Redhack's Shadow and the Search Engine
Yoo Jae-won returned to the United States on November 11th. At first glance, the date might have suggested handing out Pepero snacks to acquaintances—especially Tiffany—but it was, in truth, an utterly ordinary Thursday.
The secretarial staff had already been waiting at the airport. He informed Remington and the other senior executives of his arrival by phone. As for Tiffany, he met her on the day of his return and presented her with a few small souvenirs from Korea. Just as he had expected, she lit up with delight at the modest gifts. Her thanks came back in the form of an immediate kiss.
“Honey, don’t be shocked.”
“Hmm? What’s going on?”
“Remember that hacker called Redhack?”
“Oh, Redhack! I’d almost forgotten. Why?”
“He’s dead.”
Even the shocking news Yoo Jae-won had never anticipated reached her ears. Redhack was the hacker who had first succeeded in planting malware on Yoo Jae-won’s computer. Though the malware had been nothing more than a startling photograph, the code itself had possessed wide potential for application. Thanks to it, they had been able to quickly patch vulnerabilities in image-file handling within ID Talk and the ID web browser.
But he was dead? Only now did Yoo Jae-won recall the time Tiffany had asked for Redhack’s IP address. He had casually listed several candidate IPs, and it turned out she had conducted her own investigation. Since Redhack had used proxy servers, ordinary methods would never have traced him; she must have employed techniques that exceeded legal boundaries. Tiffany was already more skilled with computers than the average person—perhaps she even dabbled in hacking as a hobby.
After obtaining Redhack’s trail, Tiffany had reported it to the ID Group’s intelligence division. Though she held no official position within the group, the fact that she was dating Yoo Jae-won made her tip impossible to ignore. The intelligence division’s Redhack tracking team had already been drastically scaled back; Yoo Jae-won had largely abandoned the pursuit because he refused to cross into illegal territory. Instead, resources had shifted toward verifying the hardship stories posted on 2CH.com. While countless submissions poured in, they only needed to check the highest-ranked posts each week, so the workload remained manageable.
In any case, Tiffany’s report had been decisive. The team had flown directly to Mexico City, the capital of the country just south of the United States.
“Good heavens! He was Mexican?”
“Yes. A high-school student, apparently.”
Yoo Jae-won had assumed Redhack was American. Even though the interview had appeared in a gossip magazine, the hacker had spoken fluently with an American publication and had even attempted an in-person meeting, so it had seemed obvious he lived in the States. Mexico, though—that explained why the trail had been so difficult to follow.
The intelligence team had traveled to Mexico on Tiffany’s information and confirmed Redhack’s death there. They had not, however, been able to determine the exact circumstances.
“I think I can guess.”
“You can? What do you mean?”
Yoo Jae-won had long feared one particular scenario: that Redhack, flushed with his own skill, might have been captured by a gang and forced into a security challenge. If that had happened in Mexico rather than the United States, the odds of running afoul of a drug cartel were several times higher. Though Redhack had only sent malware, it had never been something worth dying over. The thought was deeply regrettable.
At the same time, Yoo Jae-won found himself curious about Tiffany’s hacking ability. The moment, however, did not feel right to ask, so he set the question aside for later.
The next day, Yoo Jae-won returned to his routine and began his usual work. The order of business, however, was slightly different from before. Having just returned to the United States after a long absence, protocol would normally have called for a meeting with the division heads first. Instead, his first appointment was with Alan and the rest of the legal department. Moreover, instead of the usual video call through ID Talk, he went in person to the Silicon Valley office. There were simply too many legal matters to handle: the mass copyright lawsuits involving Electronic Arts and numerous other companies, as well as the looming battle with warez operators.
“We’ve finished analyzing the complaints,” Alan, the head of legal, said with reassuring solidity. “They’re exactly the level we expected.”
Alan, who had been with ID Group since its earliest days alongside Remington, had overseen the countless legal procedures that had taken a small software firm to its present size. If Choi Kang-wook and Remington formed the second tier of leadership, Alan stood one step behind them as the most powerful figure in the third tier.
“That said, since they’ve retained Dewey & LeBoeuf, we’ll need a correspondingly large-scale response.”
“We’ll go with Paul & Smith again this time.”
“Understood.”
Yoo Jae-won chose the familiar Paul & Smith firm. After working together so often, the law firm now felt almost like an extension of ID Group itself. Though far smaller than Dewey & LeBoeuf in scale, its effectiveness was arguably superior. Dewey & LeBoeuf had forgotten its core mission in favor of endless expansion, while Paul & Smith devoted itself entirely to winning for its clients. It was no surprise that Dewey & LeBoeuf would later go bankrupt in the twenty-first century while Paul & Smith preserved its reputation.
“There’s something else the legal department needs to handle proactively.”
“What would that be?”
“Have you ever heard of warez?”
