Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 105 : Who Is the Approving Signatory

September 3rd, 7:40 a.m. The smell of scallion oil drifted up the stairwell. Three things sat on the long table: the bankʼs eleven pages in a kraft paper envelope, three bundles of receipts bound with rubber bands, and the twenty-seven-square roster sandwiched between two pieces of stiff cardboard.

She checked the counts against the cover sheet one more time. Eleven pages, one hundred and five receipts, twenty-seven squares. Everything matched. She set the cover sheet on top.

”What about the bankʼs Document Receipt List?” He Xiufen came over from the stove holding a tea mug.

”Itʼs under the first of the eleven pages.” She opened the mouth of the canvas bag. ”The list is in front. Their signature is on it, noting the originals were not verified.”

”Right.” He Xiufen said. ”The originals are still sitting in their business repository. Those eleven pages in your hand are the record.”

”Iʼm bringing the separate ledger.”

”What do you need to bring that in for?”

”Thereʼll be a lot said in court. Iʼm afraid I wonʼt remember everything afterward.”

He Xiufen set the tea mug on the corner of the table. ”He wonʼt give you a name today. What you want is the square—which page, which column, which date. When a square lands in the hearing record, it holds up better than anything you jot down at home.”

She closed the separate ledger, walked to the metal cabinet, and pulled open the bottom drawer. The notebook lay on top of a kraft envelope, its spine facing down.

”This one stays here.”

”It belongs to the other case.” He Xiufen said.

[Thud. Today only one task: put one sentence into the record.]

7:50, downstairs. Tang Guo stood at the noodle shop entrance in a dark jacket with no pilling, her phone in her bag, the mount not clipped to the strap. Behind her, twenty people held ID cards in their hands, lined up like they were waiting to collect something.

”First three rows.” He Xiufen said. ”Once youʼre inside, phones off, hats off. If they ask which unit youʼre from, give your door number. Nothing else.”

Kong Xiulan stood in the second row, a crease in her sleeve she hadnʼt ironed flat. She pulled out a folded piece of paper, glanced at it, and stuffed it back into her pocket.

”You donʼt need paper to say a door number.” Shen Zhixia said.

”Iʼm afraid my mind will go blank.”

”Then just say two things: the signature isnʼt yours, and on April 19th you worked a full-day shift.”

Shi Lei didnʼt come. He Xiufen had told him to stay away from this building for the next two days. The Dongguan tenant whoʼd arrived at 4 a.m. stood at the back of the line, a plastic bag tied to his backpack with two steamed buns inside. He Xiufen told him to leave the buns on the noodle shop counter and pick them up on the way out.

9:00 sharp, Courtroom No. 3.

The presiding judge was in his fifties. Three judges on the panel, files stacked on the bench. The court clerk read the courtroom rules and verified appearances. On the plaintiffʼs side: her and He Xiufen. Two people sat on the defendantʼs bench: one from bank legal affairs, and one young lawyer sent by Hengzheng, who introduced himself by saying, ”Hengzheng Law Firm is handling this case; I am appearing today.” His surname was Luo.

That face was not behind the defendantʼs bench. She drew her gaze back and pushed the file envelope to the edge of the table.

Third Party Yin Jianping, duly summoned, did not appear.

”Today we conduct evidence exchange and cross-examination.” The presiding judge said. ”The plaintiffs present evidence first.”

She stood and opened the cover sheet, reading item by item: First, the eleven pages of transfer vouchers and approval sheets submitted by the defendant, including nine transfers with ”service fee” in the summary column. Second, three bundles of receipts from 105 households, totaling 2.52 million yuan. Third, the twenty-seven-household key handover roster, twenty-five squares with physical evidence. She sat back down.

Lawyer Luoʼs cross-examination was brisk: ”Items two and three concern dealings between tenants and companies outside this case, of no relevance to whether the defendant breached its entrusted payment obligations. Item one concerns account transactions between the defendant and outside companies. What the summary column says does not determine the nature of the transaction. When a bank processes entrusted payments, it conducts a formal review of the documents submitted by the client and has fulfilled its duty of review per contract.”

