The Chairman's Approach
The Esquires. But why was the list on page two? If it had been Choi Hyun-hee, his name should have stood alongside Jeon Myeong-heon’s. Instead, it had been placed at the very top of page two. There had to be a reason.
“It’s because Chairman Choi informed us he would not attend the event itself. He requested only a ten-minute meeting before the ceremony begins.”
As expected, Yoo Jae-won’s instincts had been correct. A meeting? Even Choi Hyun-hee could be brushed aside without consequence if Jae-won chose to do so. Still, curiosity stirred. What could the man possibly want to discuss?
The last time Choi Hyun-hee had summoned him, Jae-won had turned the car around midway—an act that had required considerable resolve. Yet afterward, Ilseong had made no overt moves against him. There had been no harassment, no blatant exclusion of ID Group. Ilseong had even purchased ID Technology’s operating system and office suite for its own computers. In terms of volume alone, the packages Ilseong Electronics bought far exceeded what Mirae Electronics had purchased. After all, Ilseong held the largest share of the finished-computer market in Korea. Second place had once belonged to Daeho Information & Communications, but Sambo Computer had recently overtaken them. Mirae, meanwhile, had slipped to fifth. In any case, relations with Ilseong remained strictly transactional—a business partnership born of necessity.
Then, out of nowhere, Chairman Choi Hyun-hee had reached out, requesting a meeting.
“It’s probably about the Busan Group matter, isn’t it?”
“I believe so. According to President Park, the Busan Group’s owner family—and Ilseong as well—are lobbying with everything they have to overturn the verdict.”
The person working hardest because of this affair was none other than Park Sang-kwon, the man who had acquired Busan Brewery. He stood to gain the most from the Busan Group owner’s downfall, and he was carrying out the necessary tasks with diligence. He had been combing through Busan Brewery’s accounting and management records in search of slush funds and illegal directives, meeting with witnesses, reassuring them, and countering pressure from the owner family. These activities lay outside ordinary management, and as a result he had been unable to oversee the expansion of the brewery’s production line or the installation of equipment imported directly from Germany. With Ilseong Group now intensifying its lobbying efforts, President Park’s personal time had grown even scarcer.
“Shall we refuse the meeting?”
At Choi Kang-wook’s question, Yoo Jae-won fell into brief contemplation. There was nothing he particularly needed to say, and the memory of their past enmity brought only negative feelings. Yet the man was a living legend of Korean business; part of him wanted to meet him face-to-face out of sheer curiosity. Then his eyes fell on the report in his hands: the ID Foundation donor ranking. If the first page listed the VIPs attending today’s event, the second page contained the names of those who had pledged large donations to the ID Foundation in conjunction with the launch of Kim & Jung Law Firm. He had stopped reading the moment he saw Choi Hyun-hee’s name at the top, but several other names overlapped with the VIP list. Jeon Myeong-heon of Mirae Group appeared near the top, as did Lee Yong-kwon of Sambo Computer. The notable difference was that the figure beside Choi Hyun-hee’s name carried one extra zero. Jeon Myeong-heon and Lee Yong-kwon had each pledged ten million won; Choi Hyun-hee had pledged a hundred million. In 1991, a hundred million won was equivalent to roughly six or seven hundred million won in early twenty-first-century value.
“Let’s meet him.”
It was not the money that had changed Jae-won’s mind. He simply wanted to hear what Choi Hyun-hee was willing to say after writing a check that large.
While they spoke, the car carrying Yoo Jae-won and his party arrived at the office in Seocho-dong, Seoul.
“Wow, it’s grown quite a bit.”
