The Western Overlord Arrives
The skyline of New York, the economic capital of the twenty-first-century technopia, remained unchanged. It was as dazzling as F. Scott Fitzgerald had described in The Great Gatsby—a place that fiercely promised every mystery and beauty the world had to offer. At the heart of the concrete jungle stood the twin towers of the World Trade Center, while Central Park, the sole patch of green, lay blanketed in a quilt of white snow, its blue hues still vivid beneath.
“Boss, welcome to New York.”
The first to greet Yoo Jae-won upon his arrival was Remington. Though Jae-won’s title for him had always been “boss,” Remington now carried himself with far greater authority. Several years had passed since he assumed the chairmanship of Time Warner Nextcom, the world’s largest media conglomerate. As the saying went, the position shaped the man—Remington now radiated the presence of a true leader of a global empire.
“Welcome.”
Standing beside Remington was Vincent Greenhill of ID Investment. After the second Japanese campaign, Vincent’s personal visibility had diminished somewhat, yet ID Investment remained the vital financial arm of ID Group, responsible for its largest cash flows. Moreover, Wall Street had recently begun a swift reevaluation of the firm. ID Investment first gained fame through Gulf War oil futures. It then multiplied its fortune by capitalizing on the Japanese market crash and the East Asian currency crisis. Wall Street, envious of such success, had been reluctant to acknowledge its skill—after all, those massive gains stemmed from extreme bets on unpredictable variables that defied conventional analysis.
Over the past year, however, perceptions had begun to shift. Following the collapse of the IT bubble, ID Investment had assembled a new portfolio spanning diverse sectors—from Starbucks to Zara—moving beyond technology. As time passed, that portfolio’s value soared dramatically. At that point, even skeptics had to concede real talent. Naturally, evaluations of Vincent Greenhill rose accordingly. Each time, he would wave both hands in modest protest, insisting that Jae-won had designed most of the portfolio and that he merely executed it. That was no empty claim; it was the truth. Yet Jae-won never underestimated Vincent. ID Investment, managing hundreds of billions of dollars, had never suffered a single financial mishap. Many Wall Street and London firms failed to avoid moral hazard—Bear Stearns had even collapsed due to employee embezzlement. While modern systems made detecting such risks easier, the early days without safeguards had been perilous. That ID Investment had operated so stably owed much to Vincent Greenhill.
“Thank you.”
Jae-won’s gaze toward the two men grew warmer. After their reunion at the airport, he was escorted to his lodging—the ID Investment Building in Manhattan. Once Trump Tower, it was now universally known to New Yorkers by its new name.
“Chairman, there’s something I need to discuss.”
Inside the car heading to the building, Vincent Greenhill, seated beside Jae-won, spoke cautiously.
“Yes, what is it?”
Jae-won sensed trouble in Vincent’s tone.
“It’s been over ten years since I began working with you, Chairman. Thanks to you, I’ve received two fine watches already.”
All founding members had now served more than a decade, which was why the ten-year service gifts had been prepared. On Vincent’s wrist, the Royal Oak with its octagonal bezel gleamed gold, having replaced the Submariner he received five years earlier.
“Naturally, I wondered what the third might be, but unfortunately, my body may not last that long.”
Vincent’s careful mention of the service gift was, in fact, a declaration of his intent to retire. He had already been at retirement age when he first joined Jae-won—sixty-one by American standards. A decade later, he was now seventy-one.
“Rising in the morning has become difficult, and minor ailments plague me constantly. Maintaining a clear mind is harder too. I fear I might make mistakes if I continue handling important matters in this condition. If you permit it, I would like to step down from the position you so generously entrusted to me.”
“Hmm. This isn’t something you decided on suddenly today, is it?”
“No. I’ve been thinking I should mention it since last year.”
“Have you considered a successor?”
Vincent Greenhill was Jae-won’s finest asset manager. He had accepted Jae-won’s bold demands without complaint and delivered 120 percent results. Most Wall Street professionals possessed strong egos; in a world moving enormous sums, it was easy to lose one’s bearings. Many turned to stimulants or even drugs. Finding another like Vincent would be no easy task.
“There are a few I’ve had my eye on, but I haven’t examined them closely.”
