The Media Storm
Yoo Jae-won spoke into the phone. “If anyone raises questions, just say we’ll make aggressive investments in the United States in various forms and increase employment.” The plan to expand investments through ID Investment had already been discussed with Choi Kang-wook. He was working hard to recruit specialists, though results had been slow so far. Once word of their victory in the WTI futures market spread, however, talent would flock to ID Investment.
“Hmm. Will they be satisfied with just the investments?” “They” likely referred to the conservative forces that guided American policy. Yoo Jae-won had already told Choi Kang-wook about his meeting with the president of the Heritage Foundation in the United States, which was why the chief of staff sounded concerned.
“Of course. Roughly five billion dollars from the profits after paying Korean taxes will go into the U.S. market.” Employment and investment. The biggest issues facing America right now were the war with Iraq. The United States was assembling a multinational force through the United Nations and had issued an ultimatum to Iraq: withdraw from Kuwait by January of next year or face a full-scale attack. Iraq, drunk on its recent victory, was largely ignoring the warning while the U.S. steadily prepared its offensive. Yet for America, the political stakes surrounding employment and investment were even greater than the war itself.
The bill for the extravagant 1980s had finally arrived. Economic growth was slowing and employment figures were worsening. President Bush had led the Gulf War to victory, but his failure on the economic front had cost him a second term. The next president would need to lift the IT sector to achieve a soft landing for an economy that had stagnated. An investment of five billion dollars would be a welcome development that even the United States could not refuse.
“Yes. With that amount, no one will be able to complain. Still, we should maximize the effect through aggressive media outreach.”
“That will require Vice President Remington’s help.”
“Yes. Vice President Remington, who has strong ties with the American press, seems like the right person for the job.”
After ending the call with Choi Kang-wook, Yoo Jae-won checked Remington’s status on ID Talk. Unfortunately, he was offline. It was already past quitting time, so Yoo Jae-won understood. Vincent Greenhill, who logged in even at dawn, was truly an unusual character. Meanwhile, Remington had been skillfully leading new product development at ID Technology while Yoo Jae-won focused on ID Investment from summer through late autumn. Remington had even overseen the final patch for Android Alpha, which Yoo Jae-won had barely touched, and user feedback had been excellent. With computer viruses running rampant, security had become a major concern, and the final patch had focused entirely on protection and privacy.
Remington was not a programmer himself, but his knowledge of IT was extensive. He also had a keen sense for what users found inconvenient and what they wanted, allowing him to deliver timely and appropriate patches. Development of the next version of ID Office was also proceeding smoothly. Lee Chan-soo was in overall charge, but Remington’s assistance had been invaluable. When Yoo Jae-won had needed to recruit programmers to Korea, the only two Americans willing to take the risk had been these two distinctive individuals. Korea had hosted the Olympics, yet many Americans still viewed it as a backward country at war. Once Remington took charge of recruitment, the number of applicants rose to five—two and a half times the original number.
“I’ll mention it tomorrow,” Yoo Jae-won said, deciding to discuss the media strategy the following day before turning to his own work. Both he and Choi Kang-wook had overlooked one crucial detail: Korean banks were still under heavy government control, with especially close ties between the banks and the ruling regime. The Export-Import Bank of Korea, in particular, functioned almost like a state-owned enterprise. The moment ID Investment’s settlement funds were deposited, the report would have reached the Ministry of Finance and Economy, the bank’s superior agency.
Around ten o’clock, the phone in Yoo Jae-won’s office began ringing nonstop. The phones at the Seoul office, already known to the media and partner companies, also lit up.
If you can’t avoid it, enjoy it. Notoriety wasn’t always a bad thing. Yoo Jae-won cursed the loose-lipped staff at the Export-Import Bank while making full use of the media attention. He explained the secret behind their enormous profits as computer analysis, much as he had once used the “goblin computer” to explain his sudden changes to his parents and relatives early in his regression. In the twenty-first century, keyword analysis was a standard technique. Yoo Jae-won possessed data on keywords from articles posted daily on Nextcom, clearly showing a gradual increase in terms related to the possibility of war. While the volume of data was insufficient to be called big data, it was undeniably modern keyword analysis. Using this method, he had predicted the likelihood of war between Iraq and Kuwait and, anticipating the resulting volatility in oil futures, had invested in WTI.
