The Money Tree
Yoo Jae-won’s trip to Seoul aboard the money-growing tree took place on Saturday, November 5. Though it was a day with only morning classes, he skipped school. His schedule was packed, so he called the school, explained the unavoidable circumstances, and set off. Four people climbed into the Grandeur leaving Yeoju: Yoo Jae-won himself, two production-department employees from ID Technology, and the car-enthusiast hyungnim from the perilla-oil factory.
The two production staff had agreed to serve as bodyguards for the day. A single sheet of paper is light, but a stack becomes surprisingly heavy. Both men had worked in printing before Kang Chan-ho spotted them and brought them into ID Technology. They lacked formal training, yet their size and strength made them perfectly adequate for bodyguard duty. Jae-won had chosen them after scouring his Memory Palace and noticing how many bizarre crimes were occurring around this time. There had even been newspaper reports of organized gangs targeting wealthy people who rode around in Grandeurs. Anyone driving a newspaper-featured Grandeur was, in his own estimation, an obvious target. Until he could hire professional protection, the strongest men in the company would have to do.
The car-enthusiast hyungnim had also joined ID Technology after Jae-won personally scouted him. His salary had risen slightly, and he now got to drive the cars he loved; he was thoroughly satisfied. At the perilla-oil plant he had occasionally been asked to haul sacks of beans or rice and to repair the ancient delivery truck whenever it broke down. Now he only had to drive the Grandeur. The job suited him perfectly.
Today he was serving as Jae-won’s driver, but from now on most of the administrative errands would fall to Choi Kang-wook or Robert Halley. Jae-won’s main work was writing programs from home; the legal team would handle the running around. It was the obvious arrangement.
The party sped down the highway and arrived at their first destination: the headquarters of Sambo Computer. “Welcome.” “Thank you for the warm reception. I’m glad we seem to be seeing each other so often these days.”
They reached the lobby at precisely 10:30 a.m. Vice President Lee Yong-kwon was waiting. His attitude toward Jae-won had clearly changed since the last visit. There was no red carpet or line of employees as there would have been for a visiting chairman of a rival firm, yet the difference in manner was unmistakable—especially from Lee Yong-kwon. Jae-won had already known the vice president liked him, but after the American version of Keyboard Warrior the man’s regard had grown even stronger.
As befitted the vice president of a computer company, Lee Yong-kwon owned an excellent machine—better than the one at Soo-kyung’s house. It was a 386 DX with generous memory and hard-disk space, connected to a MIDI module, amplifier, and bookshelf speakers. He even enjoyed the refined hobby of making electronic music. The setup was ideal for experiencing the performance Jae-won had designed, and Lee Yong-kwon had become completely absorbed, just like the American college students.
Moreover, as someone working in the industry, he understood the realities of Korean software development. He had never imagined a PC game could surpass arcade machines in both graphics and speed. Even if Sambo assembled a truckload of the most experienced Korean programmers, he was certain they could never produce anything like it. He had also checked the news from the United States. Sambo had a branch office there, so obtaining detailed information was no problem. The reports the American office sent confirmed everything Jae-won had said—every single claim was true, with no exaggeration. If anything, Jae-won had understated the facts.
The desire to keep Jae-won at Sambo Computer flared again, but the young man was already running a solid, independent business. The mere sight of him arriving in a Grandeur—the same model reserved exclusively for Sambo’s chairman—made it clear the game was over. Lee Yong-kwon therefore resolved to strengthen their personal ties and began treating Jae-won with the utmost courtesy.
Walking beside Jae-won, Lee Yong-kwon personally held the elevator and rode with him all the way to the chairman’s office. Inside were Chairman Lee Yong-tae, the company’s founding colleagues, and other executives. Lee Yong-tae sat at the head of the table; Jae-won was seated to his right. On the left sat Lee Yong-kwon and the other executives in order of seniority. The two employees who had accompanied Jae-won froze at the sight of Sambo’s seasoned executives. Jae-won alone remained relaxed, as though he were in his own living room.
“These days I live for reading the newspaper. Every time good news comes from America, I feel as happy as if it were my own affair. I’m still too young for grandchildren, but I suppose I can think of you as one, can’t I?”