”One more word on the relevance of items two and three to this action.” The presiding judge said.

”The receipts are back-ends for tenants paying a full yearʼs rent in one go, and the money went into the outside companyʼs account. The roster is the list of houses theyʼre set to get back at monthʼs end.” She said. ”The money canʼt be recovered and the houses canʼt be recovered. Theyʼre two ends of the same chain.”

”The plaintiffʼs side is mixing losses and liability into one sentence.” Lawyer Luo said.

”Mixed or not, this court will sort it out itself.” The presiding judge said. ”Plaintiffʼs counsel, on page eleven—what exactly are you trying to prove? Be clear.”

She stood again: ”Those nine transfers on this page, July 21st through August 9th, went from two accounts—Minanli Property and Anyu Business—to Hongkun Investment, with three characters in the summary column: service fee. Those two account names appear in the payee column of the loan contracts of the eleven tenant plaintiffs in the first filing, and on the two lines of the defendantʼs self-inspection details. Same branch. Tenantsʼ money came in by contract, and a month later it went out as a service fee. And one more line on this page: the reserved phone number from page one—when you dial it, the answer at the other end is Hongkun Certification Department, please dial an extension.”

”Phone numbers are entered by the client at account opening.” Lawyer Luo said. ”The plaintiffʼs side is turning a phone number into speculation, then treating speculation as evidence.”

”The last page is clean too.” She said. ”Other pages have that half-line ʼverified against originalʼ and a square seal. The last page has neither.”

Lawyer Luo turned both pages over, then set them down: ”This copy was submitted by our side at the courtʼs request. If pages are missing seals or characters, the plaintiffʼs side may apply to access the originals.”

”Defense counsel.” The presiding judge looked up. ”This court has one question: are these two names the lessors for the eleven tenant plaintiffs in the first filing?”

Lawyer Luo paused: ”That depends on each householdʼs contract. It requires verification.”

”The verification result shall be submitted to this court in writing after the hearing.”

”Then a question for the defendant.” She looked at the defendantʼs bench. ”Whose account did the money go out of, and what line is the payee printed on?”

Lawyer Luo flipped through the stack in his hand and read out two account names and two account numbers: Minanli Property, Anyu Business. Payee: Jiangzhou Hongkun Investment Management Co., Ltd.

[Thud. One question, finished.]

He Xiufenʼs finger pressed her knee under the table. She sat down.

”Does the plaintiffʼs side have anything to add?” The presiding judge asked.

”One more date.” She said. ”The tax registration filing form was submitted on August 26th. These nine transfers—the earliest was July 21st.”

Lawyer Luo shifted: ”The filing form is the clientʼs own declaration and has nothing to do with the defendantʼs payment obligations.”

”Defense counsel.” The presiding judge said. ”When these nine transfers went out, which transaction document did your side review, and who was the counterparty on that document?”

Lawyer Luo paused for two seconds: ”That requires going back to verify.”

”Verify.” The presiding judge said. ”Record those words as well.”

[Thud. Not being able to answer is also an answer.]

The defendantʼs turn to present evidence. Lawyer Luo submitted eleven pages of original entrusted payment agreements, plus one approval record for entrusted payments—nine pages, submitted as photocopies—”the originals are bound into volumes in the business repository, and only one volume can be retrieved at a time.”

”If the defendant wants to check those 105 householdsʼ receipts, apply anytime.” He Xiufen spoke up, her voice low. ”Weʼll go house to house with you. Match every single one.”

Lawyer Luo glanced her way but didnʼt respond.

The presiding judge flipped to page three of the approval record and pointed at a column: ”Who is the handler?”

”Yin Jianping. Heʼs been transferred off the relationship manager post.”

”The top square—who is the approving signatory?”

”The branchʼs business seal is stamped over that square. Per our procedures, the responsible division head signs off.” Lawyer Luo said. ”The specific name requires verification.”

