The Great Exploitation
"Even though you run a global enterprise, Chairman Yoo, I'm sure you're no stranger to the OECD. Or would you like me to explain it?"
"No need. I'm somewhat familiar with the OECD myself."
At President Kim's question, Yoo Jae-won shook his head. The Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development began in 1948 as the OEEC, a European economic cooperation body. It expanded into a truly international organization in 1961 when the United States and Canada joined. Additional member states followed over the years, and it had now become an intergovernmental forum that promoted economic cooperation through policy coordination while discussing the global economic order.
For Korea, the idea of joining first surfaced during the previous president's administration. They seemed to view the OECD as an exclusive club for advanced nations, eager to prove that membership would elevate Korea to developed-country status. In his previous life, President Kim appeared to share similar thinking—perhaps because they belonged to the same political party—and had pushed through with accession regardless.
Yoo Jae-won shook his head again, this time in clear disapproval. He was not in favor of joining the OECD. The economy had shown modest improvement, so the government rushed in, only to suffer a host of adverse effects. The worst of them was the IMF crisis.
Joining the OECD for the sake of economic cooperation had not directly caused the IMF bailout, but it left Korea vulnerable in foreign-exchange management. After the crisis hit, the country endured an even harsher IMF regime. For the middle and lower classes, the IMF was a devastating blow. Yet for people with vast capital like Yoo Jae-won, it became an enormous feast.
Properties and factories once impossible to purchase even with money flooded the market at fire-sale prices. Labor costs plummeted. The exchange rate soared, meaning anyone with solid overseas clients could rake in profits. Even non-exporters who could simply endure until the IMF program ended could buy up prime real estate at rock-bottom prices and wait for massive capital gains later.
"I believe we should delay OECD membership for as long as possible."
President Kim's eyes widened slightly. He clearly had not expected Yoo Jae-won to voice any opposition. Objectively, the coming IMF crisis would indeed bring Yoo Jae-won enormous gains. But he had no desire to smile alone while the majority of citizens wept tears of blood. To limit the damage if the IMF arrived, postponing OECD accession seemed wise.
"The reason is straightforward. Our laws and administrative capacity still fall far short of international standards—what we call global standards. Once we join the OECD, we will be forced to open up financial markets and many other sectors, aligning our regulations and support measures with those of existing member countries."
Noticing President Kim's growing discomfort, Yoo Jae-won quickly continued.
"For example, most advanced nations have adopted punitive damages systems. These laws not only encourage fair competition but also serve to protect domestic industries. We lack anything comparable. The punitive damages framework becomes truly powerful when paired with class-action lawsuits. Enhanced penalties for tax evasion would be the perfect complement. Only by establishing such legal infrastructure in advance can we minimize chaos after OECD accession or FTA negotiations."
"Global standards, you say."
Yoo Jae-won had done his best to explain, but he wasn't certain how much had gotten through. Still, President Kim seemed to like the phrase; he repeated "global standards" several times under his breath.
"Ah, and one more matter. The Ministry of Finance recently submitted an interesting proposal. I'm certain it will catch your interest, Chairman Yoo."
With a confident expression, President Kim unveiled his new bargaining chip.
"They want to create a new securities market called KOSDAQ, operated entirely through computer trading—unlike the existing stock exchange."
"KOSDAQ? That's the same approach as NASDAQ."
"Ahem, yes. Think of it as Korea's version of NASDAQ."
Listing on the Korea Stock Exchange involved complicated procedures and considerable time, making it extremely difficult for startups. Korea was now seeing a surge in companies challenging new IT ventures, much like Silicon Valley, and a venture boom was underway.
"With KOSDAQ, new companies could raise capital more easily, while investors would find it simpler to participate. A win-win situation, wouldn't you agree?"
Listening to President Kim, Yoo Jae-won had a good idea who had floated this KOSDAQ bait. The analysis report from the Ministry of Finance undoubtedly carried the heavy fingerprints of chaebols with their own investment banks.
The investment-bank establishment law from the previous administration had barred chaebols from the sector. Yet as time passed, many investment banks had been absorbed into chaebol-controlled financial firms. Establishment requirements had been impossible for them, but acquisition thresholds were far lower. With mere approval from the Financial Supervisory Commission, groups like Ilsung, Mirae, Daeho, and Geumseong had folded these banks into their financial subsidiaries—often without using their own names directly.
