The Tower Rises Amidst Whispers
Whether the Big Deal was passed around among themselves or leaked to the press as if by accident made no difference. The full details would be made public in early January anyway.
“Um… so, Chairman Yoo.” Chief of Staff Kim Kwang-il lingered after receiving the USB drive, clearly reluctant to leave. His words trailed off.
“Hey, Chief of Staff Kim. Still got something to say? How long are you going to monopolize Chairman Yoo? Can’t you see the line stretching out the door?” Jeon Myeong-heon finally spoke up, unable to watch any longer.
Jeon Myeong-heon, who held the record for the longest-serving prime minister in history, remained firmly entrenched even with the presidential election just over a year away. If anything, the Tongil National Party’s expanded seats had only heightened his influence.
“Ah, my apologies. Prime Minister, Chairman Yoo, I’ll take my leave and see you again next time.” Chief of Staff Kim Kwang-il bowed his head and quickly withdrew.
“Tsk! Those politicians. Give them an inch and they’ll try to suck the marrow from your bones.” Jeon Myeong-heon delivered the jab while watching Kim Kwang-il’s retreating figure as he headed straight back to the Blue House. Yoo Jae-won nodded; the remark wasn’t wrong. Still, it felt odd hearing such a sweeping condemnation from a politician himself.
With the interruption dealt with, Jeon Myeong-heon stood beside Yoo Jae-won. For a while, neither spoke. Simply standing together and gazing out over Seoul’s nightscape carried its own weight of meaning.
After several minutes, Jeon Myeong-heon broke the silence.
“Impressive. At your age I was still running a rice shop, yet here you are, raising this colossal building right in the heart of Seoul. I doubt you’ll find anyone else in the world who built something like this with their own hands at twenty.”
Yoo Jae-won felt awkward under the praise. The achievement owed more to a regressor’s privileges than to his own abilities alone. At the same time, a faint warmth toward former President Roh Tae-woo stirred within him. He held no particular personal fondness for the man, but he was grateful for one thing: the connection to Jeon Myeong-heon.
“By the way, that report of yours. Is it real?”
“Of course. I didn’t fabricate it to push some agenda. I simply compiled what the monitoring data was already indicating. There’s not a shred of personal bias in it.”
“Not a shred?”
“Ah, I mean not even one percent.”
The document on the USB given to Chief of Staff Kim Kwang-il had naturally been sent to Jeon Myeong-heon as well. While Jeon Myeong-heon couldn’t interpret it alone, he had discreet, trustworthy aides who could. After the safety inspection team’s betrayal, his staff had undergone far stricter vetting and had been replaced with reliable personnel. Though older on average, they possessed the analytical skills needed to understand ID Investment’s reports.
“Then your ID Group’s moves to reduce corporate tax liability for 1996 must also stem from that same report.”
Typical of Jeon Myeong-heon—he already knew about matters that hadn’t even been announced yet. Corporate taxes were usually paid by depositing dollars into Korean banks, converting them to won, and then remitting the tax. This time was different. With the foreign exchange crisis looming, selling precious dollars to buy won just to pay taxes was the height of inefficiency. That was why Yoo Jae-won had taken several measures to minimize the 1996 corporate tax burden. Since corporate tax was based on net profit, various management techniques could adjust its size. While not a magic wand, these methods could produce meaningful fluctuations in the numbers.
“The Blue House thinks you’re using the ID Investment report as a ploy because you don’t want to pay a lot of corporate tax.”
“Excuse me? What do you mean?”
“Your company posted record-breaking results this year, didn’t it? So they assumed a huge tax windfall was coming and got ahead of themselves. Ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“Good grief.”
Yoo Jae-won prided himself on the fact that no Korean company paid its taxes as cleanly as ID Group. The claim had even surfaced in the United States that ID Group was essentially a Korean state-owned enterprise—after all, it earned money in America and paid taxes in Korea. Of course, only a tiny handful of very conservative politicians made such remarks, and they were far from mainstream. Relations between American political circles and ID Group were as tight as could be. Even when Nextcomcast announced its broadcast network acquisition, Yoo Jae-won’s nationality had barely been an issue. Yet he had never imagined his intentions would be so twisted in Korea. He had acted because the foreign exchange crisis was obvious; they thought he had commissioned the report simply to reduce his tax bill.