Readers were astonished. Among those surprised was none other than Jeon Myeong-heon, chairman of the Mirae Group. Among the calls flooding in for Yoo Jae-won since yesterday morning had been one from Chairman Jeon. Deeply involved with Iraq, Jeon Myeong-heon had been frantically managing the fallout from the outbreak of the Iraq-Kuwait war. Fortunately, the situation was not as dire as it could have been. The outstanding receivables from the Iraqi government had been substantial, but he had collected the money early by offering a steep discount. What remained uncollected had been sold at a bargain price to French and British firms with major operations in Iraq. Mirae Construction’s actions had disregarded Iraq’s creditworthiness, nearly destroying the relationships the group had painstakingly built with the Iraqi government. Yet Jeon Myeong-heon’s hatred of unpaid debts—and even greater aversion to bad debt—had driven him to push through regardless. There had been considerable grumbling both inside and outside the Mirae Group. Many suspected that the sudden, frantic collection of receivables signaled a major crisis within the group. Then Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait erupted, and the doubts instantly turned to praise.
Of course, Jeon Myeong-heon’s decision had been guided by advice Yoo Jae-won had given nearly two years earlier. It had not been specific, but Yoo Jae-won had warned that movements in the Middle East, particularly Iraq, looked dangerous and urged rapid collection of receivables. An ordinary person might have dismissed the advice, but Jeon Myeong-heon had taken it seriously. Thanks to that, while other Korean construction companies in Iraq were wailing, Mirae Construction could breathe a sigh of relief.
Once the company’s affairs were largely settled, Jeon Myeong-heon had been preparing to meet Yoo Jae-won again for an in-depth conversation when his intelligence department brought news of ID Investment’s massive windfall. While others scrambled to verify the story, Jeon Myeong-heon thought differently. “It sounds unbelievable, but if it’s that kid, it’s entirely possible!” He immediately arranged a meeting with Yoo Jae-won—not through a secretary, but by picking up the phone himself.
Yoo Jae-won’s line was already swamped, so the connection was not easy. After more than thirty minutes and multiple attempts, the call finally went through. Jeon Myeong-heon made no complaint about the difficulty. Instead, he offered congratulations on the investment success and extended an irresistible proposal, directly asking to meet. Thanks to that sincerity, Jeon Myeong-heon secured one of the two slots on Yoo Jae-won’s schedule for the following day. The remaining slot, naturally, belonged to the Blue House.
The next day.
“Honestly, this is ridiculous,” Yoo Jae-won muttered, shaking his head in the car heading to Seoul.
“It’s more than ridiculous—it’s like a war broke out,” Kim Dae-seok added from the driver’s seat.
He was right. This was no ordinary fuss; it was utter chaos. Public broadcasters were treating news of the Iraq War and the multinational force as minor items while ID Investment dominated the headlines. The reaction was incomprehensible. Even eighty-eight billion dollars amounted to only about 6.3 trillion won in Korean currency—roughly the scale of compensation payments for a new city development at the beginning of the year. It was remarkable that a company had earned such a fortune through financial products without building a single factory, and that a small investment bank called ID Investment had struck gold on Wall Street, the heart of global finance. Still, the frenzy felt excessive.
What bothered Yoo Jae-won most was the breach of the media’s unspoken rule. Until now, reporters had never come all the way to Deokjin-ri for an interview. When requests came in, he had responded by phone whenever possible, and for major events he had held grand interview sessions in Seoul. Yesterday, however, there had been no time to manage the situation. Reporters had thrown caution to the wind in pursuit of exclusive scoops. The Seoul branch had been swarmed early, followed by a raid on the Yeoju office. Eventually, they had even descended on Deokjin-ri. Fortunately, Kang Chan-ho, manager of the Yeoju office, had called to warn that reporters were heading to Deokjin-ri, allowing Yoo Jae-won, his family, and the extended family to avoid exposure.
“The Export-Import Bank! Those people are impossible to deal with,” Yoo Jae-won growled, grinding his teeth at the bank that had triggered the entire mess. He had chosen them as his primary bank for the convenience of overseas transactions, only to have his kindness repaid with betrayal. The moment he reached Seoul, he intended to withdraw every last dollar from the Export-Import Bank.
“Huh? Sir, I think we’re being followed.”
At Kim Dae-seok’s words, Yoo Jae-won turned his head. A car was slowly approaching the Granseur they were riding in. As it drew closer, the rear window slid down and something large and bulky emerged—a high-performance zoom lens.
“What the—!”
Paparazzi culture was still years away from arriving in Korea, yet thanks to Yoo Jae-won, who was always ahead of his time, it had appeared a full decade early. When Kim Dae-seok accelerated, the car with the lens matched their speed. And it was not the only one. Another vehicle behind them was also speeding up, zoom lens extended, closing in aggressively. Something about the situation felt deeply unsettling.