The Price of the Presidency
Game of Thrones. “Really? Then may I ask just one thing?” Jeon Myeong-heon, who had been pounding his chest and declaring he would do anything, flinched at Yoo Jae-won’s counter-question. Their relationship had begun in 1989. The fact that Jae-won was asking something in return told him this request was likely to be extremely difficult.
“Of course! Ask me anything!” Though his instincts warned him, Jeon Myeong-heon raised his voice anyway. The premise of the question already placed the presidency on the table. Refusing here would mean he had no business running for president at all.
“If becoming president required you to donate your entire fortune to society, could you do it?” Having backed Jeon Myeong-heon into a corner, Yoo Jae-won delivered the decisive blow.
“Hup!” The reaction came faster from Jeon Myeong-heon’s aides. They had been watching Jae-won closely, waiting to hear what he would ask, and the moment they heard “entire fortune to society,” they looked as though the wind had been knocked out of them. Jae-won’s question was that shocking to them.
Jeon Myeong-heon’s own reaction came a beat later. The generous expression that had invited any question gave way to visible discomfort. His entire fortune? An ordinary rich man would have answered “I would” without hesitation. But Jeon Myeong-heon was no ordinary rich man. He was the self-made founder of Mirae Group, the largest conglomerate in Korea. Though he now trailed behind Yoo Jae-won, only a few years earlier he and Choi Hyun-hee had traded places at the very top of Korea’s wealth rankings. The media reported his assets at five or six trillion won, but that figure only reflected the legitimate holdings on which he paid taxes. When one added the assets held under false names, proxies, and hidden accounts, the true total was several times—perhaps dozens of times—larger.
“My entire fortune? Are you saying I would have to establish some kind of foundation?” Jeon Myeong-heon had never imagined handing over the fortune that was practically an extension of himself just to serve a five-year term as president. He interpreted “donating assets” the way most business figures did when entering politics—as a temporary transfer rather than a permanent surrender.
“No. Not like that. I mean actually giving it all away.” Yoo Jae-won cut off any loophole, leaving Jeon Myeong-heon even more cornered.
“It really is difficult, isn’t it?” Jae-won continued, his tone understanding, though he did not hide a trace of disappointment. “Honestly, I wanted to have this conversation before the official campaign began. I could see that you and the Tongil National Party leadership were underestimating how hard a presidential race would be.”
Jeon Myeong-heon wanted to protest that he had prepared thoroughly. Yet after failing to answer the previous question properly, the words would not come easily.
“Major elections—general elections, presidential elections, constitutional referendums—are incredibly brutal. Some people stake their lives on them. I cannot ask you to risk your life, so I asked about your fortune instead.”
At those words, Jeon Myeong-heon felt a flash of anger. Risking one’s life over stamping a piece of paper? If the person sitting across from him had been one of his disappointing sons instead of Yoo Jae-won, he would have exploded. Because it was Jae-won, he held his tongue. Still, after taking a deep breath and searching his memory, he realized the claim was not exaggerated. He recalled news articles about people who had died because of election-related matters.
“To win, you must stake everything and fight with everything you have. Especially for underdogs like us—the establishment will unleash every form of slander and persecution imaginable.”
Jeon Myeong-heon and his aides all nodded in agreement at the mention of establishment sabotage. They had personally felt the ongoing operations directed at the Tongil National Party and Jeon Myeong-heon. It went far beyond simple accusations of being “communists.” Surveillance, wiretapping, and countless tips that the National Intelligence Service was involved were routine. Some of those tips had even been turned against them. Of course, the two veteran opposition leaders who had fought for democracy in the harsh 1970s had endured far worse. Jeon Myeong-heon knew better than anyone how desperately both men wanted the presidency. One had suddenly allied with the ruling party out of presidential ambition; the other had broken a unification agreement in the 1987 election and created a three-way race.
“The majority of the public is not on our side either,” Yoo Jae-won added. Jeon Myeong-heon looked puzzled. The Tongil National Party was a nationwide party. It had fielded candidates evenly from the capital region to Honam and Yeongnam, and had elected members. It had also absorbed a significant number of independents and now stood as the second-largest opposition party in the National Assembly with over fifty seats.
