DDB Ch 4
by toujours“Was the dead person a young Korean… man?”
Her heart was pounding.
Was it possible that the man she knew had been found dead? Her heart felt like it would burst.
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“No, it was a 50-year-old British man. And he was supposedly an SIS agent.”
“An agent from British Intelligence…?”
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Once she confirmed that the dead person wasn’t the man she knew, she felt, oddly enough, a wave of relief.
Then, vaguely, she thought, if he wasn’t dead, he might have been the one doing the killing.
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“So, was the perpetrator a Korean man?”
“I don’t know? There wasn’t a single witness.”
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Myungja, answering diligently to Jiwoon’s almost rhetorical question, added with a tone of disbelief:
“Why the sudden interest in a Korean man? Are you dating someone?”
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Jiwoon, who had been staring blankly as if in a trance, chuckled and replied:
“Maybe?”
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If it were that man, it might be possible, right?
If it were that man, who seemed so thrillingly dangerous, he might be able to handle her crazy heart.
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If he were a man who could kill someone without flinching, she wouldn’t seem dangerous at all, right?
With a scoff, Jiwoon drank her beer. Thinking about confronting him next time they met, her heart was in turmoil.
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“But they couldn’t find the painting.”
“Huh?”
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Jiwoon, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, blinked her big eyes at Myungja.
“What painting are you talking about…?”
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A chill ran down her spine.
“Didn’t I mention it? What the mafia was actually after was an ‘unreleased work by Caravaggio’ that disappeared eight years ago?”
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The person who hid it was the one who died this time, and the painting’s whereabouts are still unknown.
“The mafia threatened the mayor, saying they would hunt down and deal with anyone who had even seen a glimpse of the painting, so be prepared.”
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Myungja’s voice was soon lost in the surrounding noise.
Instead, the man’s last words echoed in her ears like a reverberation.
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“Forget the painting, and me. You weren’t here, and you saw nothing.”
Jiwoon lifted her beer bottle, tilted her head back, and drank down the rest of the beer. Then she whispered quietly:
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“I… saw nothing.”
🐬🌊🐳
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It turned out the mafia was searching for the whereabouts of the painting, and eventually, Jiwoon had to face police questioning. This was because of someone’s testimony that they saw her on Belvedere Hill that day.
Nevertheless, she had no intention of telling the police what she had seen. Regardless of the investigation, her answer was already set.
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“Why were you there two days ago?”
“You know I have insomnia…”
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The unfriendly detective asked about her reason for being on Belvedere Hill without any context and jumped to a conclusion just as hastily.
“When severe insomnia is coupled with stress, narcolepsy comes as an extra. Plus, in my case…”
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“It’s different from regular narcolepsy, with episodes of sleep events? So, sleepwalking?”
She had lived in Florence for nearly eight years.
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Due to narcolepsy that hit her three or four times a year, Jiwoon had inadvertently become quite famous among the Florence police.
Like swimming across the Arno River in the dead of winter causing the coast guard to mobilize, or climbing the cathedral bell tower barefoot in the early morning, leading to the fire department’s involvement. She had done quite a few things in her sleep that were astonishing.
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“So, you’re saying that instead of jumping into the Arno River this time, you went up Belvedere Hill?”
To this, Jiwoon replied calmly:
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“I wouldn’t know; I don’t remember. I just think I was there because someone saw me there. When I woke up, I was at home.”
Narcolepsy and sleepwalking.
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While the detective was noting down her symptoms in the report, Jiwoon posed a question in return:
“So, are you suspecting me of murder? That I killed that 50-year-old British man?”
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At this, the detective gave a bitter smile.
“No. I don’t think you killed him.”
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He went on to say that there was no way a skinny Asian woman like her could kill a muscular man over 100 kilograms, especially one who was a black belt in jiu-jitsu.
“Moreover, the murder was executed so cleanly that the killer must be a well-trained special forces veteran…”
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Special forces.
At least she had gleaned one thing from the police investigation. That sleekly handsome man was apparently a killer with a special forces background.
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“Cool.”
The thought of him being a special forces killer with that appearance sent shivers down her spine.
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Sitting in a corner of the airport sipping coffee, Jiwoon stood up as she saw Myungja entering the airport, looking like she had rushed there without even putting on makeup. It seemed Myungja was quite in a hurry too.
As Myungja tried to hug Jiwoon with her arms wide open, the Italian Foreign Ministry officials who were with Jiwoon stepped in to stop her.
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“She’s my friend, a friend.”
She’s not dangerous.
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In true fashion of someone dating the mayor’s right-hand man, Myungja shook off the men and managed to hug Jiwoon.
“Oh, you crazy woman. You’re going to get deported.”
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Jiwoon chuckled at Myungja’s words.
An order for forced deportation had come down overnight. So now, she was in the process of being expelled.
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It was funny.
License revocation, dismissal, loss of identity guarantee, cancellation of work visa, deportation.
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All these complex administrative procedures were concluded within a week.
To ensure she didn’t run away, a Foreign Ministry official had personally come to escort her onto the plane, making her feel like some kind of international criminal.
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Then Myungja gave her a quick update:
“The missing painting belongs to the [Heritage Beyond Foundation]. You know them, right? Heritage is the largest investor in your workshop and also holds an external directorship at the restoration association.”
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She had heard of it. The owner of the Giovanni workshop and her mentor, Giotto Giovanni, was in regular contact with someone from [Heritage Beyond].
[Heritage Beyond]…
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A multinational investment and information company headquartered in Korea.
While they ostensibly aimed at art preservation and cultural revival, behind the scenes, they collaborated with the mafia or triads.
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From what she’d heard, they collected, preserved, and protected the dark secrets of nations, corporations, individuals, or groups without letting them come to light.
And such an organization was the owner of <Guinevere>…
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“Maybe it’s lucky that it was stolen then.”
Her desire for the man surged again. A special forces killer and a sort of Robin Hood; he would be perfect as the new owner of Guinevere.
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“You fool, that’s not what I meant…”
Myungja grabbed her shoulders and shook her.
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“The reason you’re being deported…”
Jiwoon furrowed her brows.
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She had been wondering if the violation of international restoration regulations was enough to warrant deportation or if there was another reason. It seemed Myungja was thinking along the same lines.
She needed to hear Myungja’s opinion, which would be based on objective information.
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“Be careful. That painting is none other than ‘Caravaggio’s unreleased work’.”
“So?”
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“What’s your nickname in Florence?”
“Genius restorer?”
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Myungja hit her back hard in response to Jiwoon’s half-joking answer.
“Crazy woman.”
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“Oh, right, there was that too. Everyone calls me the crazy doll.”
“No, that’s not what I mean…”
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With a long sigh, Myungja spoke frankly:
“The golden hand with the devil’s talent.”
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A talent so devilish that it led to her license suspension after three warnings.
Her hands were said to restore not only the paintings but also the souls of the artists who painted them, earning her a somewhat ironic praise.
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“So, the reason they’re sending you back to Korea is…”
“To forge that painting?”
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“My intuition says so. It’s more about attempting to forge the painting than chasing after it anymore.”
Yes, that could be the case.
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Forging a painting in Florence, under the watchful eyes of the restoration association, is impossible. So, if the idea is to lure her back to Korea, it makes sense. Both in terms of timing and procedure, there have been too many unsettling coincidences over the past few days.
“Be careful, Seo Jiwoon.”
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Because Heritage Beyond won’t give up on the painting, the man who took it, or you, who can forge it, until the very end.