The problem was their abysmal overseas performance. After watching ID Investment's string of successes, they had chased their own jackpots abroad, but none produced respectable results. Initial profits faded as investments dragged on, and returns collapsed. Constant comparison with ID Investment was inevitable, and investor money flowed overwhelmingly in one direction.
At this rate, the entire investment-banking business risked being devoured by ID Investment. So they had apparently decided to flip the board with KOSDAQ. A domestic exchange would let chaebols wield their full influence—hyping pre-secured stocks through analysts and investment shows, then dumping them on unsuspecting retail investors. All the tricks that worked so well in the KOSPI market could be replicated.
"An ID Group affiliate would naturally aim for KOSPI rather than KOSDAQ, but we would offer full support if you decide to list."
President Kim was already drinking the kimchi soup before the rice cakes had even arrived.
"Well… I'm sorry to say this, but KOSDAQ also feels premature at this stage."
Korea had yet to produce any truly viable venture companies. Even if they created KOSDAQ, what firms would actually list? At best, it would attract companies blocked from KOSPI by minor issues or facilitate over-the-counter trading of unlisted firms. President Kim's suggestion clearly stemmed from this reality. Without standout companies to draw investors, he was hoping ID Group would lend its name and prestige.
Yoo Jae-won refused, of course. KOSDAQ was nowhere near large enough to contain ID Group. Besides, he had no interest in turning his carefully cultivated conglomerate into a figurehead that lured naïve investors like bait.
At the firm rejection, President Kim's expression soured considerably. From OECD membership to KOSDAQ, every positive proposal he had offered had been turned down. It was impossible for his face to remain pleasant.
So this is what they mean by compatibility between people.
The encounter convinced Yoo Jae-won that he and President Kim were simply not compatible. He had hoped their alliance during the Japanese colonial period incident would improve relations. The inter-Korean summit scheduled for May had been practically arranged by Yoo Jae-won, and the March family reunions required no further explanation. Even the impeachment of eight judges had benefited the president. With an overwhelming majority in the National Assembly, judges had no choice but to watch their step around him.
Of course, judicial positions were constitutionally protected, so further impeachments without another massive scandal like judicial corruption were impossible. Still, the judges' mindset had undoubtedly shifted from the previous era—when they could act with impunity—to one of caution after the impeachments.
Active judicial cooperation was essential to President Kim's historical rectification efforts. With the courts already undergoing purification, the entire process would gain significant momentum. In the end, Yoo Jae-won had done every favor asked of him, only to earn resentment in return.
"Ahem. I'll keep your opinion in mind, Chairman Yoo. On another note, I understand a substantial portion of the share-sale proceeds will be invested in Jeju Island?"
Fortunately, President Kim changed the subject. He clearly recognized that clashing with Yoo Jae-won offered no benefit. Personal feelings aside, ID Group's weight in the Korean economy had grown larger than any traditional conglomerate almost overnight.
"Yes. Jeju Island is a natural treasure of a tourist destination. I'm planning to invest around one billion dollars in sustainable, eco-friendly development that harmonizes with both the local community and the environment."
"Tourism Jeju. That was already on my mind, so it's reassuring to have you take the lead. I wish you every success."
"Thank you, Mr. President. Your encouragement gives me strength. To be honest, we've encountered a slight obstacle from the start."
"An obstacle?"
"The aversion many Jeju residents feel toward mainlanders is stronger than expected. We're struggling just to secure land. Even when we offer premium prices, many refuse to sell."
"Aversion to mainlanders… So that's the situation."
"Yes. That's why I'm placing great hope in the historical rectification work you're advancing."
President Kim nodded at once. Reexamination of both the May 18 Democratization Movement and the April 3 Jeju Uprising had begun during his administration. Although the three-party merger had forced him to align with military factions, as the first democratically elected president he could still spearhead historical cleanup.
"It won't be easy, but a genuine apology must begin with correcting history. Only then can we build a truly improved relationship."
The principle applied not only to Korea's own past but to relations with Japan as well.
"If it were easy, I wouldn't have started. I won't make promises, Chairman Yoo. But watch and see—you'll understand."
President Kim spoke with clear confidence, having already steeled himself for this fight. If he truly delivered results and achieved historical rectification faster than in the original timeline, Yoo Jae-won would not hesitate to call him the greatest president.
After concluding the meeting at Cheong Wa Dae, Yoo Jae-won enjoyed a bowl of knife-cut noodles before heading to the prime minister's residence to meet Jeon Myeong-heon. He performed the New Year's bow he had missed during Seollal and personally upgraded Jeon Myeong-heon's mobile phone.
