Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 57 : In the Defendantʼs Seat

When Liao Hong pushed the first receipt form out from under the window, Luo Cheng wiped his hands on his pants first.

Printed across the top of the paper was a line: received on behalf of Ma Jianjun and the other parties in the labor dispute enforcement case against Hurricane Express Distribution Co., Ltd., payment in the amount of X yuan. The amount sat at the end, with two decimal places. After it were two blank columns—one for a signature, one for a thumbprint.

”Read it aloud before signing. Right thumb after the name.” Liao Hong flipped the ink pad over, red side up.

Luo Cheng read slowly. ”Seven hundred fifty-two.”

”Last time you said less than a thousand a person,” Lao Chang said, leaning over his shoulder. ”Whatʼs mine?”

”Eleven twenty-eight.” Liao Hong pushed the next one out. ”Twenty thousand came in. Enforcement fee off the top: four forty-six. Nineteen-five-fifty-four left, split per that twenty-line judgment ratio. Distribution plan was approved yesterday.”

Lao Chang grunted, signed his name, pressed his thumb down, lifted it to look, then pressed again.

Luo Cheng folded his in half, then craned over again. ”This paper only has the two words ʼreceivedʼ printed?”

”Just those two.” Liao Hong pulled the ink pad toward himself. ”One extra word, and Iʼm not stamping it.”

Luo Cheng didnʼt ask again, just tucked the slip into his pocket. The hallway was packed with a dozen or so people, hard hats stacked in a pile on the windowsill. Deng Wei stood at the end of the line, ticking off each person on his phone as they moved forward. Account numbers had been collected the week before, copied onto a sheet of grid paper, pressed under the case file by Liao Hongʼs hand.

Ma Jianjun was last. He didnʼt read the paper when it was handed over, just looked it up and down. He couldnʼt recognize every character, but he recognized the amount on the final line.

”Eleven twenty-eight for me.”

”The remaining nineteen-eight is secured through May 31,” she said.

He folded the paper into quarters, lined it up with the copy of the judgment in his padded jacket pocket, slid it back in, and pressed his palm flat over the outside.

”This afternoon I file with finance, bank disbursement, three to five days to your cards.” Liao Hong closed the file. ”Tell them to watch for the text message when it lands.”

”What if the second installment doesnʼt come?”

”Whatʼs been sent out wonʼt come back. The rest, we file to resume enforcement the same way.” He pulled a slip of paper from the edge of the file. ”May 12, nine-thirty in the morning, Third Courtroom, Civil Trial Division. The summons went out the day before yesterday. Did you receive it?”

”I did.”

”This case,” he clicked the pen cap down, ”youʼre the defendant.”

She looked down at the slip. The case number was copied on it, and on the last line was the plaintiffʼs name: Wang Yuhai.

On the morning of May 12, in the corridor outside the Third Courtroom, He Xiufen spread a stack of materials across the windowsill and counted page by page.

”Corporate file from the registration authority, pulled by the court, stamped. Payment companyʼs reply letter, addressed to the court on the letterhead. Statement for account ending 6342—eighteen transactions, every one accounted for.” She flipped to the last page and pointed to three small lines at the bottom. ”The person who processed the license filing, the person who processed the merchant materials, the person who approved the server room cleanup work order—three different places, three names, one handwriting.”

”Enough?”

”Enough.” He Xiufen gathered the materials into a stack and tucked them under her arm. ”What heʼs fighting today isnʼt the money—itʼs the word ʼjoinder.ʼ The joinder goes away, that card has nothing to do with him, and this debt has nothing to do with him either.”

”The cardʼs still there. The moneyʼs still there.”

”It is. You just canʼt touch it.”

”Then let him do the talking first.” She took the stack from her. ”Whatever he says, Iʼll write it down.”

He Xiufen looked at her. ”One more thing. Today is at most a first-instance ruling. If he loses, he can appeal and drag it out another three months. May 31 doesnʼt wait for a judgment.”

