A Spoon in the Sure Thing

All the way from Park Jongin's annex, as I walked the garden, I was fixed on a single thought.

A business that cannot fail.

Park Jongin was not wrong. Every scene I had witnessed in my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠previous life was proof of it, and so I had settled on a simple conclusion. If success was already ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠guaranteed, I would not need anyone's help. Wholehearted support would be enough.

It was the right answer. It was. And yet the unease would not leave me — the feeling that I had dropped something important.

The answer, once I looked at it, was simple.

I know this is a hundred percent certain to succeed. So why shouldn't I set a spoon of my own on the table?

Honestly. A failure rate of zero. A sure rise the moment you bought in. And I was going to look the other way?

Why?

There was, admittedly, a part of me that flinched.

Aggro.

Yes. Get greedy, draw aggro, and the next thing you heard was management this and management that. God. That, in its own way, would be truly exhausting.

Mm.

My head was a knot, but a knot was exactly when you had to think simply. Deal with what stood in front of you, one piece at a time. For now the priority was flying to America and securing the picture.

How I'll spend the money... I can decide that afterward.

The conclusion reached, I lengthened my stride.

That night the chauffeur held out a large box.

"Young master, I've just come back from Gwangju. Three years' worth, at the least. I scraped together every record that mattered."

I had asked him that morning, and he was back before the day turned. He must have moved without a wasted minute.

"May I ask one more favor?"

"You have only to say it."

"Could you come to America with me?"

"When would that be?"

"Tomorrow."

"...Pardon?"

"The flight is tomorrow morning. The schedule's a bit tight, isn't it?"

A man with a wife and children could never have done it. For better or worse, the chauffeur was still single.

"You'd be taking on special duty, so of course there would be extra pay. I'm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not well versed in this sort of thing, but... would a bonus of one month's wages be all right?"

"Ah — no. Looking after you is my work, young master. There's no need for that."

"Come on. You won't even be able to clock out for days. Of course I should see you looked after."

"The thought alone is thanks enough..."

A thought does not fill a stomach. All of this was work we did so we could eat and live. Perhaps the meaning got through anyway. The chauffeur dipped his head.

"Thank you."

I answered with a bow just as deep, the comic kind that nearly shows your navel.

With that, the preparations were more or less finished. All that remained was to wait for tomorrow. I looked quietly out through a window thick with dark.

Meanwhile, in Park Yonghak's study.

"You're liquidatin' ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠your shares?"

"Yes."

Park Jongin answered Chairman Park without a flicker.

"You that bad at raisin' money?"

Jongin said nothing.

"Sell now and the loss'll be no small thing. Why force it through, swallowin' that?"

"It is an investment we absolutely need."

"Need? How many companies have gone belly-up investin' just because they needed to?"

"I am confident I can make it succeed."

"...Hah!"

The chairman pushed his reading glasses up, as if he had not expected that.

"What's gotten into you. Flashin' all that confidence."

"Electronics is my field. I take pride in having worked harder at it than any executive I know."

"You want me to trust your sweat?"

Again Jongin was silent.

"Naive talk."

"We have raised semiconductor specialists faster than any other company. All of it was for this day."

"That so? Enough that you'll sell your shares and pour the money in?"

"You cannot hope for a great result without taking the risk."

Park Yonghak looked straight at his son.

The third son, careful and then careful again. He thought well of that near-obsessive effort, but the same weight that kept the man in his seat had always made him slow to decide. And now look. As if to laugh in the face of every judgment that had come before, the man in front of him felt like someone else entirely. Inborn nature does not change so easily. For the moment, though, it was a change he rather liked. That much, at least, he could not deny.

Perhaps that was why. Park Yonghak took off his glasses as he spoke.

"Hold off on cleanin' up those shares."

"Sir?"

"A hole for money to come out of might open. Wait, is what I'm tellin' you."

"No. Even if you do not help me, Father..."

"Don't drink the kimchi broth before the rice is on the table! When did I say I'd help you with my money?"

Jongin only stared.

There's a kid who says he's goin' off to earn it. Might as well watch.

Park Yonghak swallowed the words circling in his mouth.

"Handin' over shares at a loss. You prepared five years, and you can't wait two weeks?"

"I understand."

"Go on."

A bow. A son who had resolved to invest in semiconductors even if it meant selling his shares. A grandson flying all the way to America to swallow the whole thing himself. They said the one who laughed at the end was the real one. Watching the moonlight on the window, Park Yonghak lifted the corner of his mouth, just a little.

The next morning a voice asked the cabin to fasten its seat belts.

"Please fasten your seat belt."

Counting my previous life, it was the first plane I had ever boarded. A body as small as mine would have been fine in economy, but I had booked business for the chauffeur's sake. For reasons I could not fathom, we had been upgraded to first class.

"It's a kind of custom. Businessmen tend to show one another these small courtesies."

What kind of businessman is an eleven-year-old...

"Thanks to you, young master, I get to taste every luxury."

