The Suite Room

Dae-hoon called.

— How's the Philippines treating you?

"Great. It's fucking peaceful without you here."

— You know, lately I've picked up this weird habit of talking funny without realizing it. I think I got it from you.

"You learned from the best. That's the Seoul National University method. Engrave it into your soul and it'll do you wonders. So write it down, read it, and memorize it. That's the only way."

— Heh. You crazy bastard.

"How's Gunsan running?"

— Great. It's running fucking well without you here.

"Oh, really? Well, I can't just sit back and let that happen. Maybe I should fly over and stir up some trouble."

— Come on over, then. Stir up all the trouble you want. Honestly, I'd love to see it.

"Cut the crap. Anyway, what's up?"

— Just a progress report, I guess.

"Why bother reporting that to me? You can handle it on your own."

— Aren't you our spiritual anchor? The guys and I... we all feel like we want to rely on you. And we're grateful. So just shut up and listen.

"I'd rather not... but fine, let's hear it."

— First off, we've completely ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠secured Gunsan. The cleanup of the local crews is finished.

"Oh, that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was faster than I expected. I thought it would take some time."

— We've got deep pockets now, and since we run a clean ship, the guys didn't hesitate to jump over to our side. As for those old relics from the Geumho-pa who did nothing but drain our funds, we politely suggested they retire.

"Efficient."

— Right now, we're expanding our territory into Jeonju. With money and manpower on our side, we're moving at full throttle.

"Be careful. That's exactly when accidents happen. People don't get into car crashes when they're bad drivers because they're always on edge. But once they've been driving for a year or two, they start thinking, 'Hey, am I actually a pro?' They slam on the gas, and boom—they're gone."

— Got it. I'll be careful. But hey...

"Yeah?"

— That online gambling site. The revenue seems... a bit off.

"What about it?"

— The numbers are insane. It's actually getting scary.

"Is that so?"

I had told Dae-hoon I was delegating the management to him, but in my mind, I had completely handed it over. That was why I hadn't paid much attention to it. General Manager Nam Yong-woo had offered to give me a financial report, but I had told him to just report directly to Dae-hoon. But the revenue was too high?

It was true that Dae-hoon had put a lot of effort into promoting the site. He placed banners on various websites, ran promotions, and even visited PC bangs to create desktop shortcuts to drive traffic. He sent out spam texts and advertised in sports streaming chatrooms, social media, and various online communities. He gave out free points to new sign-ups and heavily promoted the fact that they could withdraw their winnings instantly.

What Dae-hoon wanted was for me to look into it because the site was growing too fast. He felt we needed to take some kind of action.

"Boss, here are the settlement details for this month."

General Manager Nam Yong-woo, the man who had built the gambling site, brought in the financial statement.

"Hmm... Is this correct?"

"Yes, sir. It is. I double-checked the numbers several times myself."

The net profit written on the financial report General Manager Nam Yong-woo brought was 7 billion won.

Given the nature of online gambling sites, once you get past the initial development costs, there aren't many expenses other than server maintenance, electricity, and General Manager Nam's salary. So even if almost all of the revenue could be pocketed as net profit, this was still absurd. And the site had only been open for a short while.

"This is strange. Why is the revenue growing like this?"

"I've built several gambling sites in my career, but I've never seen anything like this."

"Really?"

"If I had to point to a reason, I believe it's because of the high winning odds."

"Why would that be? If the odds are high and they win money, shouldn't they just leave? They should cash out their profits."

"But isn't that exactly what gamblers can't do? On top of that, because this site gives them a genuine hope of winning, they can't bring themselves to leave and just keep lingering. Our average Dwell Time is three hours and forty minutes, which is exceptionally long compared to other sites."

"So, to summarize... because we let them win, they keep gambling until they lose all that money, and then they even top up their accounts and only leave once they've lost everything again?"

"Exactly. The issue is that because they keep winning along the way, they get hooked on the dopamine rush and just can't stop."

