American Dream
American Dream — Ruling and opposition parties concentrate their efforts in the capital region. The ruling party highlights its local candidates while struggling to placate those denied nominations. The opposition solidifies its base in key districts and launches outdoor campaigns. Election season had returned once again. The March election had been for selecting basic members of local councils, but this time voters would choose metropolitan councilors and provincial governors. It was peculiar that the local elections had been split rather than held together in March. Perhaps the authorities feared that citizens, still inexperienced with voting, would feel overwhelmed by too many ballots. More precisely, the sheer number of candidates made the process of selecting nominees extraordinarily difficult, forcing the split. After all, the March election had produced over four thousand winners, while this one would select only 866 officials. Whether parties fielded candidates nationwide or only in select regions, the task of screening countless applicants was daunting, especially in an era when computerization remained limited.
“Tch. They summon me to every event, yet no one ever asks about IT policy.” Yoo Jae-won grumbled as the election season returned. The commotion reached even Deokjin-ri and Yeoju. Loudspeakers were indispensable in Korean elections, and rival candidates seemed locked in a volume war, their amplified voices penetrating even tightly shut windows. His father, uncle, and even strangers seeking his favor visited the house. Shaking hands for votes was one thing, but showing up at someone’s home crossed the line of common sense. Promising lavish rewards upon election was clearly illegal. At first, Yoo Jae-won had taken an interest, viewing this as a meaningful first local election. The ruling party enjoyed overwhelming support, creating many intriguing developments. The belief that simply running under the ruling party banner guaranteed victory sparked chaos within the Democratic Liberal Party as everyone scrambled for nominations. Reports of massive bribes circulated daily, and even slander and violence surfaced. These people had no idea they needed to tread carefully at the height of their power. A fierce backlash was inevitable, yet they seemed oblivious. When the turmoil spilled beyond the television screen and reached his own doorstep, however, his interest evaporated. Why would anyone visit his house or his uncle’s when he held no nomination authority whatsoever? Most visitors arrived carrying gift baskets rather than simply paying respects. They probably assumed that because he was close enough to the president for a private audience, he could lend them support. They clearly did not know his character. When he reported them to the election commission, they fled in panic. After that incident, word apparently spread among the candidates, and no further visitors appeared. Yet Yoo Jae-won’s interest in the election had already vanished. He lacked voting rights anyway, and staring into the murky political fray would only frustrate him. Instead, he advanced his departure date for the United States. The election season was the primary reason, but the Microsoft asset due diligence had finally concluded as well. Given the company’s enormous scale, the process had taken nearly three months. Though many questions had arisen during that time, pressing matters had forced him to rely on summaries. Fortunately, most development projects had progressed smoothly and now awaited only field testing. The computerization consulting project he had impulsively launched for Yoo Kyung Foods had also reached the database setup stage and entered trial operation. Team Leader Lee Chan-soo was stationed at the Yoo Kyung Foods headquarters, resolving bugs and other issues, while Kim Taek-jun, newly recruited, had been assigned to inspect the franchise systems. When told to assemble a team for the consulting business, Lee Chan-soo had delivered an exceptional talent. Yoo Jae-won remembered meeting him at Jangchung Gymnasium and exchanging business cards, after which contact had ceased; he had assumed Kim Taek-jun was pursuing an independent path. After all, Kim Taek-jun was destined to build one of the world’s largest online game companies, both in Korea and globally. There was even mild concern that Yoo Jae-won might end up recruiting every notable figure in Korean IT. Still, he had no intention of clinging to anyone who wished to pursue their own path.
