Wun Jaeho called it a week later, almost to the hour.
I had not expected him to be so precise about it. But when Baek Soha appeared at the household gate on a Thursday morning with a document under her arm and the particular expression she wore when something had gone right, I understood that he had kept his word.
"He gave the statement," she said, before she had fully removed her coat.
Wei Zhengnan set down his pen. I looked up from the correspondence I had been drafting.
"Complete?" he asked.
"Complete." She placed the document on the desk. It was six pages, densely written in a careful bureaucratic hand, with dates and department references and the names of supervisors and the specific language of the closed inquiry. "He named the supervisor who told him to close the file. He detailed what he observed in the transfers. He provided dates, reference numbers, and his own recollection of conversations." She paused. "His lawyer helped him structure it well."