“They’ve mistaken continued goodwill for a right, haven’t they?”
“Oh! That’s a rather good way to put it.”
Even as he spoke, Yoo Jae-won felt increasingly incredulous. Now he fully understood why Jeon Myeong-heon had complained about them trying to suck the marrow from his bones.
“By the way, when do you plan to step down as prime minister?”
“Why? Do you want the job yourself?”
Jeon Myeong-heon’s playful streak remained undiminished. Yoo Jae-won’s response was simply to stare at him. Bantering was fine, but he had many other scheduled meetings besides this one.
“I’m thinking early January. I should at least properly name a successor before I go.”
Jeon Myeong-heon’s resignation as prime minister was, of course, in preparation for the 1997 presidential election. When Yoo Jae-won thought of a presidential election, the nickname “Rose Election” came to mind first, but the 1997 election would still be held in the dead of winter. It seemed Jeon Myeong-heon intended to run again in 1997. In a way, it was only natural. In the 1992 election he had built strong momentum only to be pushed into second place by regional logic. Rather than lose everything as runner-up, he had chosen to become a kingmaker, backed Kim Young-sam, and secured the prime minister’s post in return.
“What do you think? This time will be different, won’t it?”
At Jeon Myeong-heon’s subtle question, Yoo Jae-won fell into thought. The capabilities Jeon Myeong-heon had shown after becoming prime minister had honestly exceeded even Yoo Jae-won’s expectations. Starting with the cattle drive to North Korea, the separated-family reunions and the inter-Korean summit had all proceeded smoothly. While not all of it was Jeon Myeong-heon’s doing, he had played a very large role, and the public had taken deep notice. Afterward, he had deployed the safety inspection team and achieved significant results. The safety inspection team had been Yoo Jae-won’s assist—practically spoon-fed—but many people couldn’t even manage that much. Jeon Myeong-heon was far better. He had blocked traffic on Suseong Bridge just before its collapse, preventing casualties, and later actively used the internet petition system to support the team’s activities. Of course, building owners and corporations found the safety inspection team’s work extremely inconvenient. Prime Minister Jeon Myeong-heon had been so impressed by the impact of the full closure during the Suseong Bridge collapse that he ordered complete inspections once a month. In return, public approval for the safety inspection team remained very high. Even if it caused some inconvenience, it was better than dying in an inexplicable accident.
“It’s worth having expectations. Besides, we even won the World Cup bid.”
The 2002 World Cup story couldn’t be left out here. Jeon Jae-jun, the problem child of Mirae Group who had caused such trouble in 1992, had finally done something right. Hosting the World Cup had been a priority project for the civilian government. The previous Roh Tae-woo administration had reaped enormous benefits from the Olympics, and President Kim himself had gained some advantage from the Expo. The only remaining major sporting event was the World Cup. Naturally, they had pushed for the bid, with soccer officials leading the campaign. That was where Mirae Group entered the picture. Mirae Group was the biggest supporter of the Korea Football Association, and the association president was Jeon Jae-jun, who had been stripped of his assembly seat.
“Ah, the World Cup. Thanks to you, Jae-jun finally got a piece of the action.”
Jeon Jae-jun’s release from his Jeju Island exile had been at Yoo Jae-won’s request. Yoo Jae-won had merely relayed the message after being asked by President Kim’s second son, Kim Young-chol. Kim Young-chol had intended to use the freed Jeon Jae-jun to shake up the Tongil National Party. However, the coalition with the Tongil National Party had run quite smoothly, and Jeon Jae-jun was too afraid of Jeon Myeong-heon to even consider switching parties, so the attempt had fizzled. Instead, after his release from Jeju, Jeon Jae-jun had taken Yoo Jae-won’s advice and launched the World Cup bid campaign. The approach was simple: under the slogan “World Peace Through Soccer,” they had begun a joint bid with North Korea. Of course, it wasn’t the South Korean Football Association speaking alone; Kim Jong-il, awakened from his long silence, had agreed, and the joint bid had taken concrete shape. Soccer bringing peace to the world’s only divided nation—that was a card with no equal in appealing to FIFA, and the bid had succeeded without a single percent of controversy. Japan, which had been campaigning for the 2002 World Cup far longer than Korea, was left looking like a dog chasing chickens.