How frustrating. I had only set up this site to give Dae-hoon, who was struggling for cash, a way to make some pocket money. But I didn't want to treat everyone who visited the site like suckers and rip them off. That was why I had told him not to rig the odds. In fact, I had asked him to raise them slightly. Those with skill would win, and those without would lose. That was just the natural order of things. The winners would cash out their profits and leave, while the losers would accept their losses and wash their hands of it. And since people would spend a lot of time on the site, I could run some ads to keep the site running comfortably. That was the picture I had in mind.

How nice would that be? Everyone would be happy.

But things weren't going according to plan. What was the problem?

Was it the sign-up points given to every new user?

Dae-hoon had insisted on giving points to every single new member. For example, say you go to a casino in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Las Vegas. Even if you don't know how to play poker, baccarat, blackjack, or roulette, you'd at least want to pull the lever on a slot machine. Even if you just went for fun, you'd have to try it once. Our site was the same. Since they visited, they should be able to play a simple game. We couldn't just let them look around and leave immediately. The sign-up points were meant to let them try it out without any pressure.

The problem was that they actually won money with those points. If you win, you should take your profits and leave. Why the hell are you keeping at it until you lose every single cent? Why do you keep raising your bets? And if you lose your money, you should just walk away. Why do you keep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠topping up your account?

Of course, since losing money hurts, we did give them a little pocket change to buy a warm bowl of soup—under the name of payback. Then you should take that money and actually go buy some soup! Why are you using that to gamble again? It was driving me crazy.

That was why both the deposit amounts and the Dwell Time were skyrocketing.

But I didn't want to lower the odds again. Surely, some people would eventually cash out and leave. For now, all I could do was watch.

"I understand for now. Let me know if anything else comes up, and keep sending me weekly reports."

"Understood, sir. And..."

"Is there something else?"

"The withdrawal amounts are getting quite large. If the sums get too big, it might trigger a financial audit. I think we need to prepare for this."

According to General Manager Nam, while users did stay on the site for a long time, some did occasionally withdraw their funds midway through. For instance, someone might start with 200,000 won, win up to 500,000 won, and then, when they're down to their last 100,000 won, request a withdrawal just to salvage whatever is left. He also mentioned that many people requested withdrawals simply as a test to see if the site actually paid out. It wasn't so much that the individual amounts were too large, but rather that the sheer number of users was growing exponentially. Even if the percentage of people who withdrew midway was low, the sheer frequency of those transactions was starting to become a bit of a burden. Especially in South Korea, where the financial tracking systems are incredibly advanced, making it very easy to get caught.

"Is there no way around it?"

"Usually, having a physical casino makes money laundering much easier. Otherwise, we'd have to set up a few shell companies in tax havens and keep cycling the money through them until it comes out clean."

"Hmm... What about cryptocurrency?"

"What do you mean by cryptocurrency, sir?"

"What if we create our own coin and pay out the withdrawals in that cryptocurrency? The customers get their coins, and we can obscure the transactions."

"Would the users accept that? I'm a bit concerned."

"If we peg the coin 1:1 to the US dollar, wouldn't that ease their anxiety? Since they can cash it out at any time."

"I'll have to give that some thought."

"General Manager Nam, while we're on the subject, would it be difficult to build our own crypto exchange as well? Not so much for actual trading, but it would be perfect for laundering funds. Even if it's just a front."

"It probably won't be easy. Setting up a crypto exchange is quite difficult these days because the regulations have become so strict."

"Wouldn't it be easier if we headquartered it in a tax haven? We'd only need to trade our own coin anyway."

"I'll look into it."

"If it's too difficult, ask Patrick to introduce you to a lawyer."

"Yes, sir. I'll give him a call and look into both the coin and the exchange."

"If the technology to build one is too complicated, consider buying an existing one."

"I will keep that in mind as I investigate."

On my way home, Sandro stopped me.

"Hey, Boss. Heading home?"

