01: Fortune Knocks

...Sham marriage (n.)...

...—A sham marriage, otherwise known as a marriage of convenience, is a marriage between two people for the sole intention of acquiring a benefit or advantage....

...There are two types of people in this world: morning people, and those who want to shoot morning people....

...______________...

Yohan falls firmly within the second category.

And the incessant, loud ringing of the doorbell does nothing to disprove that fact. Tossing in bed, Yohan groans, barely awake to register any coherent thought.

It’s probably the neighbors. Some deliveryman for the family with their three kids or Baekhyun two doors down.

Dingdingdingding—

Who the fuck orders things at this hour? It’s way too early—the sun’s still up, fuck's sake. Yohan wants to make full use of his snooze time as much as possible, thank you very much.

He shoves his head beneath his pillow to drown out the endless buzzing ricocheting off the walls like a loudhailer, waiting for the noise to cease.

But it doesn’t. It prattles on and on, not unlike the way his mother used to nag at him for shirking dishwashing duty back in high school.

Somewhere behind his closed eyes and at the back of his mind, Yohan wonders if the bell is actually ringing for him, but then he dismisses the thought as soon as it comes. Of course not. The last time he had friends over was... ah, right.

Never.

It’s definitely for the folks next door.

“Min Yohan-ssi?”

Or not.

Breath snagging, Yohan’s eyes crack opens. His first thought is: who?

And then: why?

Because let it be known that Min Yohan is not a person of parties. He’s not huge on inviting people to come within the range of his personal space, let alone his own damn living quarters, so who in the world could be looking for him—knowing his name, even—at hell o’clock in the morning?

He drags his feet from bed and trudges to the door, yawning while stretching, and when he peeks through the peephole, he finds a tall man clad in a suit standing on the other side. Like, an actual formal suit, with a tie and all, this early in the morning.

An insurance agent? If so, that’s fucked up. Just goes to show what next sales tactics these relentless white-collar workers are up to these days. They sure have a lot of nerve knocking from door-to-door now.

Yohan frowns and calls out, “What the hell do you want?”

A muffled voice from the other side of the door answers, “Hello! It would be better to explain face to face.”

“How do I know you’re not trying to break in and rob me?” Yohan slurs the question, still groggy.

A pause. “With all due respect—if that were the case, I wouldn’t bother to knock.”

Fair point. With a sigh, Yohan keys in his passcode and opens the door just a crack, barely enough for a gust of summer air to blow through, and his bleary eyes land on his uninvited guest’s face.

The man is as tall as a tree, one arm clutching a thick file of papers while the other hand holds a leather laptop bag. He smiles at Yohan and gives a small wave.

Yohan crinkles his nose. “So. How can I help you?”

“Hello,” says Mr. Suit Guy. “I’m Kim Daesung, your grandfather’s lawyer, and I’m here to discuss your assets.”

Yohan blinks. His grandfather? He’s never even met the old man, was never introduced to him. “My... assets?”

The man nods, moving forward to invite himself into Yohan’s flat. “Yes. If we could sit down—”

“I’m sorry but,” Yohan bars Daesung’s entry with a pale arm, “what is going on here, exactly?”

Daesung pauses, startled, then flashes him a look heavy with pity. “Min Yohan-ssi. I’m afraid your grandfather is dead.”

By all means, this is not how Yohan envisioned his Saturday morning would go.

He and Daesung are sitting across from each other at the dining table, and for the first fifteen minutes, his brain completely zones out, glossing through the details of whatever Daesung is rambling on about.

It’s too early in the morning and Yohan hasn’t ingested enough caffeine to spark his brain cells to life yet, because a typical weekend for him involves sleeping through breakfast and lunch and only waking up near dusk. He fights to keep his bleary eyes open as each unfamiliar term and law jargon coming from Daesung’s mouth zip right over his head, with the exception of the four words he’d said earlier—yourgrandfatherisdead—replaying in his mind over and over like a broken telecom message.

It’s surreal.

Yohan doesn’t quite know how to react to this shred of knowledge—grief seems too intimate of a word to feel for someone who’s been sorely absent from his life 99% of the time. He didn’t even know he had a grandparent who was, well... alive.

Well, not anymore, but you know.

So he ends up just sitting there listlessly, mouth parted and mind scrambling for a more appropriate response—what do you say to a member of the law enforcement society barging into your house at the asscrack of dawn, bearing news of the death of a long-lost grandfather?

It’s not until Daesung says something about a “will” and “10 million” and “inheritance”—in that order, respectively—that Yohan’s ears perk up and suddenly he forgets his quenching thirst for coffee because, come on: money? He can talk money.

“Wait,” Yohan interrupts, blood surging. “What did you just say?”