The seats did look good.

I can read as much as I like.

Come to think of it, I had not read a book in ages. Nothing would hold still for my eyes — a side effect of business. I was about to start, even now.

"Young master, there's something I should show you."

The chauffeur drew an envelope from inside his coat.

"Professor Jo Sudeok sent a few photographs through the embassy."

The embassy was not a post office.

"A kind of custom, I'm told."

Custom again.

"Here they are."

"We'll be looking at them in a few hours. Why go to this trouble?"

"I know. He must have been in a hurry."

There really were photographs inside. The first three were the Dürer drawing, shot from different angles: a woman with a child in her arms.

Yes. Exactly as I saw it in the book.

A grin pulled at my mouth. The drawing's existence was confirmed. From here I only had to concentrate on securing it. I was turning the photographs, settling my resolve, when I stopped.

Hm? What's this?

An oil painting. The light was dim, and with no flash it was hard to make out the whole of the form. Even so, one thing came through clearly. This was no ordinary picture.

Jo Sudeok must have thought the same. The rest of the photographs were closer, more detailed shots of that work. Renaissance in manner: a portrait of an aristocratic man. The background had not been carried all the way out, so I took it for unfinished.

I was no art major, but I prided myself on knowing the world's famous works, more or less. I had read the thick histories of art as if I meant to recite them. And yet—

Mm.

I had never seen this one. An unfinished painting would have lodged even harder in the memory. If I had no recollection of it at all, the odds were high that it was not famous. Above all, around the time Dürer's last drawing later became known to the world, there had not been a single word about this picture. Had it mattered, there would have been some reaction.

So it wasn't such a great painting.

Ordinarily you resign yourself and move on. For some reason, though, the photograph kept catching at my eye. Was it the familiar manner? The style itself was certainly one I knew. It was a little much to say, but—

If I had to file it anywhere, it would be with Leonardo da Vinci.

And not for nothing. It was very like the Mona Lisa. The composition went without saying, and so did the way the sfumato lent the face its mystery. Besides, da Vinci was an artist who left few finished works behind. Let a commission come in and he was forever painting a while and then simply bolting. Thought of that way, even a background left unfinished made a kind of sense...

Enough of that!

Da Vinci? As if that could be.

If Dürer's last drawing had sold for twenty billion won, da Vinci's Salvator Mundi had recorded a full five hundred billion and risen as the most expensive painting in the world. The Saudi royal family's bold bet had played its part. Still, it was because the thing was a da Vinci that anyone had found the nerve to put up that kind of money.

And so what? I'm saying this picture is a da Vinci?

I was about to kill the fantasy and drag myself back to reality when I noticed it. Tucked between the photographs was a note from Jo Sudeok.

So wrote Jo Sudeok, professor at Seoul National University's College of Fine Arts. He might not have been an art historian, but the eye with which he looked at a work was beyond doubt.

For an instant my eyes went wide. Jo Sudeok's note had actually produced the name da Vinci.

I had seen nothing but a photograph. Jo Sudeok had stood before the work itself. If a man like that had thought of da Vinci—

Thump. Thump. A heart that had been perfectly steady began, slowly, to pound.

Calm down. If this really were a da Vinci, why had the world never heard of it? I tried to force myself cold. Meanwhile the other thought went tearing off.

Salvator Mundi went for five hundred billion! Shouldn't this bring half of that, at the very least? Unfinished or not, if it's actually a da Vinci...!

Damn it. And there my mind went, sprinting for the far horizon.

The state held for a long while after. I wanted to read, and the words would not go in. I thought I might as well sleep it off.

Thump! Thump!

Sleep was out of the question. The excitement simply went on.

After a fourteen-hour flight, Boston Logan International Airport.

I had not slept a wink. Why did I feel so sharp? With my papers in order, immigration was quickly done, and I hurried for the gate. Maybe it was how badly I wanted to see him — desperate, if I was allowed to call it that. Even in the press of people I picked Jo Sudeok out at once.

I ran until my eyebrows might have flown off. Jo Sudeok bent his knees to meet my eyes.

"You must be tired, coming all this..."

"I saw the photographs!"

I was in such a rush that the point jumped out ahead of the greeting. Oh — right. I was belatedly ducking my head when he spoke.

"Did you see my note as well?"

"Of course!"

Jo Sudeok answered at once, as if his mouth had been itching.

"I thought you would take an interest."

"Are you really certain it's da Vinci?"

"I am a painter, not an art historian. My opinion is of no great importance. Which is why..."

I waited.

"I have already been in touch with Oxford. They have the field of authentication well in hand. I have asked the British Academy as well, so once we cross-check, an answer should come quickly."

"Still — if you've commissioned both sides, doesn't that mean you're reasonably sure?"

At that, Jo Sudeok opened his mouth with care.

"It may be a copy made in imitation of da Vinci. Reach a certain level, and painting after something becomes quite easy. Copying the aura a work possesses, however, is impossible."

"You mean?"