“Sign here, please.”
Robert, the Scott family’s legal adviser, said in a dry voice. A fountain pen was placed atop the documents.
Walter stared down at the desk for a moment.
His youth, when it had seemed he possessed the whole world, and the glory of the past brushed across the papers.
He had been a supernova in the world of mathematics.
At twenty-seven, before he had even received his doctorate, he won the Clay Research Award, and the following year he even took the SASTRA Ramanujan Prize, awarded only to those under thirty-two, for solving a difficult problem in number theory. The academic world was in a frenzy, calling him the second coming of Euler.
At the pinnacle of that brilliant era, Helena Scott appeared.
It was a party hosted by the Scott family, with its venerable history. Leaving countless suitors behind, she approached him as he stood blankly in a corner.
“I heard someone say that you might be the smartest man in his twenties in America.”
Walter raised his head and looked toward the voice.
Her enchanting blond hair shimmered like threads of gold beneath the chandelier light. Emerald-green eyes, small and charming red lips. The many distinguished guests gathered in the party hall were flaunting wealth and beauty, but Helena’s beauty did not lose the slightest bit of its radiance.
Walter barely collected himself before answering her.
“Who told you that? You should keep your distance from them. They must be a braggart. Elijah Kronen, who just turned twenty this year, is far better than I am.”
Helena’s eyes widened as if this were unexpected.
“Oh my! What a shame. I like intelligent people.”
Walter let out a small laugh.
“You may rest assured. Second or third place will belong to me.”
“I can’t tell whether you’re modest or arrogant.”
“You may think of it as both.”
Helena’s red lips curved into a captivating arc.
“Do you like to dance?”
The hand Helena offered him was cool and soft.
It was a dreamlike time. Helena would appear at Walter’s laboratory without warning and open expensive vintage wine, and he wrote embarrassing, childish letters for her.
She loved Walter’s intellect, and Walter indulged in the warmth of the dazzling world she brought with her. Even the condition that he take his wife’s family name if they married was, to him, no more than a trivial opportunity cost.
“...”
Walter gripped the fountain pen with trembling hands.
“As you have already read, the documents include a waiver of property division. Mrs. Scott has generously agreed to pay a certain amount of alimony, so you should have no difficulty making a living.”
The lawyer tapped the bundle of documents with his finger.
“You must return the Scott family name immediately. This also includes all research and copyrights produced over the past ten years with the family’s support.”
“...”
Walter looked up at him intently. Robert smiled with the distinctive smile of a lawyer and said,
“If you have any objections, you may stop here. But I would not recommend it. Miss Helena wishes for this procedure to be concluded as quietly as possible. If it goes to court, we will have no choice but to reveal that you privately misappropriated the family’s public funds.”
Walter let out an empty laugh.
The woman who had once praised and exalted his intellect so passionately was now not merely abandoning him, but trying to destroy him.
Scratch, scratch.
Walter Scott. No, the middle-aged man who no longer even had the right to use that name had to humiliatingly sign documents he did not wish to sign.
* * *
Walter Callaway.
The man who had once been a renowned professor, and Walter Scott, leaned weakly back in a wooden chair set out in the front yard.
This house was the only inheritance his parents had left him. When he had lived in the Scott family’s castle-like mansion, he had paid it no mind at all, but his reality was now so wretched that he felt fortunate simply to have somewhere to return to.
He stared blankly up at the sky, reflecting on what had gone wrong.
“The Riemann Hypothesis.”
No matter how many times he thought about it, the answer was the same. That difficult problem, to which he had clung in vain for twenty years, was the issue.
Number one in citations among papers related to the Riemann Hypothesis.
“If the Riemann Hypothesis is proven, it will be by Walter Scott.”
It was a saying that had circulated openly in academia.
In truth, he had published several papers evaluated as having drawn close to a proof, and the more he did, the higher his status rose.
Then Seoha appeared.
A young boy who had proven the four-color theorem. It happened when, at Kronen’s suggestion, Walter took on the task of verifying his proof. The boy grew at a terrifying pace. And five years later, in the end, he even conquered the Riemann Hypothesis.
‘Was leaving the university the problem?’
He had thought the proof was not far away.
Even lecture time felt like a waste, and he had not been sincere about teaching. When he heard that complaints from students were pouring in, he submitted his resignation without regret. His wife’s family was wealthy, and he himself lacked for nothing.
But looking back, it seemed that at every moment of choice, he had always made the worst move. If only he had remained at MIT and accepted Seoha as a member of his lab.
With his professorship, the problem he had clung to for decades, and his wealthy in-laws all gone, all that remained to him was one old house.
Every day, he came out into the garden and replayed his past life. What had ruined him, and why he had to grow old in such a shabby state.
Looking back, the most brilliant achievement he had accomplished was a single line of annotation in the references of Seoha’s paper on the Riemann Hypothesis.
7. Walter Scott
—A New Approach to the Distribution of Zeros of the Riemann Zeta Function
“Professor Walter Scott’s paper was a lighthouse that kept me from losing my way when I first studied the Riemann Hypothesis in high school. With gratitude to the professor for sharply pointing out the issues and limitations of the problem.”
Number seven among more than thirty references.
He laughed from sheer emptiness. Thinking he could not let it end like this, he tried to do something, anything, but no motivation came.
How did the devil know to appear at a human being’s weakest moment?
Creeeak—
With the creak of the iron gate, an unfamiliar shadow fell across the yard.