It was no longer merely an office—it could rightly be called a group headquarters building. ID Group’s scale had expanded enormously, and the Seocho-dong office under Choi Kang-wook’s leadership handled the entire conglomerate’s finances. The number of employees had grown accordingly. The monthly cash flow alone ran into the trillions; a handful of accounting staff could no longer manage it. Jae-won had been preoccupied with reorganizing the American operations and had left Seoul’s affairs in Choi Kang-wook’s hands. Choi had built the organization without personal favoritism, selecting personnel solely on efficiency and ability, and had nearly completed the headquarters structure. Nearly eighty people now worked full-time at the Seocho-dong headquarters. Where they had once occupied a single floor, they now filled an entire five-story building. Some had suggested purchasing the building outright, but the owner had no interest in selling. Jae-won himself had rejected the idea of buying a five-story building for headquarters use. ID Group’s expansion was only beginning, not ending. At the current pace, they would likely need a skyscraper with dozens of floors by the late 1990s. He had already secured land in Dogok-dong from Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon for that purpose; construction could begin whenever he wished. When the time came, Mirae Construction would naturally receive the contract—provided, of course, that Chairman Jeon was still alive.
Soon afterward, Choi Kang-wook brought two people before Jae-won.
“Good afternoon. I’m Cha Dong-gu, head of the finance team.”
“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Im Eun-kyung, head of the audit team.”
A man in his late forties with a distinctly Honam appearance and a woman in her early forties with a cool, sharp demeanor bowed toward Yoo Jae-won. These were the appointments Choi Kang-wook had worked hardest to secure. Cha Dong-gu was a CPA who had graduated from the University of Chicago and had previously handled finance at Korea Telecom—an executive far too senior for most companies, yet Choi Kang-wook’s network had brought him in. Chicago was the birthplace of the Chicago School, the vanguard of neoliberalism, which gave Jae-won slight reservations. Just as communism had proven illusory, neoliberalism was equally unworkable in reality; blind faith in it or reckless implementation of its policies would inevitably cause problems. Still, Cha Dong-gu would not be drafting policy—he would be organizing expenditures and revenues, preparing short- and long-term plans. His academic background was therefore not a major concern.
Im Eun-kyung was a former prosecutor turned lawyer, also connected through Choi Kang-wook. She was roughly four classes his senior at the Judicial Research and Training Institute. She had been a highly respected prosecutor—a rare achievement—and had even risen to the position of deputy chief prosecutor at a district office. For a woman to reach that rank in the notoriously male-dominated prosecution service spoke volumes about her ability. Both appointments had been driven by Choi Kang-wook, but the final approval had come from Yoo Jae-won. On paper he had known their credentials; seeing them in person was a first.
As with Cha Dong-gu, Jae-won harbored minor reservations about hiring Im Eun-kyung. The proportion of lawyers among ID Group’s executives was already high. Once the conglomerate grew to employ hundreds of thousands—perhaps over a million—people, they could form a powerful internal faction. Yet no background suited the audit division better than a former prosecutor’s. Moreover, Jae-won believed he could keep any factional issues in check during his lifetime, and he had other contingency plans in mind. So he had signed off on Im Eun-kyung’s hiring without hesitation.
“I’m truly delighted to meet you both in person. There are two things I can promise you. First, I will never issue any illegal or unjust directives. Second, you will be properly compensated for the effort you put in.”
At Yoo Jae-won’s words, both Cha Dong-gu and Im Eun-kyung’s expressions brightened noticeably.
The only remaining key position at Seoul headquarters was the head of strategic planning. Finding someone with sharp foresight and the ability to respond quickly in crises was proving difficult; more time would be needed.
After handling a few matters at the Seoul headquarters, Yoo Jae-won returned to his hometown. Even at home, rest proved elusive. The comfort lasted only moments before calls began pouring in from every direction—mostly reporters. Eventually he unplugged the phone and took a walk around the neighborhood. He stopped by his relatives’ homes first, paying respects and distributing gifts he had brought from America. Then he met friends, shared stories, and handed out souvenirs—different from the luxury items he had given his extended family. These were stationery and badges purchased from the Stanford University gift shop. He had no idea how many of his friends would actually attend Stanford, but he hoped the items might serve as motivation.