This trip to America would include taking the SAT and completing university admissions before returning, so the stay would be lengthy. His parents therefore planned to accompany him. They readily agreed, though his father would not board the plane immediately. Pressing matters at the ID Foundation and Yeoju Middle School required him to depart later. On June 14, Yoo Jae-won, his mother, and their attendants crossed the Pacific. The attendants were assigned business class while Yoo Jae-won and his mother took first class. He had wanted to upgrade everyone, but limited availability at booking time made it impossible. “When exactly did the Soviet Union collapse?” The in-flight newspaper carried a bold headline announcing Boris Yeltsin’s victory in the first round of the Russian presidential election. The first round? Reading further, he learned that Russia’s presidential election required two rounds. Consequently, both Russia and the Soviet Union still had Gorbachev as president. The term “Soviet Union” referred to the entire Soviet federation, including Russia and the other member republics. While it was natural for the Russian president to become the Soviet president, formal endorsement from the other republics was still required. Thus, although Yeltsin had won the first round of the Russian election, real power remained with Gorbachev. In any case, the Soviet collapse appeared to occur that winter, though the precise date remained hazy. At times like this, there was no need to strain his memory; consulting the Memory Palace would provide certainty. Wearing the provided eye mask, Yoo Jae-won closed his eyes as though sleeping and focused his mind to enter the Memory Palace. After several minutes of concentration, a magnificent and vast palace materialized in his mind. The Memory Palace stood exactly as he had completed it in his previous life. Its defining feature was the multitude of entrances. Yoo Jae-won opened the nearest door marked 1991 and stepped inside. Countless records from that year greeted him. Among them, he found the Soviet collapse dated December 26, 1991. Unlike German reunification, this event had not arrived suddenly. By 1991, the dissolution was already underway. Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia had secured their independence and were moving beyond Soviet influence. Conservative elements within the Soviet Communist Party fiercely opposed Gorbachev’s conciliatory stance toward the independence movements. In August, they staged a coup that failed due to lack of domestic and international support and popular resistance. Even so, Gorbachev’s authority was not restored. Power rapidly shifted to Yeltsin, who had led the resistance against the coup. Yeltsin then drove the final nail with the Belavezha Accords. Gorbachev resigned the presidency on December 25, and the following day Yeltsin assumed the Russian presidency and declared the dissolution of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. The collapse of a nation powerful enough to wage a Cold War with the United States sent shockwaves across the globe. “This is something I must intervene in.” The aftermath would be immense, and so would the scope for his involvement. Of course, immediate action was unnecessary. Full-scale intervention would likely begin the following year. For now, concentrating on business and stockpiling resources took priority. When it came to acquiring Soviet talent and technology, nothing was more reliable than dollars. Yoo Jae-won unfolded his master plan. It contained detailed instructions on how to intervene following the Soviet collapse. Korea had undergone considerable change, requiring numerous adjustments, but the international situation had unfolded without major deviations. Fortunately, little revision was needed on that front. Instead, memorizing long and complicated Soviet names—Andrei Sakharov, Vladimir Vekselberg, Eugene Kaspersky, and many others—proved somewhat taxing. There were simply so many names to remember. For the moment, Yoo Jae-won committed the names marked in red to memory. While he recited Soviet names within the Memory Palace, the aircraft flew smoothly and arrived in San Francisco precisely on schedule. The next day, Yoo Jae-won and Kim Dae-seok commuted to Silicon Valley. The company had sent a car and driver, allowing a comfortable journey from the hotel to the office. “It’s nice to see everyone gathered like this.” “Yes, sir! I’m glad to see you too, boss. Though it’s been a while—have you changed so much that I almost didn’t recognize you?” “Really? The last time we met was last winter. That’s only a few months ago.” “You’ve grown five or six centimeters taller—you must be around 174 cm now. Your shoulders have broadened as well, and you carry yourself with real vitality. You must have been training hard. Ah, and you’ve developed a few pimples. Compared to last year’s photos, the difference is striking.” True to his former detective background, Remington accurately catalogued every change in Yoo Jae-won. It was impossible to tell whether he was merely stating facts or offering praise. The others present nodded in agreement. If everyone said he had changed, then he had. Present at the meeting were not only ID Technology executives but also Vincent Greenhill of ID Investment and the elite analysis team assembled upon the investment firm’s official launch. The ID Investment personnel had flown from Manhattan to San Francisco to report on the American operations. “Well then, let’s begin. Who would like to go first?” At Yoo Jae-won’s question, Vincent Greenhill responded first. “I must apologize for the Microsoft asset due diligence taking longer than scheduled.” Vincent Greenhill opened with an apology. He had initially estimated two months, yet the work had stretched to nearly three. “It’s fine. Rushing the acquisition only to discover hidden liabilities later would have been far worse. In any case, what were the results?” What Yoo Jae-won most wanted to know was whether he had paid fair value for the $1.25 billion acquisition of Microsoft or had overpaid. Of course, measured against the future achievements of Microsoft, the price had been an absolute bargain. Yet the present-day valuation told a different story. Microsoft’s operational continuity had ended; only its legacy remained. “Fortunately, you were not overcharged.” In other words, the price had been slightly high. Yet this assessment stemmed from Vincent Greenhill’s extremely conservative valuation of Microsoft’s assets. Real estate holdings worldwide had been appraised at assessed values rather than actual transaction prices, and the value of patents and technology had been heavily discounted. The harshest deduction came from the Microsoft hardware division. Although Microsoft was known to the public solely as a software company, it had designed and sold keyboards, mice, and joysticks. Fortunately, it had not built its own factories and instead relied on OEM production, though the quality was respectable. The quality was so good that some had joked the company ought to rename itself Micro Hardware. Vincent Greenhill apparently viewed the hardware business as offering no synergy with ID Group’s portfolio and had assigned the lowest scores to related patents and personnel. During the due diligence, a somewhat sensitive issue had also surfaced.