A Lucrative Gift and Poisoned Headlines
The presidential meeting had been postponed until tomorrow because of the New Frontier car accident, but the appointment with Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon proceeded as scheduled. The chairman had promised a worthwhile proposal, and Yoo Jae-won knew the man never spoke idly. That alone made the meeting irresistible.
“Even after that accident, you’re still talking business? You really have become a proper businessman.”
Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon pulled a single document from the stack of papers on the table and handed it to him. Jae-won accepted it, glanced at the cover page, and his eyes widened slightly. He immediately began reading the contents.
“Take it. It’s the Dogok-dong land we bet on. I’ll let it go for a bargain—only one billion won.”
One billion? The word “bargain” had been an understatement. Jae-won would have been grateful just to receive the land at any price, yet the chairman was truly offering it for a song. The Rodeo Street building and land Jae-won had previously purchased from him had cost over six billion won. The Dogok-dong plot was large enough to support an entire apartment building. Its location was excellent—close to major roads, near a subway station, and backed by the greenery of Dogok Park. It would make an ideal site for ID Technology’s headquarters or a business tower for leasing. Either way, it was a guaranteed winner.
“Are you sure it’s all right to sell it this cheaply?”
“Of course. Thanks to you, Mirae Construction recovered far more than this. I’d give it to you outright, but I know you’d refuse. I bought it for one billion won about ten years ago, so I’m simply passing it on at the same price.”
“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.”
At Jae-won’s reply, Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon smiled like a grandfather giving a gift to his favorite grandson. In truth, the chairman felt no regret over parting with the small plot. By quickly resolving Mirae Construction’s toxic Iraqi bonds, Jae-won had saved the company hundreds of billions of won. On top of that, the embezzlement committed by the trusted subordinate had been uncovered and recovered thanks to Jae-won’s efforts.
“And the proposal I wanted to make concerns a joint investment in Mirae Electronics.”
The name came out of nowhere. Mirae Electronics, founded in 1983, was a general electronics manufacturer producing televisions, VCRs, and cassette players, yet its performance had been lackluster. The domestic market was already dominated by the three giants—Ilseong, Geumseong, and Daeho—leaving little room for a latecomer like Mirae Electronics. It had become the problem child of the Mirae Group. Still, it could not be dismissed entirely. Since 1985 it had entered mass production of memory chips, and in 1986 it had established its own semiconductor research institute, pouring significant investment into memory semiconductors.
“Thanks to you, I’ve been studying the information and communications sector. I thought my support was adequate, but there are still many shortcomings. So this time I intend to make a large-scale investment.”
“A large-scale investment? In which area? Information and communications covers many fields.”
“Memory semiconductors.”
Jae-won’s expression brightened at the chairman’s answer. If any segment of the semiconductor market offered an opening for domestic players, it was memory chips. Non-memory semiconductors such as CPUs or ASICs required design capabilities that were still lacking. Memory semiconductors, however, had a relatively simple structure; with sufficient capital for equipment investment, they were worth pursuing.
“Looking at recent computer trends, everything is moving toward higher resolution and larger data capacity. Personal computers that once considered one megabyte luxurious now use two or four megabytes—because of those games.”
Surprisingly, the elderly chairman had a clear grasp of the computer market. High-resolution, high-capacity games had begun pouring out like a signal flare after Keyboard Warrior. Previously, computers lacked the power to handle high-resolution graphics, so developers paid little attention to visuals. But after Glide X appeared, followed by the 486, VGA, and SVGA, games using EGA or lower graphics were wiped out. Nowadays, 256-color VGA was the baseline, and AAA titles with massive development budgets supported SVGA as standard. Naturally, running such programs required far more memory, and users everywhere were upgrading. At the same time, the internet—represented by the WWW—was officially emerging, prompting companies to expand server capacity. Server computers demanded enormous storage and memory.
Mirae Electronics was locked in a price war with Ilseong Electronics, so even when it produced memory chips, it barely broke even. Yet several months ago the price of memory chips had begun to rise, and the company was now turning a respectable profit.