“Warez? Never heard the term, but it doesn’t sound good.”
Alan’s instincts were, as always, sharp. Yoo Jae-won immediately opened Shell Book and brought up Chandler’s Free Software site. He even handed the device to Alan so he could examine it himself. Because Shell Book was already connected to the projector, the other legal staff present could see the large screen and immediately understand what kind of site Chandler’s Free Software was.
“Good Lord.”
As people who dealt with the law, they were visibly shocked the moment they saw the site. It was, quite literally, a comprehensive catalog of copyright violations.
“Instead of suing us, Electronic Arts should be filing for an injunction to shut this place down first, don’t you think?”
The assessment came instantly. From what Yoo Jae-won had learned, Chandler’s Free Software was the most actively operated warez site currently in existence. It drew hundreds of thousands of daily visitors and generated the highest traffic. His strategy was to crush this site first, then move on to similar warez operations.
“Exactly. And there are quite a few other sites of a similar nature that were built using our cloud servers.”
They were neither as systematic nor as extensive as Chandler’s Free Software, but several copycat sites had clearly been modeled after it.
“Not only that—many university or corporate bulletin boards have been repurposed as file-sharing sites as well.”
These were the community boards originally created to help people gather around shared interests. In Korea they were called “dongho-hoe,” but in the United States they had become known simply as clubs. On club bulletin boards, the “data room” sections had, nine times out of ten, turned into sharing sites.
“We’ll file copyright-infringement lawsuits immediately. Because Chandler’s Free Software engaged in commercial activity through illegal means, the damages awarded should be enormous.”
That much was obvious. What Yoo Jae-won truly wanted, however, was the fundamental blocking of these sharing sites.
“We may also need to establish an internet-monitoring department dedicated to copyright protection. Legally speaking, would that be feasible?”
“I’ll look into it right away.”
Alan did not give an immediate affirmative. As a lawyer, he was extremely cautious. In the early 1990s, personal freedom still took precedence in the United States. Only after repeated terrorist attacks and, ultimately, 9/11 would the Patriot Act be born, allowing individual liberties to be curtailed in the name of security. For now, freedom came first.
Yoo Jae-won had expected this reaction. That was precisely why he had also been exploring a personal method of dealing with warez—one that involved destroying the ecosystem itself.
People who downloaded paid software from Chandler’s Free Software were firmly convinced they could obtain expensive programs for free. Why pay when they could receive them so easily? They also believed that software obtained from warez sites would function normally, just like legitimate packaged versions. Yoo Jae-won’s plan was to shatter that belief.
Viruses would work. Malware that stole important information would work. Even files that simply refused to decompress properly would suffice. Or he could make it so that users received nothing but garbage files. The goal was simply to plant the idea that anything downloaded from warez sites was dangerous. If users began to experience computers so thoroughly corrupted that they had to reformat, the perception would naturally turn negative.
At the same time, he intended to launch a dedicated download platform that would allow people to purchase software comfortably from home. The paid-software sales service attached to Nextcom had limited accessibility, so creating an independent site and running large-scale discount promotions would, he was certain, grow dramatically alongside the spread of the internet.
The former approach, however, contained far too many illegal elements for the company to pursue openly.
“That seems… rather extreme,” Alan said, choosing the mildest possible word while clearly implying the plan was outright illegal.
“I’m not planning to implement it right away. We’ll prepare it properly first.”
Yoo Jae-won backed off for the moment. Yet he had no intention of retreating quietly from the war against warez and other illegal sites. This was only the beginning.
After finishing his meeting with Alan’s legal team, Yoo Jae-won met with Remington.
“Nothing unusual happened while I was away?”
“No, sir! Thanks to you spinning off the larger organizations, things have become considerably easier.”
Remington was so skilled at small talk that it was impossible to tell whether he was genuinely grateful or subtly complaining about the restructuring.
“It’s also given me more time to play with Emma, which Shannon appreciates. We might even have a second child next year.”
“That’s wonderful. In that case, shall I do a few more reorganizations so you can have even more free time?”
“Good heavens, no thank you. I still need to earn my keep, after all.”
At Yoo Jae-won’s teasing, Remington waved both hands in protest. He was clearly worried that ID Technology might be reduced even further. No matter how convenient things became, no one wanted their own power diminished. There was no need for concern, however. As time passed, ID Technology’s scale would expand at an explosive rate.
“By the way, did everything go well in Korea? I saw that enormous herd of cattle on the news. You and that former prime minister seem quite close.”
“Yes. I think of him almost as a grandfather.”
Yoo Jae-won gave Remington a relatively detailed account of Jeon Myeong-heon. The two men would probably never meet, but there might be opportunities for cooperation in the future. Naturally, he did not hide the investment in Sinuiju either.
