I Will Find You - Chapter Seven

NNext morning Heon, once more flanked by Steve and Jae-hyeok, walked into the Gwangtonggwan building, the headquarters of the Jongno branch of the Woori bank. Built in 1909, the Gwangtonggwan was, according to online sources, the oldest continuously operating bank building in Korea; it was their best bet for possibly finding an old safe deposit box.

A quiet, yet efficient attendant showed them to a sleek private banking suite where they were offered comfortable seats and refreshments while they were waiting for the branch manager to finish her meeting.

The manager, Mrs. Park, was like everything in the building. Polished, elegant yet unassuming, polite and efficient.

“How may I help you, gentlemen?” she asked warmly.

Heon pulled the piece of hanji with the bank name and number on it out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He placed it on the table and pushed it slightly toward her, fingers firmly on the paper.

Despite the polish, she couldn’t hide the widening of her eyes or the quick intake of breath as she read it. The placid facade was quickly back, though, as she leaned back in the chair, cleared her throat, and looked at him.

“The Daehan Cheon-il Bank no longer exists,” she said evenly.

“It is one of your bank’s predecessors,” he replied as evenly as she had. “Does this old vault or deposit box still exist?”

She smiled. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but without any proof of ownership, I cannot disclose any informa—”

She choked on the rest as Heon pulled the skeleton key out of its burlap satchel, holding it by the bit, the dragon-engraved medallion in the bow clearly visible. “Will this do?”

“I think it might,” Steve muttered, and quickly poured the woman a glass of water. She was starting to turn purple.

Park Han-na, Jongno branch manager, could hardly believe it. She couldn’t believe that she just might be the one to release the contents of the famed, almost fabled, deposit box number 1. Opened the very day the bank started operating, on January 30, 1899, it had been shrouded in mystery, more myth and legend than reality, for over a century. The conditions for the contents to be accessed were at first written in a flowing hanja cursive on a sealed piece of hanji that was still safely stored in the bank’s headquarters. Just in case a hard copy would ever be needed.

These conditions and additional instructions had long ago been transcribed, first in Hangul, then on different storing devices throughout the past century, and were now stored on the bank’s secure server, protected by layers of encryption.

Not that Park Han-na needed to read the conditions; she knew them by heart. Every branch manager before her, and there’d been many, had memorized them. It wouldn’t do to rush to a filing cabinet, and later a computer, if one day someone appeared with the key.

The key.

Park Han-na still couldn’t truly grasp the fact the key had actually appeared. That it was actually real, something tangible. The intricate, interviewing floral motif on the bow surrounding the dragon medallion had become a legend itself, described in detail on the yellowed piece of hanji, illustrated with precise, gentle strokes that made it appear both ethereal and realistic.

Following the instructions, she led the owner of the key, a dark-haired young man with old-soul eyes and the posture and features of a king—listen to her, it must be the excitement of the day—into the vault buried deep beneath the building. Way back, beyond the newer sections of safety deposit boxes and personal safes, was the historical area. Though the sections looked identical, thanks to the refurbishment a couple of decades ago, the numbers told a different story. Here was the section from 1 to 100, though only the deposit box numbered 1 was still in use.

She walked to the cupboard-sized door, took a small brass key out of her pocket—the key the young man had didn’t open the box itself, but what was inside it—and, taking a deep, calming breath, inserted it into the tiny lock on the door. The lock gave with a distinct click, the door opening on well-oiled hinges. This was the Woori Bank after all.

Park Han-na reached inside the safety deposit box with both hands, pulled the metal chest to the edge of the opening, and, bracing herself, lifted. She would’ve fallen on her backside if the young man hadn’t steadied her, taking the chest effortlessly from her hands, barely registering the weight, and placing it on the table in the middle of the room.

“Thank you,” she murmured, adjusted the jacket of her pantsuit, and indicated the chest. It was a heavy, iron-bound coffer forged from dark, weathered steel, its surface embossed with a sprawling dragon motif, the sinuous body of the beast coiled around the entire chest, the scales rendered in meticulous relief. The hinges were in the form of five dragon talons, massive claws clutching the lid as if protecting it, the latch fashioned into a dragon’s open jaws, the teeth interlocked. The keyhole wasn’t readily visible, expertly hidden in the dragon’s throat.

Let’s see. “Go ahead.”