“Just as the two Kims want to become president, their supporters are also pouring everything they have into making them president.”
“Hmm. That’s true.” Jeon Myeong-heon let out a heavy sigh. In regions where the Tongil National Party had won seats in the general election, support for Jeon Myeong-heon should naturally have been high. Reality was different. Gyeongsang Province gave absolute loyalty to Kim Young-sam, Jeolla Province to Kim Dae-jung. Even the capital region was the same. While first and second place shifted in every poll, Jeon Myeong-heon had never once taken first. When national approval ratings across all eight provinces were combined, there was still no region where he led. The gap in support was tangible, yet he consistently finished third in hypothetical election results. That was precisely why.
“If you want to enter the Blue House, you must pour every ounce of strength you possess until you cannot move a single finger. In truth, even that may not be enough. After giving everything, the best you can do is wait for heaven’s will.”
At Jae-won’s words, Jeon Myeong-heon reflected on his own complacency. Because the Tongil National Party, with its short preparation time, had secured more than fifty seats, politics had begun to look deceptively manageable. He had assumed that if the existing parties and state power resisted fiercely, the same public that had chosen upheaval in the general election would choose the Tongil National Party and Jeon Myeong-heon in the presidential race as well. Added to that was his solid faith in “Yoo Jae-won.” The three characters of that name had long been synonymous with “genius” in Jeon Myeong-heon’s mind. In the Eastern sense, a genius was someone sent by heaven—an individual who could discern the underlying order within complex phenomena. Until now, Yoo Jae-won had more than lived up to that belief. Even as a child he had displayed remarkable intelligence, and in America he had achieved astonishing results. Beyond winning the general election, he had solved one of the world’s seven greatest mathematical problems, astonishing the entire globe. Seeing such a person speak with such gravity about this presidential election lit a bright red warning light in Jeon Myeong-heon’s mind. His aides and staff were equally restless, as though sitting on thorns.
‘Has the groundwork been laid enough?’ Jae-won’s stern expression showed a measure of satisfaction at the change in Jeon Myeong-heon and his aides’ faces. He felt the rebuke for treating him like an omnipotent being while trying to dump all the heavy burdens on him had been sufficiently delivered. The regressor Yoo Jae-won could be omniscient, but he could not be omnipotent. From the moment he returned to Korea until now, he had been agonizing over how to make Jeon Myeong-heon president. No matter how much he racked his brain, no clear path presented itself. Even handling the Chowon Bokguk incident as best he could would only prevent Busan from swinging entirely toward Kim Young-sam; a complete reversal of the situation was impossible. Moreover, Yoo Jae-won harbored doubts about the 14th presidency itself. The position carried unlimited power and therefore unlimited responsibility. The side effects of the breakneck growth achieved through countless reckless moves under military rule were about to erupt. No president, no matter how clear-headed, could fully contain them. Buildings constructed shoddily would collapse no matter how much they were reinforced. The bureaucracy, once efficient, had long since degenerated into complacency and self-preservation; its dysfunction would soon surface. Yoo Jae-won was skeptical that even if Jeon Myeong-heon became president, he could prevent the IMF crisis. Although ID Group had been paying astronomical taxes for years, he had no idea where all that money disappeared to. The only tangible improvement he felt was the information superhighway project laying fiber-optic cables in cities, with some cities already running ADSL pilot services. Even if Jeon Myeong-heon were fortunate enough to win, it was not difficult to predict that he would bear the full brunt of the backlash. In the past, Jeon Myeong-heon’s misfortune would have been none of his concern. But their relationship had become special. They were business partners through Mirae Electronics, and privately they had grown close. He could not allow Jeon Myeong-heon and the Tongil National Party to collapse.
‘This is difficult.’ Yoo Jae-won felt as though his head might split. If this were a straightforward mathematics problem, he would be confident. He could simply apply memorized formulas or the various approaches he had mastered. Politics, however, could not be solved with mathematics. For someone whose humanities foundation was lacking, it was a far harder problem than any of the seven great mathematical challenges.
