The Chairman's Flight
Just days earlier, in a hotel in Budapest, Hungary. “Sir, the situation back home is unstable. You’ll need to change your return schedule.” “What are you talking about?” Chairman Kim O-jung couldn’t make sense of what his senior secretary was saying after suddenly bursting into his hotel room.
This trip had been scheduled to check on the Eastern European car dealerships that had become Daeho’s financial lifeline amid the IMF crisis. The situation in Eastern Europe was no better than expected. Russia, the largest economy in the former Eastern Bloc, was in dire straits. Rumors were openly circulating that, like Korea, Russia was in contact with the IMF to settle its debts. The smaller nations that had broken away from Russia were in the same boat. As a result, Daeho’s think tank had been strongly against expanding into the Eastern Bloc. But Chairman Kim O-jung had seen the same dynamism Korea had shown in the 1970s and ’80s in those newly independent countries and decided to enter the market to get ahead. In the end, he had only seen the potential; there was no sign of substantial profits yet. At least the name “Daeho” had become better known than other companies thanks to television commercials that had been running for several years. Just as Chairman Kim O-jung was pondering how to turn that recognition into profit, the hallway outside his room suddenly grew noisy and his secretary rushed in. Without preamble, the man told him the return schedule had to be changed.
“What do you mean, back home? Korea has always been noisy, hasn’t it?” Chairman Kim O-jung’s return flight had been scheduled for the very next day. For a man who often said the world was wide and there was much to do, there was always work. Even on this trip he had concluded that Daeho needed to weave a tighter sales network across the Eastern Bloc, which would require rapid expansion of dealerships backed by massive capital. Once back in Korea, securing bank loans would solve the problem easily. Although Korea was under the IMF, Daeho’s credit rating was top-tier and his relationships with bank presidents were solid, so he had assumed there would be no issue. It had been an arrogant assumption.
“This time it’s different. The Financial Supervisory Service is examining the banks’ loan portfolios, and they’re scrutinizing every loan extended to Daeho under a microscope!” The senior secretary’s face had gone deathly pale. It was understandable. He had been Kim O-jung’s shadow for decades and was one of the few people inside Daeho Group who could call the chairman “sir” instead of using his title. That was why he knew better than anyone that if their usual practices were scrutinized under the law, nothing would be safe.
After hearing the secretary’s explanation, Kim O-jung also realized something had gone terribly wrong. “I can’t figure out what Jeon Myeong-heon is thinking. Doesn’t he know these were standard practices? We weren’t the only ones doing it.” He sank into his chair with a heavy sigh. It had been business as usual. Preferential treatment for conglomerates had always existed. Whenever a company promised to earn foreign currency or build factories, loans were approved without delay. The government itself cleared away any obstacles that stood in a conglomerate’s path. That had been the secret behind the explosive growth of Korean conglomerates in the ’70s and ’80s. It wasn’t just Daeho; Ilsung, Geumseong, and even Mirae had enjoyed the same benefits. And now they were digging it all up! It seemed Daeho had been chosen as the test case to straighten out the chaebols’ bad habits. The urge to return to Korea immediately and take direct control of the situation surged within him. Yet the sharp instincts that had elevated the ordinary salaryman Kim O-jung to the chairmanship of Daeho sent a fierce warning signal.
After a moment of deliberation, Kim O-jung chose the latter. “You’re right. Returning to Korea right now would be dangerous.” The sense of crisis was overwhelming; if he went back now, he felt he would never see the light of day again.
“Yes, sir. I’ll make the arrangements.” The secretary stepped out at once to change the schedule. Left alone, Kim O-jung’s mind was flooded with countless thoughts. Several minutes passed before his chaotic thoughts finally cleared. Only one thought remained: he could not die like this. Once his mind was settled, he reached into his suit jacket and pulled something out. It was the second-generation mobile phone “Tanky,” independently developed by Daeho Electronics. It had desperately tried to copy the design and functions of the Tiffany Phone, but fell short in several areas due to technological limitations. Still, it was the culmination of the “Tanky-ism” Kim O-jung had pushed since the mid-1990s, and its basic calling function worked reliably.
The call connected, and Kim O-jung’s urgent instructions poured out: ask newspapers for favorable articles, burn certain documents in the safe in the chairman’s office, meet someone and make a request, use scandals to negotiate deals. The list went on.
