The Ubiquitous Horizon
Tzar Android Inc. had a market capitalization of $89.8 billion. Time Warner Nextcom stood at $120.1 billion. ID Technology was valued at roughly $76 billion. ID Investment and the New Japan Investment Bank, valued conservatively, came to $60 billion. ID Entertainment was worth $30 billion. Though it devoured capital, Yoo Jae-won placed ID High Tech—home to cutting-edge technologies and the world’s finest minds—at $10 billion. “Last is the ID Foundation. That one’s off the books.”
The ID Foundation held real estate, a private school foundation, and other properties that could be liquidated, yet it had never been created to generate profit. It existed to spend, and it performed that role faithfully. “Add in the TG Mobile stake, Mirae Electronics, the Mirae Group shares… and finally the cash accounts in the banks…”
That was the current total value of Yoo Jae-won’s holdings. “$392 billion?” The figure was staggering. At the prevailing exchange rate of 1,250 won to the dollar, it translated to an unbelievable 482 trillion won—more than two years of South Korea’s national budget. Yet a small trap lay hidden inside the number: ownership percentages.
Time Warner Nextcom was only 50.1 percent his. Android Inc. had originally been 51 percent, but after ID Investment cleaned up its portfolio ahead of the IT bubble, it had bought heavily and now held 56 percent. “Wait—if this was before the bubble burst, that would have been over 500 trillion won?”
Both Android Inc. and Time Warner Nextcom had taken heavy hits when the bubble collapsed. Yoo Jae-won had sensed the coming storm early and trimmed his holdings, but the Nasdaq-listed Android and the NYSE-listed Time Warner Nextcom had absorbed the full force of the gale. Their current valuations were not peaks; they were knees or even bottoms. At the height of the IT bubble, Microsoft alone had exceeded $200 billion in market cap, a level it would not reclaim until the 2010s. The aftereffects had required an agonizingly long recovery. Had the bubble peaked in 2001 as history originally dictated, Android and Time Warner Nextcom would likely have traded two or three times higher, and Yoo Jae-won’s fortune would have ballooned accordingly. He felt a twinge of regret, though he knew the crash’s pain would still have arrived. At least cresting the wave first would have made the climb back easier.
“Well, I’ll just have to take pride in the fact that we’re growing without bubbles.” Yoo Jae-won set the disappointment aside quickly. The scale ID Group had achieved in 1998 was unprecedented in capitalist history, yet he refused to be satisfied. Astronomical as one man’s wealth might appear, it was still modest on a planetary scale. To win the Great Game that would follow the technological singularity, he could not afford complacency.
“Then the master plan needs a major overhaul.” The master plan—his blueprint for a second life—could no longer keep pace with ID Group’s actual growth rate. Revision was inevitable. Yet even Yoo Jae-won could not rewrite it overnight. The master plan was no simple timetable; from the late 2000s onward, it was tightly interwoven with real-world events. He decided to set aside dedicated time for the adjustments later.
Though handed an unexpected new task, his face showed a satisfaction he had rarely displayed recently. Previously, thinking about the master plan had filled him with both excitement and a sense of daunting distance. Today he had confirmed that more than half the journey was already behind him. More importantly, he had kept the promise he made when he first began: to make everyone who worked with him wealthy as well. That pledge extended from founding members like Remington and Choi Kang-wook all the way to the lowest-ranking employees. Average wages across nearly every ID Group affiliate ran 50 percent above market rates. Anyone who joined as a regular employee and stayed had accumulated several times the assets of peers their age. The effect showed in housing. The residents of Yeoju’s finest apartments were overwhelmingly employees of the ID Group’s packaging plant. Most staff with five or more years at the Seoul ID Global Headquarters Building owned both a car and an apartment near headquarters in their own names. He felt genuine pride that he had delivered on those rewards while achieving such results.