However, North Korea’s inadequate infrastructure made it unrealistic to split the group stage and tournament matches evenly at a 5:5 ratio. It was decided that only Pyongyang’s Rungrado Stadium would be used in the North, hosting some group stage matches and the final. Some had raised objections to holding the final in Pyongyang, but the mood of inter-Korean reconciliation remained strong, and concerns that breaking the joint bid would hand the 2002 World Cup to Japan caused the controversy to fade.
“But what if Kim Jong-il suddenly changes his mind? Wouldn’t it all be for nothing?”
“It’s too late for him to back out now. Even if he does change his mind, it’ll show in whether he accepts the IAEA inspections properly or not.”
What North Korea had received in exchange for hosting the final was the IAEA’s inspection of the Yongbyon nuclear facility. In the summer of 1995, Kim Jong-il, awakened from his long silence, had declared that he would pursue denuclearization of the Korean Peninsula in accordance with his father Kim Il-sung’s wishes. At the same time, he had accepted IAEA nuclear inspections and pushed for the World Cup bid.
“And if they accept the inspections properly, North Korea will finally get the nuclear power plant they’ve desperately wanted. They’ll probably stick to the agreement as best they can.”
“That’s right.”
Besides hosting the World Cup final, the real prize for North Korea was the nuclear power plant. The previous winter in Geneva, North Korea and the United States had agreed to install a 1-gigawatt light-water reactor in exchange for faithful acceptance of nuclear inspections. Naturally, the United States, which had given its approval, provided not a single dollar toward construction. The actual funding would come from South Korea and Japan. The North Korean nuclear threat posed a major security risk not only to Korea but also to Japan, so providing financial support to resolve it was only natural. Still, if North Korea once again obstructed or refused IAEA inspections as before, the whole thing could easily collapse. Yet this was merely speculation, and the situation could unfold very differently this time. What was certain was that, given the current mood of inter-Korean reconciliation, the 1997 election would not see the usual “northern wind” tactics. Thanks to that, the only risk Jeon Myeong-heon faced in the 1997 election was his advanced age. Apart from that, every factor favored him.
“I’m counting on you from now on.”
“Of course. Don’t worry.”
Yoo Jae-won, too, still regretted the 1992 election. This time he wanted to achieve the best possible result without any regrets.
As always, Yoo Jae-won checked the news on Nextcom first thing after waking up.
“Didn’t stray from expectations.”
Yoo Jae-won muttered as he read the articles about the 101 Building. The opening ceremony had been held on the 24th, but the 25th was a holiday, so proper articles only appeared today, the 26th. The content Jeon Myeong-heon had mentioned was included, making for quite enjoyable reading. Right there was the article about the ID Investment report. Reviewing the documents on the USB given to Chief of Staff Kim Kwang-il should have taken at least several days, yet an article had appeared after only one day off. Clearly, everything had been pre-arranged. An article lavishly describing the penthouse’s luxury followed immediately afterward. Of course, no reporters had been among the VIPs invited to the penthouse. While anyone could attend the ribbon-cutting ceremony and events in the first-floor lobby, not just anyone could go up to the penthouse. Some who prided themselves on their journalistic spirit had tried to force their way in, but security had stopped every single one; not one person had succeeded in unauthorized entry. Nevertheless, the description of the penthouse was remarkably factual. One of the invited guests must have properly served as a pipeline for the press.
The decision to run these contrasting articles back-to-back was deliberate. While claiming the national economy was in difficulty, they were highlighting that one person was indulging in luxury. The intent to undermine the credibility of the ID Investment report was obvious.
“Sigh. I don’t know anymore.”
Yoo Jae-won turned off the computer. If people still couldn’t understand even after all this, there was truly no helping them. From now on, it would be better to focus on measures to protect ordinary people who might suffer because of such individuals.
Having made up his mind, Yoo Jae-won rose from his seat. Even though it was the end of the year, he still had plenty of work to do. Especially since he had returned to Korea after a long absence, requests for meetings had piled up like a mountain. The chief of staff’s office had prioritized the schedule based on the applicants’ stature and the content of the meetings. The very first name on that organized schedule belonged to Lee Hyuk-jae, head of the Strategic Planning Office at Ilseong Group.