He also visited the principal and homeroom teacher of Dukjin Elementary School. They were his former teachers and shareholders in ID Technology, so he explained how the company was progressing. After taking care of business in his hometown, Yoo Jae-won returned to Seoul ten days later, in time for the opening ceremony of Kim & Jung Law Firm. Two hours before the event, the scheduled meeting with Ilseong Group’s Chairman Choi Hyun-hee took place on the second floor of the law firm’s office.
November 10th, 1:00 p.m.
“Chairman Choi Hyun-hee of Ilseong Group has arrived.”
At Choi Kang-wook’s announcement, the conference-room door opened and a small group entered. Choi Hyun-hee, his chief of staff Kim Hyuk-soo, and a burly man who might have been either a bodyguard or an aide followed Choi Kang-wook into the room where Yoo Jae-won waited.
Choi Hyun-hee looked much the same. He had aged slightly since Jae-won had last seen him at the Blue House, yet he appeared far younger than the man Jae-won remembered from his previous life—the frail, wheelchair-bound figure who could no longer stand. Now in his early forties and at the height of his vitality, the impression he gave was entirely different. If anything, he resembled a French bulldog: large eyes, prominent laugh lines, and thick, rounded eyebrows. Jae-won realized he had been lost in idle observation and quickly rose.
“Welcome. I’m Yoo Jae-won of ID Group.”
He bowed politely. Regardless of any ill feelings, Choi Hyun-hee was his elder and a guest who had come a long way; proper courtesy required him to stand and greet the man.
“Please, have a seat.”
Jae-won offered a chair—not the seat of honor, but neither was it a subordinate position. The round table had no designated head, so distinctions of rank did not apply.
“Thank you.”
Choi Hyun-hee gave a brief nod of acknowledgment and sat. Interestingly, Kim Hyuk-soo took the seat to Choi’s right, while the aide remained standing behind him rather than sitting on the left. The arrangement felt natural enough that Jae-won did not notice at first. Only after he and Choi Kang-wook had taken their places opposite did it register. He found the display unappealing, but every company had its own culture; he saw no need to comment. Instead, he moved straight to the point.
“Thank you for your generous donation to the ID Foundation.”
The conversation began, as expected, with money. Though he expressed gratitude, the words were hollow. If Kim & Jung Law Firm needed funds—whether a hundred million or a billion—Jae-won was prepared to cover the amount from his personal assets. Choi Hyun-hee’s hundred-million-won pledge, clearly made with an agenda, inspired no gratitude whatsoever.
“You flatter me. I had the intention, but carrying it out had proven difficult. As you know, many of Ilseong’s major clients are Japanese companies, and the same goes for our suppliers. When you stepped forward to take the lead, it eased my mind considerably.”
Even before its official launch, Kim & Jung Law Firm had publicly declared its commitment to addressing forced-labor issues and representing the comfort women. Attorneys Kim Chang-wan and Jung Byung-woo had personally visited the elderly victims, explaining their capabilities, their resolve, and the backing of ID Group, while collecting retainer agreements. Few had been willing to champion the cause openly, so the victims had begun holding rallies; now that prominent former judges and prosecutors—and Yoo Jae-won himself—had stepped in, the grandmothers had gladly entrusted their cases to the firm. Numerous other lawyers had also volunteered to assist, and the hiring of an office manager and administrative staff was nearly complete. Once the firm officially began operations today, it would be able to file compensation lawsuits against Japanese corporations and the Japanese government within a few months.
“You’re too kind. The funds will be put to good use supporting the firm’s public-interest activities. With someone of your stature lending a hand to my modest endeavor, I feel as though I’ve gained an entire army.”
Yoo Jae-won responded lightly to Choi Hyun-hee’s words. Despite the praise, he showed little genuine appreciation. The reply was clearly perfunctory, and Choi Hyun-hee understood that perfectly. Beside him, Kim Hyuk-soo’s expression shifted ever so slightly.
Both Yoo Jae-won and Choi Hyun-hee were fully aware that beneath this exchange of pleasantries, a fierce war was already raging between ID Group and Ilseong Group—the so-called game of stealing talent.