“Simple arithmetic suggests memory-chip demand will double or quadruple. Right now both we and Ilseong are producing 512K chips and splitting the demand. But if Mirae Electronics releases one-megabyte and two-megabyte chips, we could capture all the additional demand, couldn’t we?”
One characteristic of semiconductors is that higher integration brings faster speeds and greater processing power. As the chairman said, releasing one-megabyte chips first would allow them to seize the market instantly.
“Besides, when a new computer model comes out, almost every component has to be replaced. It’s a goldmine. So I plan to double the memory-chip production facilities. If you join this investment, I’ll grant you a corresponding stake in the Mirae Group itself.”
“Hah! Not Mirae Electronics, but the Mirae Group?”
The exclamation escaped him. Investing in Mirae Electronics should have meant receiving bonds or equity in the subsidiary. Yet the chairman had clearly said the Mirae Group. Controlling stakes in chaebols could not be bought with money alone. Korean conglomerates, lacking sufficient capital, maintained control through intricate webs of cross-shareholdings. Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon was no exception. Though his situation was better than Ilseong’s, he still dominated the entire Mirae Group through circular ownership.
“Why?”
Jae-won could not help asking. He knew the chairman liked him, but offering a stake in the group’s controlling interest was beyond anything he had imagined.
“Why? Don’t you want it?”
“N-no, it’s not that I don’t want it, but……”
Jae-won knew the future of the Mirae Group so well that he had no need to consult his Memory Palace. After the chairman’s passing, his inner circle and the heirs had caused major turmoil, and the group had been badly shaken during the foreign-exchange crisis. Under those circumstances, he could challenge the group’s control without even accepting the shares now.
“Because I trust your judgment.”
Judgment again?
“It’s known that Jae-gu has been chosen as the successor to the Mirae Group. Honestly, he’s not the son I hoped for. Since my eldest passed away, none of the others have satisfied me. Not only Jae-gu—every one of them has more ambition than ability.”
The chairman spoke of his own children as if they were strangers.
“At least Jae-gu, being the second son, had the best claim. That’s why I appointed him chairman of Mirae Construction. Even so, I can’t rest easy. That’s why I’m willing to trust your eye. You turn everything you touch into gold, like Midas.”
Jae-won wondered what kind of request required such a long preamble.
“If my foolish sons do something reckless later and the value of the Mirae Group falls, the value of the shares you hold will fall as well. You wouldn’t just sit by and watch, would you? So I’m asking you—do whatever you like with those shares, but please prevent the group from being torn apart.”
“Aren’t you being too pessimistic? A tiger begets a tiger.”
“Haha, I know my sons’ capabilities better than anyone. I’ve thought this over for a long time, so just this once, humor an old man.”
The responsibility was far heavier than expected. Jae-won could not fathom why the chairman trusted him with such a monumental task. From a cold perspective, the chairman might have already informed his sons, hoping they would band together against Jae-won. But would that work? Such arrangements usually invited betrayal.
“Understood. I will definitely participate in the Mirae Electronics investment. As for the group-level stake, I’ll need some time to consider.”
“Very well. But don’t keep an old man waiting too long.”
“Yes, sir.”
The meeting with Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon had once again proved fruitful. Jae-won had received a car and purchased prime Seoul real estate at a bargain price. In return, he would have to invest in Mirae Electronics, but with ample funds on hand, that posed no problem.
The next day, Jae-won paid a discreet visit to Cheong Wa Dae. Anyone who had only seen the media reports would still believe he was hospitalized at Seoul National University Hospital. Once again he was treated to an expensive meal. Nothing came free. He also filmed and photographed extensive material for a press release once the aftermath of the accident had settled. In addition, he carried a copy of the corporate-tax filing for ID Technology and ID Investment for 1990—approximately 2.2 billion dollars. Korea’s national budget that year had been 28 trillion won; adding the supplementary budget of roughly 2 trillion brought the total just over 30 trillion. At the current exchange rate of 720 won to the dollar, 2.2 billion dollars equaled about 1.5 trillion won—roughly one-twentieth of the entire national budget paid by Jae-won alone.