The next day, Yoo Jae-won once again rode to ID Technology headquarters. Yesterday he had closed the books on 1998; today he was preparing the 1999 vision presentation. The one-year plans had long since been drafted. Tzar Android was pouring everything into the upcoming Android 2000. ID Technology was readying the T-Touch Phone, a new iWorks line, and the New Egg series. Nextcom was focused on mobile-only pages and enhanced mobile services as Yoo Jae-won had directed. Every other business unit was likewise aligned. He knew this well. Therefore, today’s address would not merely cover 1999; it would unveil the vision for the entire 2000s. He had prepared no script. Everything he needed to say was already organized in his mind, so he climbed into the car as lightly as usual.
“Chairman, the documents you requested yesterday.” Kim Dae-seok, seated beside him, handed over the paperwork that had piled up. Normally Yoo Jae-won handled ID Talk messages, emails, and electronic approvals himself, but yesterday’s year-end settlement events had forced Kim Dae-seok to receive them in his stead. The secretary had already culled the important items and now presented them. Yoo Jae-won accepted the stack without complaint. The drive to ID Technology headquarters took thirty minutes at best, forty when traffic was heavy—perfect for reviewing documents. And anything Kim Dae-seok had flagged was certain to be significant. He was right. ID Group granted its affiliate presidents considerable autonomy, so any matter that reached Yoo Jae-won’s desk was substantial.
“Nextcom’s R&D plan.” It was a budget proposal for wireless data communication technology development. Nextcom’s internet business centered on wired cable. Its broadband service, already past ten million subscribers, enjoyed strong market reviews. During the modem era the customer bulletin boards had overflowed with complaints about service outages. After Yoo Jae-won’s acquisition, everything changed. Installation requests and outage reports were now resolved within three days at most, and field teams had expanded dramatically. Costs rose, yet user complaints plummeted. Service quality improved, and Nextcom’s North American market share climbed sharply. Such success might have justified a pause, yet President Henry had correctly seen that wired internet alone could not sustain long-term growth. He had identified wireless communication as the next frontier and prepared a multi-hundred-million-dollar R&D plan that now lay before Yoo Jae-won.
Yoo Jae-won signed without hesitation. The signature authorized a billion-dollar expenditure, yet he did not even finish reading the document. The act expressed both his trust in Henry and his clear understanding of wireless technology’s value. Industry experts viewed the wireless sector as a red ocean dominated by Qualcomm’s CDMA commercialization and its one-chip solutions that combined mobile CPUs with communication modems. Intel, MediaTek, and Broadcom followed closely behind, leaving little room for newcomers. Henry and Yoo Jae-won, however, saw things differently. Qualcomm’s monopoly applied only to second-generation wireless. The 2,000 MHz band known as IMT-2000 remained untouched. Henry believed ID Group’s capital and technological strength could secure a meaningful stake in next-generation mobile communications. Yoo Jae-won agreed and signed. Henry could not possibly imagine that Yoo Jae-won’s Memory Palace already contained not only IMT-2000 but the generations that would follow. Once the foundation for wireless technology was in place, those future capabilities could be deployed at any moment. There was no reason to hesitate when opening the purse.
“Next is the Mirae Group matter.” Once the signature was done, Kim Dae-seok presented the next file. “The Mirae Group split has been confirmed.” “Yes, Chairman. It appears the share restructuring will result in a complete separation.” The documents on the Mirae Group split were thicker than Henry’s wireless plan. The behind-the-scenes maneuvering had been lengthy, and even the condensed version remained substantial.