Daesung pauses and looks up from the sheaf of papers that have scattered across the dining table. “Um. That the funeral will take place three days from now, and will last a week—“

“No.” Yohan waves a hand in the air, mimicking a rewinding gesture. “Earlier, before that.”

“Ah. The late Yoon Janghyuk has stated in his final will that upon his death, his only grandson Min Yohan will be entitled to inherit 10 billion won in his name,” Daesung repeats in one breath.

Yohan inhales a staggering breath and sits back, mind racing to string sentences together. Blinking rapidly, he rests a palm across his forehead because—wow.

Whoa. Since when did he have a filthy rich grandfather? And why did his mother never make a single mention of her family background all throughout Yohan’s growing years? Seriously. A heads-up would’ve been nice.

“Did you just say ten billion?” Yohan says in a whoosh of a breath, feeling dizzy all of a sudden. He pinches the underside of his wrist to make sure he’s not having a fancy dream. Ten billion is enough to get him almost anything he wants. A lifetime’s worth of bills paid for. He could even move out, if he wants to.

Daesung nods. “Ten billion in assets, correct.”

Not million. It’s more than enough money to sustain him, more than enough to ensure he lives a comfortable life. Yohan’s eyes widen. “Um. Wow.”

The attorney clears his throat. “Now, as I was saying—“

“Could you tell me more about this particular inheritance,” Yohan can’t help himself from cutting in again. “And how one might go about, um, procuring it.”

Daesung must see right through his bullshit, because he sighs and unlatches his glasses from the bridge of his nose. Using the hem of his sleeve to wipe it clean, he asks in a plaintive tone, “Min Yohan-ssi, are you perhaps married?”

“To my job? Hell yeah.”

Daesung chuckles in wry amusement. “Then in that case I might as well say I am, too.”

Yohan’s brow creases and he sits forward. “I don’t follow.”

“Which is why if you would allow me to elaborate further, I would explain the terms of Yoon Janghyuk’s will—“

A loud crash steals their attention, followed by a hiss. Yohan turns to where his cat, a Scottish Fold named Madeleine, is stalking out of the bedroom and glaring daggers at the space where Daesung sits.

Daesung groans and buries his head in his hands. “Am I just long-winded, or do people not finish talking in this house?”

Yohan stands up and scoops the cat in his arms, stroking her ginger fur in an attempt to tamp down the aggression. “It’s okay,” he croons under his breath. “This man won’t harm me.”

On the contrary. Daesung is the surrogate key to his financial fulfillment.

“As I was saying.” Daesung adjusts the glasses back on his nose, and it glints from the late morning sun filtering in through the blinds. “From my observations, you are not married.”

Shrugging, Yohan says, “I don’t really see where you’re going with this...”

“Which means you won’t be able to claim your inheritance.”

Yohan stops short. “Why not?”

Daesung shuffles through his pile of paperwork until he finds the right sheet, and points to a paragraph. “It states here on clause three that…”

Yohan leans forward to read along, and his heart plummets.

^^^iii. Min Yohan shall inherit all aforementioned assets given the circumstances in which he is bound by legal and credible marriage.^^^

“What the fuck.”

There are moments in life where you look out the window and see a glorious landscape just beyond reach, only to stand up and find the door locked from the outside in.

This is one of them.

Yohan’s mouth hangs open, and he lets out a tiny disbelieving scoff. “You’re kidding me.”

Daesung’s apologetic smile tells him otherwise, and amidst the dread and dark panic twisting in his gut all Yohan musters is: “But why?”

“In his final months, your grandfather became a very... sentimental man,” says Daesung, lowering his gaze. “It’s not my place to assume his reasons, but I believe he sincerely wanted to ‘make up for all his mistakes’ throughout his lifetime. And that includes you and your family.”

Yohan’s mood dampens. He doesn’t want to steer the conversation in that direction. With a deep sigh, he asks, “So what happens next?"

“As Mr. Yoon’s representing attorney, it is within my power to safekeep the assets at least until you find a spouse,” Daesung replies. He purses his lips, pushing up the rim of his glasses. “But there’s this other clause...”

Yohan groans. “Another one?”

“It says that if you are not married within the year, the inheritance will be split among your other relatives.”

Horror curdles at the pit of Yoongi’s stomach. No. There is no way in hell he is letting that happen. He clenches his fists.

“So since you’re not married—“

“Yet.”

Namjoon raises his eyebrows. “Beg your pardon?”

“I said I’m not married,” Yoongi affirms dryly. “Not yet, at least.”

The attorney gives him a curious look, and something stubborn and resolute forms in Yoongi’s chest. Truth be told, he has no clue what he’s supposed to do from here onwards, but at that moment only one thing matters: he’s motherfucking rich now.

Sort of.

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