"This is how it's done. Simple, right?"
He opened the Shell Book so the older man could manage it alone later and demonstrated each step carefully.
Updating the phone was straightforward. Connect the Shell Book and mobile phone with a USB cable, run the update program, and the process completed itself. The software automatically detected the phone's drive, checked the operating system version, performed the update, and even created a backup in case anything went wrong.
He had designed it as a one-click solution for beginners. For stronger security he could have added steps—asking whether to proceed from the phone itself and requiring the settings password—but since the program would be distributed to ordinary people unfamiliar with computers, he kept it as simple as possible.
In exchange, he had built robust safeguards preventing hackers from tampering with the update program. The system would silently verify that the update file was clean and intact on both devices before proceeding.
"All finished."
Yoo Jae-won handed back the updated Tiffany Phone.
"It doesn't look any different from the outside."
"You'll see the changes when a call comes in."
"Really? Then let me test it. Give me a call."
At Jeon Myeong-heon's request, Yoo Jae-won dialed from his own phone. The distinctive FM sound-chip ringtone played, and the Tiffany Phone's LCD screen displayed an incoming-call icon along with the name "Yoo Jae-won."
"Oh, so this is caller ID service."
It was a small convenience, yet the difference between having it and not having it on a mobile phone was surprisingly large. Later, big-data analytics would even identify callers not saved in one's address book, finally freeing people from relentless spam calls.
"But you said you had something to discuss?"
Yoo Jae-won had not come merely to see Jeon Myeong-heon's face, nor to ask for personal favors.
"The safety inspection team's activities seem to have grown rather quiet lately."
The safety inspection team had been a campaign promise of the Tongil National Party. It gained momentum from the party's publicity, and once the National Assembly passed the relevant legislation, it began operating as an official government organization. At its launch it generated considerable buzz and produced impressive results, but over the years it had gradually become nominal.
"Has it?"
Jeon Myeong-heon's response was lukewarm. In the beginning, he and other prominent politicians had visited inspection sites, taken photographs, and offered strong support. But as time passed, political interest waned and checks from opposing forces increased, causing the team's activities to shrink noticeably.
Citizens who directly benefited might have sustained momentum through active support, but Korean civic engagement had not yet reached that level. The allocated budget told the story clearly: over ten billion won in 1992 at launch, now fallen below five billion won for 1994.
"Now that you mention it, I haven't heard of any notable inspections recently."
"Exactly. It seems they've lost their original passion and grown complacent. So I was thinking we should make a small change to how the safety inspection team operates."
Yoo Jae-won had not created the team merely as an election gimmick. He had built it with a long-term vision, and the time for it to truly shine was approaching.
"What sort of change?"
"We should start accepting reports online. Whether at schools or commercial facilities, the actual users of those buildings are best positioned to spot danger signs. Yet the current reporting process is so cumbersome that few people actually file reports. So we'll begin accepting submissions through the internet."
"Through the internet?"
"Yes. E-government is currently a major research topic in the United States. It sounds grandiose, but at its core it's simply using the internet to receive tips and dispatch diagnostic teams. That in itself is an internet-based government."
"Hmm, not bad at all. I've heard the number of netizens has exploded recently."
Thanks to the National PC initiative and internet subsidies, Korea's internet user base was growing at breakneck speed. It had already surpassed one million by the end of last year and was now racing toward two million. At this pace, five million users by the end of 1994 seemed certain.
Internet businesses were growing just as explosively. Most were derivative services copying what Yoo Jae-won had pioneered. Hotmail Net was recruiting users with free email, while Nettian offered personal homepages and portal functions. Yet no latecomer had managed to surpass Nextcom or Email.com despite their best efforts.
"Very well. I'll issue instructions immediately to begin accepting online reports."
"Thank you."
Having received Jeon Myeong-heon's firm commitment, Yoo Jae-won felt genuine gratitude. Without his support the process would have been enormously complicated; instead, a single sentence had settled everything.
After meeting both President Kim and Jeon Myeong-heon, Yoo Jae-won concluded his first day's schedule in Seoul and returned to his hotel. He turned in early to prepare for the next day's appointments.
Tomorrow he was scheduled to meet Park Sang-kwon—now chairman of Busan Group and former president of the rice-bran oil factory—as well as TG president Lee Yong-kwon to discuss various matters.
Yet Yoo Jae-won's schedule for the following day never materialized. A massive issue that would shake the United States had just erupted, forcing an urgent change in his plans.