‘Stop overcomplicating it!’ In the end, the simplest answer was for Jeon Myeong-heon to win the presidency. The Korean ailments that would soon surface should be resolved by the president’s own power. At the same time, Yoo Jae-won decided to prepare for the possibility that he might not become president. If Jeon Myeong-heon finished third as he had in his previous life, Mirae Group would suffer a severe blow, and the Tongil National Party—already a house divided—would almost certainly disintegrate. In an election where the winner takes everything, it was extremely difficult for the loser to secure anything, but it was not entirely impossible.
“There is a way.” A single sentence reversed the atmosphere. At the mention of a method, Jeon Myeong-heon’s troubled expression brightened instantly. Even more relieved than he were his aides and staff. They had feared Yoo Jae-won would leave after turning everything upside down, bringing down a storm of criticism, but now they felt they had survived. Still, they could not relax completely. They remembered what Jae-won had said earlier—if he demanded they donate their entire fortune, that would be another crisis.
“The best defense is a good offense. We must strike first before they do.”
“Strike first? Strike what?”
“What else does a politician strike with? Policy pledges.”
Though Jeon Myeong-heon usually reacted strongly to Yoo Jae-won’s words, at this point he tilted his head in confusion. The Tongil National Party had already released an enormous number of pledges since the general election. They had put forward such radical promises that by the time the presidential race arrived, there was little left that felt fresh. The weakness of the presidential platform was not solely the fault of the campaign headquarters; the fact that they had already gone so far in the general election left little room to add more.
“Is that really true? What if the Minjeong Party announces something like the real-name financial system as a pledge?”
The real-name financial system had been implemented in his previous life through an unexpected presidential emergency decree. It had caught many powerful figures who had been moving black money. Corporations and chaebols had been extremely troubled. While the move was usually cited as evidence of President Kim Young-sam’s decisiveness, it had not come entirely out of nowhere. The real-name financial system had originally been a pledge the Minja Party intended to make.
“What?” Jeon Myeong-heon’s reaction alone made it clear whom the measure targeted. After all, he was the one holding massive amounts of securities and deposits under false and proxy names. Although the Tongil National Party had made many radical pledges, they all shared one common thread: they protected Jeon Myeong-heon’s interests. Half-price apartments were acceptable, but the real-name financial system would strike him directly and was therefore impossible. Because the interests involved were so intricately entangled, the idea had been discussed and then shelved. Yet now the Minja Party, whose interests were even more complex than the Tongil National Party’s, was supposedly going to announce the real-name financial system as a pledge? It made no sense.
“Furthermore, Chairman Kim Woo-jung of Daeho Group is also planning to run for president.”
“What? Woo-jung?”
Daeho Group was firmly among Korea’s major chaebols. Like Jeon Myeong-heon, Kim Woo-jung was a self-made man, and their business sectors overlapped significantly. Daeho Group also operated in automobiles, heavy industry, shipbuilding, and even electronics—a kind of rival relationship. Of course, Jeon Myeong-heon had never once considered Kim Woo-jung a true rival. Although their businesses overlapped in almost every area, Daeho had never surpassed Mirae in any sector. While Mirae’s electronics division had once lagged, after massive investment the situation had changed. If Kim Woo-jung entered the presidential race, comparisons with Jeon Myeong-heon would be inevitable, and the founder’s premium Jeon Myeong-heon currently enjoyed would inevitably be diluted. Even though he had questioned the real-name financial system, the idea of Kim Woo-jung running made sense to him. Knowing Kim Woo-jung, he would certainly try to follow suit.
“The Democratic Party will put forward a unification constitutional amendment.”
“Unification. That’s important too!” Jeon Myeong-heon reacted to the word “unification.” To Yoo Jae-won it seemed misplaced, but this era was different from the 21st century; the longing for unification remained strong. Especially for Jeon Myeong-heon, a displaced person from the North, matters concerning North Korea were deeply personal.
“Yes. If we were to pick the two most important issues facing Korea right now, they would be the economy and unification. So the slogans for this election should be ‘Economic President’ and ‘Unification President.’”