A man in his early forties. His attire was neat and unadorned, but his gaze was sharp. His straight back and angular posture made Walter think of a soldier.
“Professor Walter Scott?”
Walter grimaced as though he hated even hearing it.
“Callaway.”
The man smiled slyly.
“Ah! I forgot you were divorced. Now that you are no longer a Scott, what do you have left?”
“I do not know what you want, but I have nothing to give you, so please leave.”
Rustle.
Walter waved his hand as if annoyed, but the man paid no attention and sat down across the table from him.
After that, his memory was hazy.
The man proposed something, and Walter accepted it. He knew their purpose was evil, yet strangely, he felt no guilt at all. Walter later learned why.
‘What does it matter to me whether the world falls apart or not?’
In any case, he was in no state to do anything as a scholar.
The research he had done belonged to the Scott family, and he was too old to begin something new. Why had he, a once-promising genius, had to end up like this? He resented everything in the world.
The two papers the man had left behind.
Slide.
For the first time in a very long while, Walter reached out and read the print.
“One of our researchers says that if these two things are mixed properly, something absurd may come out of it. But he said there aren’t many mathematicians capable of doing it.
In my opinion, you might be able to. What do you think?”
“Why do you think I would do such a thing?”
The man suddenly leaned in and whispered softly into Walter’s ear.
“Money. I will give you enough to buy a family like the Scotts outright, in cash.
And you should be compensated for your losses as well. Do you not have a share in the proof of the Riemann Hypothesis? Are you going to let that brat Yu Seoha monopolize all the glory alone?”
Walter’s eyes wavered.
The nature of the negative emotion that had been eating away at him for months. The ego of a mathematician had instinctively prevented him from giving shape to that thought, but with a single sentence from the man, the dam collapsed.
It was a terrible sense of injustice.
Twenty years.
He had dedicated the prime of his life solely to the Riemann Hypothesis. It was obvious that the countless stepping stones he had discovered in the process had become the foundation for the actual proof.
“Seventh.”
A sense of deprivation that could never be filled by such empty formalities.
Therefore, there would be no problem using his theory. At the same time, he could return the pain of having one’s achievements used by another.
For the first time in years, his mind grew clear.
It felt as if he had returned to those days when he believed he could do anything. He threw himself madly into research. And the man’s words were true.
‘How many people in the world could see this connection? And how many could actually realize it?’
His collapsed self-esteem was filled again.
Walter realized that negative motivation possessed a far stronger power than pure desire. And also that he had more talent for destruction than for creation.
“You gave me only number seven, but I am not so shameless a man. So I will attach the two authors’ names to the algorithm as they are.”
It was the birth of the SS Algorithm.
* * *
FBI New York Field Office.
Bzzzt—
The fluorescent lights flickered.
The interrogation room was narrow. Gray walls and a steel table. Walter rested his hands on the cold metal and looked across from him.
“You expect us to believe you don’t know who’s behind this?”
Bang—
The agent slammed a file down on the desk in irritation.
But Walter did not move an inch.
“Ngh.”
Behind the one-way mirror, Miller grimaced.
It had already been two days since Walter was arrested, but the FBI had not obtained any meaningful clue regarding the force behind him.
The hackers were hired mercenaries. Even when they traced them back, all they found was a cell organization that could not be pursued any further. Their skill at erasing traces was no ordinary thing.
One agent looked at him and said,
“It doesn’t look like this will be easy. He says he’ll just die like this.”
Miller sighed.
“Is he saying it’s all over anyway? What do the profilers say?”
“They say he’s a typical intellectual-reward offender. He thinks our level is too low, so he can’t converse with us.”
“What if we have Juan try? He has a PhD in mathematics. Maybe they can communicate.”
The agent shook his head.
“He ran out in less than twenty minutes. They started talking about the algorithm, and his limits were exposed almost immediately.”
“Huh?”
The agent imitated Walter’s tone.
“This is something taught even in undergraduate courses. You were not a talented student, were you? I suppose that is why you are working in a place like this.”
Walter admitted that the SS Algorithm was his work, but he refused to say a single word about his motives or who was behind him.
Outside, the news that a terrorist organization had been rooted out had caused an uproar. Every media outlet had rushed in, speculating about who was behind it, and now they were blaming the FBI’s incompetence.
‘We need to throw them some kind of source.’
All sorts of agencies were demanding that Walter be handed over to them. Even the White House was applying pressure. Miller felt as if he were suffocating under it.
Just then, the sound of someone running came from outside.
Knock, knock!
“Come in.”
Juan, who had fled the interrogation room, entered hesitantly.
“Um, Director.”
“What is it?”
“Seoha asked me to deliver a message to you.”
Slide.
He handed Miller a note.
“There is something I want to confirm with Professor Walter. Please let me meet him.”
Letting a civilian meet a vicious criminal was normally out of the question. But it was a situation where, short of torture, there was no answer.
Before that, there was something he had to confirm first.
As if he had made up his mind, Miller opened the door to the interrogation room and went inside. Walter was staring down at his own fingertips with an indifferent expression.
“Walter.”
He raised his head. His eyes had given up on everything.
“Yu Seoha is coming to meet you now.”
“Ah...”
Fear, shame, bewilderment.
Along with that single cry, various emotions flashed through Walter’s eyes.
Miller was certain. From the very beginning, the only person capable of making him talk had been Seoha.