“Sir! The car is ready.” While he was still rattling off instructions, the senior secretary returned to inform him that preparations for departure were complete. With a face full of regret, Kim O-jung ended the call, picked up the briefcase he had carried his entire life, and stood up. The life of the fugitive Kim O-jung had begun.
Daeho Group’s counterattack had also begun. The magic word “standard practice” appeared, and the group staged a hostage drama, claiming that if Daeho collapsed, hundreds of suppliers would die with it.
They even struck at Jeon Myeong-heon’s personal weaknesses. The story did not appear in daily newspapers, but it was splashed across the front pages of gossip-oriented monthly magazines. The articles were anonymous, with no journalist’s name attached. Though published in an anonymous, low-credibility monthly, the content was extremely specific. It even named names outright. It claimed he had an affair with a woman named Kim Kyung-ja and that they had an adult daughter named Kim Hyun-joo. Jeon Myeong-heon had tried to register Kim Hyun-joo on his family register, but the attempt had failed due to opposition from his family and concerns over the succession structure. The article ended by promising a follow-up report with even more detailed information about the inner workings of the Mirae family.
The timing of the scandal article was remarkably coincidental. It broke right after news emerged that an Interpol warrant was being considered to force Kim O-jung’s return. It could also be interpreted as a signal from Kim O-jung that further exposure would follow if he were pushed any harder. Strangely, even after such a shocking revelation, Jeon Myeong-heon did not flinch. In his younger, more vigorous days, nothing had been able to stop him. A man who practiced extreme frugality to the bone, he had forbidden luxury not only for himself but also for his family and even company employees. Yet when it came to women, he had been as dissolute as Casanova. That did not mean he had shirked responsibility, however. Most of the illegitimate children born from his libertine lifestyle had been added to his family register. Notably, his second son Jeon Jae-gu, fourth son Jeon Jae-geun, and youngest son Jeon Jae-jun were all children from different mothers. The unusually distant relationships among the siblings compared to other chaebol families stemmed directly from this.
Even more surprising was the public’s reaction. The people did not withdraw their support for Jeon Myeong-heon just because the illegitimate-child scandal had surfaced. Many even asked what the problem was. An odd consensus seemed to have formed that anything could be forgiven as long as the economy was revived. Furthermore, the scandal story was cleanly buried by a scoop that had come from across the sea.
Yoo Jae-won’s announcement became front-page news and shook the entire country. The scale alone was megaton-class. Korea’s national budget for 1998 was 70 trillion won. The 1997 budget had been 75 trillion won, but the IMF crisis had slashed it by 5 trillion. It was the first time in history that the budget had decreased while economic growth rates had always pushed it upward. Yet the capital Yoo Jae-won had mobilized for the White Tiger Fund amounted to a staggering $23 billion. At the current exchange rate of around 1,500 won to the dollar, that translated to 34.5 trillion won in Korean currency—an enormous sum equivalent to 48 percent of the 1998 national budget. Naturally, many people at first refused to believe Yoo Jae-won’s announcement. It was only natural to doubt whether an individual could mobilize such a vast amount of capital. Calls flooded into ID Group Korea—not only from reporters but also from other companies and even the Blue House. However, there was a simple and definitive way to dispel such doubts. At some point, inquiries from government officials about the White Tiger Fund’s operating capital suddenly stopped. It happened the moment Vincent Greenhill, president of ID Investment, completed all legal procedures for the transfer and sent the funds to Korea. Although Korea’s accession to the OECD had made capital movement freer, and the United States had always followed global capitalist standards, moving such a massive sum as $23 billion still required legal procedures. Once those procedures were completed, the Ministry of Economy and Finance automatically detected the transfer, allowing the Blue House to be informed as well. It was only natural that the constant harassment of senior ID Group executives like Choi Kang-wook and Hwang Jae-hong also ceased. Instead, inquiries from companies increased. The entity holding the largest amount of capital in Korea right now was neither a bank nor any other institution—it was the White Tiger Fund, a single private fund. The number of people desperate to obtain dollars grew steadily over time.
Around the same time—
“As expected, only you could pull this off, Jae-won! Thanks to you, I can finally breathe easy.” Jeon Myeong-heon’s voice over the phone was filled with excitement. It was understandable. Whenever he made business deals, even when he was confident they would go through, there were always countless complications before contracts were actually executed. Yoo Jae-won, on the other hand, always delivered results through action—often exceeding even his own promises. This time he had secured not $20 billion but $23 billion, astonishing everyone at the Blue House. Moreover, the scandal articles about Jeon Myeong-heon’s illegitimate child had been buried under the White Tiger Fund news, giving him some breathing room.