“Excellent!” It was simple, yet it resonated immediately. No matter what other candidates brought forward, nothing would surpass this. The anxiety that had been building in Jeon Myeong-heon eased slightly. Once again he thought, ‘As expected of Yoo Jae-won.’ Now came the crucial part.
“Grandfather—no, Candidate!” Jae-won deliberately changed the form of address. “Just a moment ago, you said you would do anything I asked if it meant becoming president, correct?”
At the sudden shift in Yoo Jae-won’s tone, Jeon Myeong-heon grew flustered. For an instant the phrase “donate my entire fortune to society” flashed through his mind. But it was too late to take it back. True to his usual style, he squeezed his eyes shut and declared, “That’s right! I’ll do it!”
As expected of the gambler Jeon Myeong-heon. Yoo Jae-won nodded as though he had anticipated this and continued. “Thank you. But I don’t need that much. Instead, during this election, I need you and the Tongil National Party campaign headquarters to create a system that allows whatever I direct to be implemented immediately.”
“Huh? We’re already doing that, aren’t we?”
“No. Right now you’re simply relying on your personal influence. That won’t be enough. This time I need an official position with full authority.”
This presidential election was an enormous stage. The effort required was overwhelming, and the spoils of victory would be on an entirely different scale. For Yoo Jae-won, who had to stake his life on an extremely slim chance of winning, full authority was essential. Beyond that, he especially needed a proper title to control Jeon Myeong-heon’s family, the greatest source of uncertainty.
“Hmm.” Jeon Myeong-heon was willing to grant Yoo Jae-won full authority. Compared to the typical politicians in the National Assembly who only made empty boasts and accomplished nothing, Jae-won had already proven himself more than enough. The problem was the official position. He would have to check whether the Tongil National Party’s party constitution and bylaws even allowed granting full campaign authority to Jae-won, and internal interests would also need to be managed.
“I’m not asking for it right away. Please think it over carefully before deciding.”
Jeon Myeong-heon nodded at Yoo Jae-won’s follow-up. He knew this was not the kind of issue that required prolonged deliberation. A short while later, Yoo Jae-won went to the counter with one of Jeon Myeong-heon’s aides to settle the bill. The aide paid for Jeon Myeong-heon’s party; Yoo Jae-won paid for his own meal. Since he had not yet taken any official position within the Tongil National Party, accepting a free meal would violate election law, and buying a meal for Jeon Myeong-heon would constitute bribery. Some might call such meticulousness excessive, but in the world of elections, a moment of carelessness could lead to disaster. To avoid giving even the smallest opening to rivals, it was important to observe even the smallest rules.
“Did you enjoy your meal?” the proprietress asked carefully as she accepted twenty thousand won from Yoo Jae-won and returned four thousand in change.
“It was delicious. The rich, clear broth of the blowfish soup was especially refreshing.” The blowfish soup had been excellent. Paired with a drink, its clean flavor would have been even better. Therefore Yoo Jae-won gave her a thumbs-up without hesitation.
“Um, could I possibly get your autograph?”
“Of course.” He answered just as readily. As long as the request was not absurd—asking for an autograph without paper or pen—he was always willing. The proprietress handed him a sketchbook along with a marker. Jae-won left a large signature and added the message that he had eaten well.
“Um, me too.” After he finished, a line formed. Several employees who had been free came out holding paper. The aide who had accompanied him to the counter tried to stop them, but Yoo Jae-won approached them first, asked their names, and signed for each one. To the aide, autograph requests were a tiresome, everyday matter to refuse, but for these people, meeting him might be a once-in-a-lifetime event. Believing that even small connections should be cherished, Yoo Jae-won signed for every employee at the blowfish restaurant.
Several days passed. Yoo Jae-won sensed that something was off. At the Chowon Bokguk restaurant, Jeon Myeong-heon had seemed ready to give an answer the very next day, or at latest within two days. Yet four days had passed with no word. Staring at the telephone on his desk, Yoo Jae-won wondered whether he should call first.