"Yeah. I need to get some rest. I'm exhausted."

"Are you still living in that house? The one you got when you first came to the Philippines?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Come on, you're the CEO of the biggest tour company in Bohol. How can you still be living in such a shabby place? Why don't you move?"

"Move? No, I haven't even thought about it. I'm perfectly content with where I am."

"Oh, Boss. You can't be so selfishly frugal."

"Huh? What do you mean by that?"

"What do I mean? Exactly what I said. You're being selfish. If you make money, you have to spend it. If you just hoard it all and keep it locked away, how are the people of Bohol supposed to survive? All the money is being sucked into your pockets. If you don't release it, how can anyone else make a living? Haven't you heard of the trickle-down effect?"

Trickle-down effect? What kind of outdated theory was he spouting? It had already been thoroughly proven that trickle-down economics didn't work.

"So you're saying I need to spend some money?"

"Yes. Of course, I admit you're already doing a lot by paying the staff, running the tours, and booking plenty of accommodations. But you're still eating cup ramen and sleeping in a single cramped room. Because of that, your subordinates can't even enjoy a decent meal outside."

"Why not?"

"I mean, if the boss of the organization is eating cup ramen every day, how can the employees comfortably go out and enjoy a lavish dinner?"

I wondered what kind of nonsense he was going to spew, but it turned out Sandro just wanted me to enjoy life a little. I only lived like that because it was the most comfortable for me. I had never thought of it as being cheap, but now that I thought about it, I really hadn't spent much on myself. Maybe it was because I had spent my entire career in places like the military and private security, where everyone lived and worked together and everything was provided on-site. That lifestyle was just what I was used to.

Even here, I just ate the food provided by the tours, had cup ramen at home, and went to sleep. At most, I'd have a can of beer. Whenever we had a company dinner, I'd leave Sandro in charge and slip away early. I suppose Sandro felt a bit sorry for the way I lived.

"Fine, I'll move. I'll start looking for a place."

"No need to look. I've already cleared out the suite at Vicente Palace. Just move in there."

"No way. If I move in, the staff will feel uncomfortable around me. Besides, we should be booking guests in that room."

"The suite is usually empty anyway. You might as well use it."

"Why don't you use it, then?"

"I have my own house. It's much better than any suite."

"Hahaha. Fair point."

"So, it's settled. You're moving into the suite."

"Alright."

"Alex. I don't know what it is you're ultimately after, but wouldn't it be nice to share a little of what you have with the people around you? Whether that's sorrow or joy."

Three days after leaving Zamboanga, Dennis emailed me the inventory list of the armory.

It seemed he had decided not to betray me for now. But I didn't trust him. That was something that could change at any moment.

The weapons list was spectacular. I had expected as much, but it was even more impressive than I had imagined. I mean, even after stuffing my inventory with so many guns, there were still that many left?

I don't usually say things like this, but... thank you, Jericho. Seriously. I'll set up a memorial table for you next year.

Dennis had changed the master passcode to the warehouse. On my orders, of course. While 543987 was a number I was grateful for, I didn't particularly like it.

And he had hired the ten new employees I had requested. He said they were highly respected and exceptionally capable individuals within the organization. I didn't know if they actually possessed those skills, but I decided to place a little faith in Dennis, who had selected them.

Dennis told me that he had handled all the orders and shipments for the syndicate, while the late Jericho had managed everything related to the money. He sent me a set of guidelines, suggesting we continue that way, as it would allow everything to run smoothly even if we were far apart.

I swear, this guy was incredibly logical.

To reciprocate their goodwill, I set up a Zamboanga branch of Candy Tour for them. And, of course, I sent them the uniforms that everyone else envied. Along with that, I gave them some homework.

"We're a tour agency, after all, so we need actual tour packages. Find some scenic spots, decent locations, or places worth visiting in Zamboanga, and report back to me."

"Understood."

A few days after the Zamboanga branch opened, Jericho's messenger app chimed.