“It’s nothing. I’m doing this for profit as well.” Yoo Jae-won replied as if it were no big deal. In truth, he had no intention of losing money on the White Tiger Fund. The profits from riding the Nasdaq IT bubble had come easily, but he had no plans to waste them. “This country won’t collapse like this!” Jeon Myeong-heon took Yoo Jae-won’s words about making money as encouragement. Profits from the White Tiger Fund meant that companies on the brink of death would be revived. Some voices, particularly progressive economists, expressed strong concerns that Yoo Jae-won would use the fund to swallow the entire Korean economy. They warned that a super-conglomerate larger than any chaebol seen before would be born and completely dominate Korean business. To Jeon Myeong-heon, it didn’t matter. As long as Korea escaped the IMF crisis and dying companies were saved, that was enough.
“I hear there’s talk about this in the United States as well. Is that all right?” Jeon Myeong-heon was actually worried about Yoo Jae-won bringing such a large sum out of America.
“Oh? You already knew about that?” Yoo Jae-won had mentioned the concept of the White Tiger Fund before. At the time there had been no particular reaction, but when ID Investment withdrew $23 billion from the Nasdaq and sent it to Korea, outright opposition began to pour in. The United States preached the free movement of capital as a global standard, yet it seemed they disliked seeing money leave their own market. Moreover, it was the first time such a massive amount of capital had left the Nasdaq all at once, causing a slight shock. Three days after Yoo Jae-won’s simultaneous sell-off, major IT stocks that had maintained a solid upward trend on the Nasdaq all reversed into decline, and the downward trend was still ongoing. If this continued, there was a high probability that a long red candle would appear on the Nasdaq’s weekly chart.
“Don’t worry. I’ve already told them that if America faces an economic crisis, I’ll be the first to step in and help.” He hadn’t said it directly to President Clinton, but he had made the statement in a recent interview with a reporter.
“Huh? America is the world’s greatest economic power. What economic crisis are you talking about?” Jeon Myeong-heon’s question reflected the common sense of the era. Yet the truth was that America’s economy had not been particularly strong from the late 1980s through the early 1990s. It had discovered a new growth engine called IT and actively promoted it. Thanks to that, it had led the global IT revolution and achieved its current economic growth rate. From that perspective, the phrase “economic crisis” did not seem to fit America. But even as the U.S. economy was showing clear signs of recovery, a poisonous mushroom that would drive the American middle class to ruin was growing rapidly. To intervene as actively as he had this time, the White Tiger Fund had to succeed without fail.
“By the way, are you all right, Grandfather? There’s been no shortage of obstacles to the economic reform efforts. I heard there were even tabloid articles targeting you.” Yoo Jae-won deliberately provoked Jeon Myeong-heon.
“They underestimated me. I’ll show them clearly that Jeon Myeong-heon is still alive.” Jeon Myeong-heon gritted his teeth. Among the industrial warriors who had emerged after liberation, he had reached the highest level. A mere scandal like this did not stress him. In that era, as long as a man brought home money, whatever he did outside was tolerated. Rather, Daeho Group, which had treated him lightly, had now firmly earned his ire, and he had also gained a clear picture of the old-guard forces opposing reform.
“Hmm, but Jae-won, aren’t you curious about that article?” Just as the phone call was about to end, Grandfather Jeon Myeong-heon suddenly asked about the scandal. He hadn’t cared about outside opinions, but Yoo Jae-won’s reaction seemed to weigh on his mind.
“Of course not. No matter what the truth is, I’m always on your side, Grandfather.” In reality, Yoo Jae-won had known about the incident long before. If anyone carried a heavier burden, it was Yoo Jae-won. He was curious how Chairman Kim O-jung had learned of the story, but that could be investigated later without issue. Ultimately, Yoo Jae-won had never demanded perfect moral integrity from Jeon Myeong-heon. All that mattered was that the man cleanly and thoroughly carried out the plan Yoo Jae-won had prepared in his previous life.
“Is that so? Thank you for saying that.” Jeon Myeong-heon’s voice carried renewed strength, as if he had drawn power from Yoo Jae-won’s answer. Exactly three days after the call ended, Jeon Myeong-heon opened fire.