The Third Courtroom wasnʼt large. Three people sat on the bench, the one in the middle surnamed Cheng. She sat in the defendantʼs seat, He Xiufen at her left—the power of attorney carried both their names, the letter from Zhengping Firm was stamped. On the plaintiffʼs side were Wang Yuhai and a young lawyer of short stature with gold-rimmed glasses. The Third Party placard stood in place, the chair beneath it empty. The gallery was more than half empty. Only one person sat in the last row by the door, with no materials in front of him.

Judge Cheng confirmed identities, announced the cause of action, and read the claims: to revoke the portion of the courtʼs ruling dated April 28 adding him as a judgment debtor, insofar as it concerned him personally.

The plaintiffʼs lawyer stated his case first. Three points. One: Wang Yuhai was merely the legal representative on the registration and a nominal shareholder; the companyʼs operations had nothing to do with him. Two: Hengtongʼs subscribed capital contribution period had not yet arrived; the contribution obligation had not matured, so it couldnʼt fall to the shareholder. Three: the companyʼs property was independent from personal property. The card ending in 6342 belonged to Wang Deshan personally, and the transactions on it had nothing to do with the plaintiff.

She opened her hardcover notebook.

”Point one: one-person company.” She held up the page from the corporate file. ”Hengtongʼs registered company type is a one-person limited liability company. At the April 28 hearing, the materials the court pulled from the business registry showed: on February 3, on the same day, the legal representative and the sole shareholder were both changed from Wang Yuhai to Wang Deshan. Transfer price: one yuan. The shareholder of a one-person company carries the burden of proving the companyʼs property is independent from his own. If he canʼt prove it, he bears joint liability for the companyʼs debts. So this point isnʼt for me to prove—I ask the court to order the plaintiff to produce evidence: Hengtongʼs accounting books for three years, audit reports, and the identity of the person in charge of finances.”

”Point two: capital contribution. Subscribed one million, paid in zero. Hengtong is already revoked, has no operations, no assets. The courtʼs investigation and control findings are a page of zeros. The company cannot pay its due debts and meets the conditions for bankruptcy but has not applied for bankruptcy—in that situation, the capital contribution accelerates to maturity. A late date written on paper doesnʼt stand up against a page of zeros.”

”Point three: commingling.” She laid three pages side by side on the table. ”Four companies, three registered addresses. Annual reports list zero employees. The settlement account for the merchant ID is a passbook in Wang Deshanʼs name, ending in 6342. On the fifth of every month, eleven-eight goes in. The next day, itʼs emptied. Not a cent left. The person who processed the license filing, the person who processed the merchant materials, the person who approved the server room cleanup work order—all three places carry the same three characters: Wang Yuhai. Same handwriting. The companyʼs pocket and his pocket are sewn together, and the stitching is on these three pages.”

The plaintiffʼs lawyer stood and adjusted his glasses.

”Presiding Judge, the three signatures the defendant has submitted only show that the writing habits are similar. They cannot prove they were written by the same person, much less that the plaintiff commingled personal and company property. The reply letter the defendant submitted only proves the registration status of the settlement account—whose name the account is registered in and whose money is in the account are two different things.”

”Theyʼre two different things,” she said. ”Which is why I donʼt look at the registration. I look at how the money moves. Eighteen deposits, the same day of the month, the same amount, every month. The moment it lands, itʼs gone. And the person withdrawing it arrives driving a minivan.”

He Xiufen spoke up then. ”Presiding Judge, Iʼll add one point. These three signatures arenʼt from one case—theyʼre from three places: one page in the business registry filing, one page in the payment companyʼs merchant records, one page from Yunfanʼs server room. Three places, three dates, the same handwriting. I ask the plaintiff to explain who signed them.”

The plaintiffʼs lawyer paused. ”Iʼll need to verify materials from the separate case.”

”The plaintiff will submit a written explanation as well,” Judge Cheng said, spinning his pen once. ”Defendant, does your side request handwriting analysis?”