“Of course, Mr. Chairman. I wouldn’t have made it this far without Sambo Computer recognizing my ability and giving me a chance.”
Chairman Lee Yong-tae smiled warmly and tried to deepen their friendship; Jae-won responded in kind. Without Sambo’s order, Keyboard Warrior would never have succeeded. The principal and the other shareholders had only been willing to invest because Vice President Lee Yong-kwon had personally gone down to Yeoju after recognizing Jae-won’s talent. Without that money, Jae-won could never have hired expensive lawyers, the company’s founding would have been delayed, and the American launch would have been pushed back considerably. Sambo had also profited handsomely. At present, the only place in Korea where one could buy the Korean version of Keyboard Warrior was at Sambo Computer dealerships. In addition to the profit from standalone software sales, bundled computer orders were pouring in. November was normally the dead season for the computer industry, yet Sambo’s orders were nearly double those of the same month the previous year. The atmosphere was therefore extremely cordial. After exchanging pleasantries, both sides agreed to strengthen their partnership. Distribution of the American version of Keyboard Warrior would be given priority to Sambo, and any new software ID Technology released in the future would first be offered to Sambo as the primary negotiating partner.
The warm mood acquired a slight tension only after Chairman Lee Yong-tae asked his next question.
“So, what are your plans from here, Jae-won?”
It was an innocent question. The American version of Keyboard Warrior was only the beginning; he simply wanted to hear how the young genius intended to proceed.
“Since we’re just starting out, I want to put the company on a solid foundation first. There are countless programs I still want to make. Keyboard Warrior has done well as our first release, but there’s no guarantee the next one will be another hit—or even a moderate success. It could receive only a lukewarm response, or it could flop completely.”
“Oh, come now—why assume failure before you’ve even begun?”
“Keyboard Warrior attracted attention because I’m young. It was novel, so the press noticed it easily. I can’t count on that happening again. Normally, repeated failures would shake a company to its core. My plan is to build a foundation strong enough to withstand three or four consecutive failures without collapsing.”
Both Chairman Lee Yong-tae and the other executives were surprised—and impressed—by the answer. Sambo itself had several times seen ambitious models receive a cold market response that left the company reeling. Those memories still felt like nightmares.
“Do you have a method?”
The question was asked with genuine curiosity.
“Of course. If you have at least one money-growing tree, you’ll feel secure. I’m planning to acquire one myself.”
A money-growing tree? No such thing existed in reality. It had to be a metaphor, yet no one could guess what it meant. Chairman Lee Yong-tae, Vice President Lee Yong-kwon, and every other executive present were equally puzzled. Since they had not come to play riddles, Jae-won began to explain what he meant by a money-growing tree.
The Sambo executives listened attentively, and their expressions changed by the second. They had expected something extraordinary, only to hear something utterly ordinary.
“Jae-won, are you saying this money-growing tree is nothing more than real-estate speculation?”
Chairman Lee Yong-tae, who had placed such high hopes on Jae-won’s genius, felt not only his curiosity vanish but genuine disappointment rise. The American branch’s reaction to Keyboard Warrior had been astonishing; once officially released, it would rake in precious U.S. dollars. Domestically, too, every major conglomerate with a computer subsidiary was ordering thousands of copies. Even a conservative estimate put the revenue well into the hundreds of millions of won. If Jae-won had said he intended to invest those earnings in research and development, the chairman would have smiled and wished him every success. But real estate? That was precisely the behavior of the chaebols that Lee Yong-tae found so distasteful. He wanted to know who had planted such mercenary ideas in the boy’s head. He felt like issuing a stern rebuke, yet Jae-won was still young and Sambo held no stake in his company, so he confined himself to a single word of disappointment.
“Truly disappointing.”
Jae-won, however, showed no sign of being shaken by the chairman’s open disapproval. He knew better than anyone how real-estate values would fluctuate over the next year, the next decade, and even decades beyond. Real estate was indeed a money-growing tree—moreover, one enchanted with the fraudulent magic that made its yield increase whenever inflation occurred. He also knew that the present moment was the optimal time to plant the sapling of that magical tree.