The young man smiled slightly, looking at the chest as if he knew its secrets, then stepped forward, leaned closer, and angled his ornate key into the keyhole as if he had known exactly where it was hidden. The key turned, the lock clicked, and Han-na murmured her excuses, leaving him alone. She had a job to do. And it would take a while.

The key and the chest must have been the work of Jang Chun-saeng. Heon knew of no other with such skill. Who else would have been able to create a pressure cooker for Ji-young a good hundred years before it was supposedly invented? And he knew of no other who would use a dragon motif for a chest obviously meant for him, a dethroned king.

Heon shook his head and slowly lifted the lid. It lifted with a creak, revealing a few pieces of gold and silver and a mound of ornately carved imperial jade lying on the velvet the interior of the chest was lined with.

He expected something similar. A small stash that could be sold rather quickly, with the jade fetching a generous sum thanks to its vibrant, vivid green betraying its high quality. What he didn’t expect was the rolled hanji tucked between the side of the chest and the stash of valuables.

He unrolled it, and the breath caught in his throat as he read the first word, written in flourished hanja.

Brother

Impossible. Did Jinmyeong leave him the chest?

I might have been too little to understand it all, but I saw Jesan Daegun’s face change when Mother tried to postpone my coronation. I remember how the supposedly treasonous remnants of the Urimwi stormed and reclaimed the palace. How your loyal Commander protected me and Mother in the following months and years.

When I was of age, he and the members of Suragan told me what really happened in the Gapshin Purge, but by then it was already too late for the records to change.

I truly hope what the maid said was true and the royal chief cook was indeed from the future. I hope you have indeed followed her there, and I hope you have found the peace and understanding she so obviously could offer you.

I hope this small token of my gratitude and brotherly love serves you well. I shall decree that all my descendants continue to add to the fund.

I wish you and the chief royal cook a lifetime of happiness.

Your brother, Jinmyeong

To think that his little half-brother, whom he never really paid any particular attention to, would go to the trouble of leaving him a small stash of valuables and a personal letter.

Heon felt a tear, regret for what could have been, slide down his cheek as he replaced the note in the chest and hefted it into his arms. As he was about to call out for the woman who brought him underground, a male bank employee silently appeared to escort him out of the vault.

Steve and Jae-hyeok jumped to their feet when he re-entered the private suite, bearing the chest.

“So it was really a treasure hunt,” Jae-hyeok muttered, eyeing the chest warily, as if the decorative dragon might awaken and fry him on the spot.

Steve had no such compunctions. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he lifted the lid and frowned. “Not much of a treasure, though the jade will probably be worth a fortune.” He touched the rolled note. “May I?” After Heon’s nod, he unfolded it, read it, and looked at him with sorrowful eyes. “That sure is something.”

Heon was yet unable to form words, his insides still in turmoil, so he just nodded again.

Jae-hyeok read the note over Steve’s shoulder and tsked. “Looks like the descendants were cheapskates, though.”

“Gentlemen.” The manager reappeared, carrying an archive box. She placed it on the desk and sat behind the little computer. “The key has been successfully presented and used as per the conditions of release. I will only need an identity document of the gentleman to transfer the ownership of the account and other assets.”

“Account?” Jae-hyeok asked.

“Other assets?” Steve parroted. “Isn’t that,” he indicated the chest, “it?”

Mrs. Park looked at him with something akin to pity. “The chest is the physical contents of the safety deposit box that couldn’t be liquidated when the bank was established, since it was locked.” She pulled a folder out of the archive box. “The gemstones, silver, gold, and jade also presented alongside the chest were sold at market value and thus liquidated, and alongside the moneys also presented, deposited into a bank account. Per the conditions of the trust, the bank had, during the past century or so, invested in stocks and bonds. You will, of course, be given a digital copy of the entire portfolio, but the hard copies are in this box.”

“May I?” Steve asked.

Mrs. Park looked at Heon, who just nodded. “He is my financial advisor.”

She handed Steve the folder she was holding. He quickly leafed through it, his eyes bulging. “Holy crap!”

“I take back the cheapskates comment,” Jae-hyeok chipped in.

“There is also a nicely diversified portfolio of real estate,” Mrs. Park added. “The transference of which will take a little longer, though.” She smiled at Heon. “For now, your ID, please. And a signature.”