”We do.” She said. ”But before that is done, Iʼd ask the court to note one thing: the Third Party, Wang Deshan, is illiterate. The three characters of his name on the shareholder resolution are printed, with a thumbprint. Which means the handwritten ʼWang Yuhaiʼ on these three pages can only have been signed by the plaintiff himself, or by someone he sent to sign his name. Either way, Iʼll accept it.”

No one on the plaintiffʼs side answered that.

”And one more thing.” She read from the page in her hand. ”On May 8, the plaintiff filed an enforcement objection with the Enforcement Bureau. On it, he wrote: the money in the card in Wang Deshanʼs name, ending in 6342, is his personal lawful income, and he requests that the freeze be lifted and the money returned to Wang Deshan. Today, in this courtroom, he says that card has nothing to do with him. Same person, same money, two stories. I have no objection to either one standing—I just ask the court to remember that both canʼt stand at the same time.”

”Claims in a separate case are confined to that case,” the plaintiffʼs lawyer said.

”The court notes these two statements,” Judge Cheng said, making a few notations in the record. ”The plaintiff has five days after the hearing to submit a written explanation.”

Judge Cheng set down his pen and turned a page. ”Third Party Wang Deshan has not appeared. Plaintiff, was he notified?”

”He was,” the plaintiffʼs lawyer said. ”The Third Party is elderly and illiterate. He doesnʼt understand the proceedings.”

She looked at the empty chair. She had started to say something—he didnʼt even know heʼd been added as a judgment debtor until someone mentioned it to him—but she thought better of it, held it back, and wrote a line in her notebook.

”Wang Yuhai.” Judge Cheng looked up. ”The court has three questions for you. Answer them yourself; do not have your lawyer answer for you. First: does Hengtong have independent accounting books?”

”I donʼt understand company matters.”

”Second: why does the settlement money from the merchant ID go into a passbook under Wang Deshanʼs name?”

”The card is his.”

”Third: whose money is that?”

Wang Yuhai straightened up a little, both hands planted on the table.

”Itʼs my own money.”

The courtroom went quiet for a moment.

”Your own money. So why is it kept under Wang Deshanʼs name?”

”My own money. Iʼll keep it under whoeverʼs name I want.”

[Thud. Remember the six words he just said.]

She looked up. The person in the back row by the door was still sitting there, one hand resting on his knee. It was Lu Jibai. Wang Yuhai half-turned, following her gaze for a second, then turned back. Judge Cheng struck the gavel.

”Todayʼs hearing is concluded. Judgment will be issued at a later date. Both sides have five days after the hearing to submit written statements.”

By a pillar near the lobby entrance, Lu Jibai stood with a paper cup of water on the windowsill beside him, unopened. The spectators had long gone. The only sound left in the corridor was the bailiff collecting the placards.

She came closer, and he handed her the cup.

”You sat through the whole morning,” she said, taking it.

”I stayed until it was done.”

”And now that itʼs done?”

”He still has a second move,” he said. ”Today you forced him to say the words ʼmy moneyʼ in open court. If he wants that money back, he has to get those words onto a piece of paper.”

”What kind of paper?”

”An IOU between two people. Simplest thing there is.” He paused. ”But it would need the three characters of Wang Deshanʼs name on it. And a thumbprint.”

[Thud. An IOU is easy to write. A thumbprint is harder to press.]

”He canʼt write.”

”Thatʼs why the thumbprint is someone elseʼs job.” He slid his hands into his pockets and walked toward the exit.

He Xiufen came out of the courtroom carrying the stack of materials. She nodded to Lu Jibai; he nodded back. Once heʼd gone through the glass doors, He Xiufen turned to her and hoisted her bag up onto her shoulder.

”That piece of paper heʼs going to wave in front of you—I have a pretty good idea what it looks like.”

”Tell me.”

”An IOU.”

He Xiufen said the two words and went down the steps, walking fast.

She stood there and finished the water. It was still warm. The rice jar in that room in Shiqiao Village surfaced in her mind again—an iron ladle pressed over the mouth, the passbook dug out of the rice. If that IOU really existed, that was where it would be found too.