With the 1991 budget negotiations looming, tension was already rising in the National Assembly. Then this sudden windfall landed. Politicians scrambling for regional projects ahead of re-election would fight even more fiercely, while the president gained enormous leverage to mediate and extract concessions. When no one else was around, President Roh looked ready to carry Jae-won on his back. The forced merger of the three parties had produced all manner of side effects. Declaring war on crime and mobilizing the police had created a public-security atmosphere, yet its effectiveness had waned. Jae-won’s timely appearance eased the burden of governance considerably. The 2.2 billion dollars in foreign currency was like honey water after a long thirst. Thanks to it, the president had lashed out at the low-level reporters who caused the accident as if they had injured his own grandson. If Jae-won had demanded they be punished on the spot, the president might well have ordered the hospitalized reporters dragged in and dealt with. But Jae-won dissuaded him, preferring to handle his own revenge rather than delegate it.
Instead, President Roh arranged fundamental preventive measures. He personally instructed the police commissioner to assign bodyguards to Jae-won and his family at a level equivalent to the three highest-ranking officials. With the National Intelligence Service already untrustworthy, the police were hardly ideal, yet until Jae-won could assemble his own security team, there was no better option. He accepted the arrangement gratefully.
Several days had passed since the meetings with Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon and the Blue House. Back at home, Jae-won’s daily routine remained unchanged. As always, he rose at dawn, sat before his computer, and began the day by checking the American Nextcom news pages.
“Hmm. America is still quiet.”
The U.S. bulletin boards contained nothing unusual—mostly economic stories and Iraq War coverage, along with a few dry articles about ID Investment’s windfall. Switching to the Korean boards revealed the exact opposite atmosphere. The ID Investment craze was still in full swing. Korea was a country where the desire for money was as honest as its passion for education. Although ID Investment had never officially recruited individual investors, people somehow found their way to the office where Hwang Jae-hong worked, demanding to hand over their money. Among them were prominent local wealthy individuals and even elderly villagers who had sold their cattle. Naturally, rich businessmen and politicians also contacted them discreetly, expressing interest in investing. The news that ID Investment had struck it rich with oil futures on the New York Mercantile Exchange remained a top-priority breaking story.
Jae-won felt no urgency. Yet he could not allow the investment fever to be monopolized by the wrong people, so he was preparing products suitable for ordinary investors. At the same time, he had begun his revenge against the Export-Import Bank that had triggered the entire affair. He had sent formal notices to major banks stating that he was considering changing his primary bank and inviting them to submit interest rates and specialized services if interested. The Export-Import Bank, facing the loss of an 8.8-billion-dollar deposit, was reportedly in an uproar, but that was no longer Jae-won’s concern.
After finishing the Korean news, Jae-won moved to the free bulletin board and browsed the most recommended posts from overnight. They were far more readable than dry news articles. Naturally, a large portion of the posts concerned him and ID Investment. There were complaints—“I’m sick of hearing about Yoo Jae-won” or “Why does that kid get such special treatment? Just because he has money?”—and defensive replies—“Then go earn 8.8 billion dollars yourselves.” Of course, the bulletin board still observed PC-communication etiquette, so not a single actual curse word appeared in the posts. It only read that way to Jae-won.
> Boss, bad news.
Jae-won’s worries about America had apparently been an Indian rain dance. He had felt uneasy because there was no bad news; strangely, hearing that bad news had arrived from Remington brought a sense of relief.
“A very malicious article targeting ID Technology has been published.”
An article? The media was moving first? The message from Remington contained a link to a post number on the Nextcom news board. A single click took him straight to the article. As Jae-won began reading, his expression grew peculiar.
What on earth did “Holocaust” mean in this context? And what was phosgene? After a moment’s thought, Jae-won had a good idea. He immediately picked up the phone and dialed the direct line to the vice president of Sambo Computer.