“So it really is splitting into two.” Yoo Jae-won grasped the core immediately. The youngest son, Jeon Jae-jun, would inherit the department stores, but that division barely registered on the scale. Combined, the department-store affiliates were worth only about 500 billion won, while the two elder brothers were each receiving at least 20–30 trillion won in assets. Interestingly, Yoo Jae-won himself had played a considerable role in shaping this outcome. In the original timeline, the Mirae Group succession war had ended with Jeon Jae-geun, who inherited the automobile group, as the victor. Mirae Construction—the group’s largest pillar—had failed to collect massive receivables from the Middle East, suffered astronomical losses, and gone bankrupt after the IMF crisis. The automobile group, by contrast, had secured a near-monopoly in Korea during the crisis and grown ferociously. Yoo Jae-won’s arrival had altered Mirae Group’s trajectory. Mirae Construction recovered its Middle East receivables quickly, avoided reckless expansion, and prepared for the IMF crisis, softening the blow. It also gained an entirely new front yard: North Korea. While Asan Corporation nominally handled North Korean development, the actual execution fell to Mirae Construction. The Kaesong Industrial Complex, hotel-resort complexes for Mount Kumgang tourism, and even mine development were all assigned to Mirae Construction. It was also participating in the light-water reactor project through KEDO. In the past, North Korean business had been a mirage—much talk, almost no results. This time it was different. Excavation at Kaesong was already complete; roads, power grids, and water and sewage systems were being installed, and factories were rising on several plots. The Mount Kumgang hotel-resort complex was likewise underway: a massive hotel and resort with over a thousand rooms had been built, and the tourism routes were nearly finished. The tourism program would launch at the end of May, and reservations were already full through 2002. Interest was high both domestically and abroad. North Korean business was proceeding smoothly, driving Mirae Construction’s stock price skyward. Public perception held that Jeon Jae-gu had received 60 percent of Mirae Group, Jeon Jae-geun—who took the automobile and distribution affiliates—had received 32 percent, and the youngest, Jeon Jae-jun, had received 8 percent.
“I also received a call from Chairman Jeon Jae-gu.” “What about?” “He said he has something important to discuss regarding the group shares. He’ll contact us again soon.” Group shares. Jeon Jae-gu would have no reason to discuss ID Group shares, so he must have meant Mirae Group shares. In reality, Yoo Jae-won held a 10 percent controlling stake in Mirae Group that he had received from Jeon Myeong-heon. More precisely, it was a 10 percent stake in Mirae Distribution, the group’s dedicated logistics company. Mirae Group itself operated under a circular shareholding structure with Mirae Distribution at the apex. Jeon Myeong-heon had ultimately given Mirae Distribution to Jeon Jae-geun rather than Jeon Jae-gu, reasoning that, from a purely business standpoint and ignoring the circular ownership loop, Mirae Distribution belonged with the automobile group. An automobile required more than ten thousand parts; while Mirae Distribution did not transport every single one, the portion it did handle was irreplaceable. The problem was that any proper corporate split required settling the Mirae Distribution issue, and Jeon Jae-geun had no intention of cooperating. Anxious, Jeon Jae-gu had eventually settled on the 10 percent stake held by Yoo Jae-won as his solution.
“Understood. If Chairman Jeon calls, please connect him immediately.” Whether Mirae Group split into two or not, Yoo Jae-won felt little interest. Though Mirae Group was Korea’s largest chaebol, most of its businesses offered no meaningful synergy with his own holdings. Avoiding outright collision would already be fortunate. After all, the White Tiger Fund had acquired Daeho Heavy Industries, and through the New Japan Investment Bank he had purchased several Japanese heavy-industry firms, creating considerable overlap with Mirae Group’s domains. The one area that did interest him was Mirae Electronics. If Mirae Electronics were folded into ID Group, he would command dominant power in the global memory-semiconductor market. “Surely they won’t offer that.” Memory-chip prices were collapsing, but once the PC generational shift arrived and mobile devices went mainstream, prices would surge. It would be ideal if he could trade his Mirae Group stake for Mirae Electronics shares, yet neither the management nor Jeon Jae-gu would be ignorant of that value.
A short while later, after reviewing every document Kim Dae-seok had prepared, Yoo Jae-won realized the car had already arrived at ID Technology. Stepping out, he was guided not to the usual meeting room but to the grand auditorium. Yesterday’s year-end settlement had been a modest affair with the presidents in the executive conference room; today’s vision presentation would be broadcast live to the entire group via the net-meeting system. Applause erupted as he entered.
“Hello. This is Yoo Jae-won.” Even his simple greeting drew a reaction as fervent as if a Hollywood star had appeared—perhaps because yesterday’s settlement had included the promise of special bonuses. After the greeting, Yoo Jae-won moved straight to the main topic in his usual manner. He signaled a waiting staff member, and a large screen behind the stage lit up with a familiar yet unfamiliar word: Ubiquitous.