The presiding judge turned the page, then turned it back: ”This page is a photocopy. Does this square on the original look the same as this one?”

”The same.”

”That is to say, the original also doesnʼt show who signed this square.” The presiding judge said. ”This court orders your side to submit the original approval record within ten days. If the original truly cannot be submitted, provide a written statement on the name of the approving signatory and the time of approval, stamped with the unitʼs seal. If either is missing, it wonʼt count as submitted.”

”Originals are bound in the business repository. Retrieving them requires reporting to the branch—the timing may be—”

”Retrieval is your sideʼs job.” The presiding judge said. ”The deadline is ten days.”

[Thud. Ten days. September 13th.]

Someone in the first three rows let out a breath and was elbowed by the person next to them. The clerk looked up: ”No noise from the gallery.”

”Now statements from the plaintiffʼs side.” The presiding judge said. ”Kong Xiulan—the three characters ʼKong Xiulanʼ on the loan contract. Did you sign them?”

Kong Xiulan stood, gripping the edge of the table: ”I didnʼt sign them.”

”Where were you on April 19th?”

”Chengbei fresh produce store. Full-day shift. Clocked in at 7:40 a.m.”

After answering, she tilted her head toward Shen Zhixia. Shen Zhixia nodded. She sat down, both hands on her knees.

Record review. She walked to the clerkʼs side and lowered her voice: ”That last part, please write it in full: the defendant shall submit the original approval record within ten days, plus a written statement of the approving signatoryʼs name and approval time. The words ʼapproving signatoryʼs nameʼ—those five characters need to be in there.”

The clerk typed it: ”Itʼs in.”

10:40, court adjourned.

People hadnʼt dispersed in the hallway. Kong Xiulanʼs hands were shaking; it took her two tries to pull the paper from her pocket—the one with her door number on it. The Dongguan tenant adjusted his backpack and said heʼd take the evening bus back so he could make the night shift. Jiang Bo squeezed up to He Xiufen: ”Director He, will they actually give a name in ten days?”

”Whether they give it is their business.” He Xiufen said. ”Asking is ours.”

At the stairway corner, she heard the legal affairs officer beside Lawyer Luo murmur under his breath: ”That square on the original—weʼll need to check with the division head first.”

She didnʼt look back.

At the elevator, Lawyer Luo stood with his briefcase waiting. When he saw her, he switched the bag to his other hand: ”Shen, that sentence going into the record is still just one sentence.”

”Going in is enough.” She said. ”If anyone later says nobody ever asked, the record is there.”

Lawyer Luo nodded and stepped into the elevator.

Back in Old Town after one. Tang Guo waited at the noodle shop entrance. Sheʼd been off livestream for three days. She said people were still asking in the back when the judgment would come. She answered the way the group said to: the moneyʼs frozen in the account. Distribution only happens after judgment.

Upstairs, He Xiufen flipped the desk calendar and circled September 13th.

”Things in the record canʼt be overturned on appeal.” She said. ”In ten days he either submits the original or submits a piece of paper stating clearly who signed and on what day. If he dodges both, that sentence becomes his own words.”

”What if the judgment comes before the ten days are up?”

”Then itʼs still in the record.” He Xiufen flipped the calendar back to the 3rd. ”Whatever day it lands on, weʼll see.”

She sat at the long table, typing into her phone. The screen scrolled up to last nightʼs line. Her question still sat there, the space below it empty.

She sent a line: ”Approving signatoryʼs name. Ten days.”

Eight minutes later, a reply: ”Once itʼs on the record in court, thereʼs no taking it back.”

She copied that line onto the back of the receipt book, beneath the six characters: Money doesnʼt know roads; it knows people. After copying it, she cut a paper strip, wrote the 13th on it, and slipped it under the glass desk pad, next to ”Next Shift.”

Two strips of paper under the glass, corners pressed flat.

Ten days from now was September 13th. What day the judgment would come—no one had given a date yet.