteps echoed through the concrete corridor, but he barely heard it. His mind swam.
Then ca the voice.
"Lang."
He stiffened and turned. Jason Yun stood there, flanked by security, dressed sharply, calm and unreadable as ever.
Lang narrowed his eyes. "Co to gloat?"
Jason stepped forward slowly.
"I’m here for a business matter.
The transfer of your shares free of cost.
Lang let out a bitter, guttural laugh. "You set this all up to get my company? You actually think I’d give it to you now? Go to hell."
Jason said nothing. Instead, his phone buzzed. He casually checked the screen, then smiled faintly.
"Well as of two minutes ago, I’m already the majority shareholder."
Lang’s expression shifted from rage to confusion. "That’s not possible. I still own 54%. Even if you bought out every minor shareholder, it doesn’t add up."
Jason t his gaze flatly. "No, Lang. You only hold 49%."
Lang’s jaw tightened, color draining from his face.
Jason didn’t need to say it—Lang rembered.
He had transferred 5% of his shares to his wife years ago, a gesture of goodwill during better days. A strategic move to avoid taxes... or to keep her from threatening divorce during one of their rocky periods.
"She wouldn’t," Lang muttered, but the words rang hollow. "She... she’s my wife."
Jason didn’t blink. "Was."
Lang stared at him, the weight of it sinking in. "She gave you the shares?"
Jason tilted his head slightly. "You’ve just been convicted of rape and murder, Lang. Who in their right mind would stay tied to you? Her passport was stamped.
Lang’s lips parted, but no sound ca out. His whole fra seed to shrink.
Jason stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"As for the rest of your shares... don’t worry. You’ll hand them over—voluntarily."
Lang’s head snapped up. "You’re dreaming."
Jason raised a brow, then pulled a sealed envelope from his coat and placed it on the steel table beside them.
Lang looked at it suspiciously, but didn’t move.
Jason waited. When Lang didn’t open it, he spoke again. "From your wife."
Lang reached forward with trembling fingers and unfolded the contents—divorce papers, clean and thorough, signed and notarized.
Silence settled.
Jason straightened. "This company is just a shell of what it was. But I’ll rebuild it—and I’ll do it in the na of the woman you destroyed."
Lang couldn’t look up. He gripped the papers with white knuckles.
Jason gave a short nod to the guards. "Escort him."
As Lang was pulled to his feet, Jason turned to leave.
But just before stepping through the exit, he paused.
"You’ll transfer those last shares," he said without looking back. "Not because I threaten you. But because soon, you’ll realize it’s the only way anyone will even rember your na without spitting."
Then he walked out, coat swaying behind him. The heavy door clicked shut.
Lang stood there, heart pounding—not just with rage, but with sothing colder.
Fear.
"Let’s move," the officer said curtly.
The chain connecting Lang’s handcuffs clinked with every shaky step he took. Park was already waiting outside the courtroom, arms shackled, eyes hollow. Their gazes t—but there was no solidarity in it.
Lang took a breath. "You good?"
Park said nothing.
The two were walked out the side of the courthouse and directed toward a prison transport bus parked along the rear loading zone. A brief wind carried the tail end of city traffic—honks, laughter, life—as if to mock them.
Lang climbed into the bus first, flinching as the guard secured his ankle to the chain mounted under the seat. Park followed, shackled to the seat across the aisle. Neither man spoke as the doors hissed shut.
The bus rumbled to life, rolling away from the courthouse and into the descending dusk.
For several minutes, the only sounds were the grinding gears and soft creak of chains with every turn.
Lang couldn’t help it—he looked over.
"We still have a chance," he murmured, eyes sunken. "There’s appeals. Motions. My lawyers—"
"Shut up."
Park didn’t raise his voice. His words were low, flat.
Lang blinked. "What?"
"I said shut the hell up," Park repeated, eyes still staring ahead. "I’m already chained up like a dog headed for a cage. Don’t make it worse."
Lang leaned forward slightly. "You’re blaming now? We were in this together."
Park slowly turned his head to et his eyes.
"We weren’t. You were the CEO. You were supposed to know better. But you got greedy, got careless, and dragged the whole company—and —into this."
Lang laughed bitterly. "Don’t act like you didn’t—"
"I did wrong, yeah. But You should’ve know better"
"You are a CEO for god sake"
Lang fell silent.
"I should’ve walked away the mont I saw what kind of man you really were," Park added, almost to himself. "But I wanted the perks. The money. I thought I was untouchable."
He looked down at the chains binding his wrists.
"Turns out I was just a fool with a na tag."
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
The prison lood ahead, a concrete beast against the deepening night sky. No barbed wire, no floodlights—just thick walls and high towers. It didn’t need to look like a cliché. The real weight was in the finality of it.
The bus pulled into the underground intake bay. Guards were waiting, ard and indifferent.
"Move."
Lang and Park were unshackled from the floor and walked out in single file. The processing room was sterile—tal benches, fingerprint stations, rows of caras.
They were booked separately. Mugshots. Fingerprints. A strip search. Orange jumpsuits.
Lang nearly gagged at the chemical scent of industrial soap they made him scrub with.
By the ti he was led into the holding hallway, his hands were cuffed again, and his pride felt eviscerated.
Park stood against the far wall, avoiding his gaze entirely.
The guard motioned. "Cell 34."
As the steel door clanged open, Lang was shoved inside.
It wasn’t a small cell, but it wasn’t empty.
Two n were already seated on the lower bunks—broad, bald, tattooed. They both turned as Lang stumbled in.
One licked his lips and tapped a lollipop against his teeth.
"Fresh at," the other said with a grin, standing up to full height.
Lang stepped back, heart pounding, bumping into the door just as it slamd shut behind him with a final thud.
anwhile, back at his penthouse suite, Jason Yun was staring at the city skyline through his floor-to-ceiling windows. One hand in his pocket, the other swirling a glass of sparkling water.
His phone buzzed.
A ssage from Daisy.
Lang and Park—processed. Paperwork confird.
He replied with a single word:
Good.
Then he returned to watching the city below.
It’s almost ti for him to make his mark on the city.
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