“Are you sure that’s wise? Investing in North Korea…”
As expected, Remington immediately showed his disapproval. It was hardly a unique reaction. Probably not a single American held a favorable view of North Korea. The country had long been branded a rogue state. It had state-sponsored counterfeiting, drug production, and multiple terrorist acts. Recently, suspicions of nuclear development had also surfaced.
In the 1990s, North Korea had made a fuss about building graphite-moderated nuclear reactors to solve its worsening electricity shortage. While the power shortage was real, the true purpose had been to accumulate highly enriched uranium for nuclear material. Then, suddenly, the regime had begun extending olive branches, culminating in the recent cattle drive to the North. The United States suspected that North Korea was trying to use family reunions and the inter-Korean summit to deflect nuclear suspicions, and public opinion was far from uniformly positive.
“We’re not planning a large-scale investment. Still, if we control North Korea’s telecommunications backbone, it could prove useful in various ways. It could also serve as a bridgehead for expanding into China’s Northeast Three Provinces.”
“If that’s what you think, then I’ll follow. I’ve never gone wrong by listening to you before.”
A sudden weight of responsibility settled on Yoo Jae-won’s shoulders. North Korea and China were the greatest threats to South Korea’s security. He had, of course, devised countermeasures, but even he could not guarantee they would succeed. Responding to national-level strategies required national-level power. Moreover, countless interests were entangled, so even the right choice could trigger unpredictable repercussions.
“Nothing’s been decided yet, so don’t make any moves for now.”
“Then when will you make a decision?”
“There’s the upcoming Korea-U.S. summit, isn’t there? We might get an answer there. If not, the decision will probably come at next year’s inter-Korean summit.”
“Understood. Come to think of it, you mentioned you were also invited to the Korean president’s visit to the United States, correct?”
“Yes. I’ll have to make a trip to Washington, D.C., around the end of November.”
“Right. By the way, Boss.”
Remington suddenly adopted a serious tone.
“Even if it’s inconvenient, you really must accept the full protocol treatment on that occasion.”
Yoo Jae-won had assumed the topic would be something else, but it turned out to be about ceremonial protocol. He nodded as if it were obvious. Inside the company, Yoo Jae-won never bothered with such formalities—Remington knew all too well how much he disliked them. Extending that casual attitude to external events, however, would be problematic.
“Yes. We may always see you as the boss, but plenty of people will judge you by appearances alone.”
Yoo Jae-won fully agreed. It shouldn’t be that way, yet the world was full of people who dismissed others based on surface impressions. Especially during a national event like President Kim’s visit to the United States, the correct approach was to follow the established rules of the world.
After discussing ID Technology’s current issues with Remington for a while longer, the two men moved together to attend an event. It was the security-challenge charity drive that had instantly elevated 2CH.com’s global profile. Among the recipients selected for this week’s donations was a child living in San Francisco. The illness was leukemia, and the family’s circumstances were extremely difficult. Yet the child was remarkably bright and kind. The attached photograph made the boy look like a true angel. As a result, recommendation votes had poured in, pushing the story into the top ranks. After passing the information team’s verification, the child had been selected as a recipient—and, remarkably, the hospital where he was being treated was Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital, affiliated with Stanford University.
Upon learning this, Yoo Jae-won decided it would be good to deliver the donation in person and arranged to visit with several executives.
That evening, after the charity event, Yoo Jae-won returned home. It had been a deeply moving occasion. The only regret was that the leukemia drug he knew of had not yet reached the market. Gleevec was remarkably effective against leukemia—capable not only of treatment but even of complete cures. For leukemia patients, Gleevec was another name for hope. Yet Gleevec would not appear until the twenty-first century. Seeing the angelic child, Yoo Jae-won had wanted to synthesize imatinib, its active ingredient, immediately, but ID Group’s entry into pharmaceuticals and biotechnology was still far in the future. Even if he managed to synthesize imatinib, clinical trials would take a long time. Fortunately, the child’s leukemia had not progressed severely, and with consistent management he could survive into adulthood. Yoo Jae-won resolved to provide ongoing financial support for treatment costs instead.
“Huh?”
After changing into comfortable clothes at home, Yoo Jae-won was drawn to the computer like a magnet and turned it on. He immediately accessed the Nextcom homepage. His eyes caught a new advertising banner. Browsing Nextcom had become one of his hobbies, and clicking on newly registered banners had become a newly acquired habit. Even a small banner represented an advertiser who faithfully paid for daily exposure. Moreover, most companies advertising on Nextcom were IT-related, making it a good way to gauge new trends.
Thanks to this habit, Yoo Jae-won clicked the new banner without much thought—and was greeted by a screen he had not expected at all. The page bore the long name “Jerry and David’s Internet Search Guide,” but the pencil-shaped search bar and the “Search” button were unmistakably present. Whether viewed right-side up or upside down, it was clearly a search engine site.