That was a very Vincent-like answer. ID Investment’s owner was Jae-won, so selecting a successor was ultimately his prerogative. Yet the firm had been fully delegated to Vincent. During personnel reviews, Jae-won had done little more than sign the lists Vincent prepared. Consequently, no obvious candidate came to mind for who might take Vincent’s place.
Jae-won’s true wish was for Vincent to remain president of ID Investment indefinitely. With that in mind, he floated a suggestion.
“Warren Buffett of Berkshire Hathaway is about your age, isn’t he? How about retiring when he does?”
“Chairman Buffett?”
Vincent reacted instantly. Though Warren Buffett would grow even more famous in the twenty-first century, his renown was already considerable in the year 2000.
“I’ll leave the selection of a successor to your judgment, Vincent. Please choose people who can carry forward the spirit of ID Investment.”
“You want me to do it?”
“Yes. After assigning the task, we can observe for a year or two, can’t we?”
“That long?”
“It shows how important your position is. We’re not talking about small change here. One mistake could be fatal. Besides, my way of doing business differs greatly from Wall Street conventions.”
Jae-won had no intention of altering ID Investment’s investment philosophy, no matter who took over. Therefore, having Vincent recommend someone most like himself was ideal. Of course, the best outcome would be Vincent staying until Warren Buffett retired. In a way, it was almost unethical—Buffett himself had refused to relinquish the chairmanship of Berkshire Hathaway even in old age.
“Well, if that’s what you wish, Chairman, I suppose I have no choice.”
Vincent pondered briefly, then nodded. A company’s fortunes could falter depending on the successor. Though ID Investment had been born of Jae-won’s will, Vincent had built it brick by brick. He felt the weight of responsibility keenly. In the end, he agreed to stay on for the one or two additional years Jae-won had requested. For Jae-won, it was a great relief.
The next day.
Having settled into the ID Investment Building, Yoo Jae-won began his official schedule on the East Coast. The first item was attendance at a charity event. The venue, a hotel in New York, was filled with soldiers in dress uniforms. The host was the U.S. Army Veterans Association, and the purpose was to raise funds for PTSD treatment. Unlike Korea, which had only one veterans’ association, the United States had dozens—separate organizations for the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines, as well as groups for veterans of the Korean War, Vietnam War, and Gulf War. There was even a dedicated Department of Veterans Affairs within the federal government.
Today’s gathering was a typical charity event for service members, yet this occasion felt different. Many attendees wore the elegant gowns and suits more common at high-society parties. The sharp increase in civilian participation compared to the previous year was largely due to Jae-won’s presence. As ID Group grew, so did the number of people eager to meet him. Yet he rarely left San Francisco, and meetings were infrequent, making direct contact difficult. Once rumors spread of his attendance, invitations sold out. Even VIPs who seldom appeared at such events had come in numbers.
“Oh! The Western Overlord has graced us with his presence!”
Among those VIPs was Ted Turner, a man who always stirred conversation—or chaos—wherever he went. The moment Jae-won entered, Ted spotted him and approached with evident delight. It was pleasant to be greeted so warmly, but the nickname was peculiar.
“Western Overlord? What’s that supposed to mean, Mr. Turner?”
Jae-won skipped the greeting, puzzled by the unfamiliar title.
“You’ve built an IT empire through ID Group and seized a media empire with Time Warner Nextcom. Now Chevron is within reach too. If that doesn’t make you the Western Overlord, what does?”
Ted Turner’s blunt nature was on full display. Several people near the entrance who overheard the exchange even nodded in agreement. Jae-won wished Ted had delivered it as a joke with a chuckle, but the man’s face remained smiling. Jae-won countered at once.
“Come now, Mr. Turner. You know perfectly well how the Time Warner board’s shares are distributed. And Chevron? Jacob’s still there—what reach are you talking about?”
Jae-won could not freely control Time Warner Nextcom because the board wielded immense power. He had sought operating rights to one of Time Warner’s weakest-performing channels to strengthen his media presence. His plan was to revive it with proven hit programs, then produce and distribute original content. With flawless knowledge of mid-twenty-first-century blockbusters, success was assured. He also intended to adapt the winning entries from the ongoing Million Dollar Challenge through that channel. Yet the operating rights had not yet transferred to him. Though he had asked Remington nearly a year ago, the matter was entangled and the wait dragged on. The Time Warner board had also made overt attempts to block the move, fearing that cooperation would lead to ID Group absorbing the company rather than a true partnership.
“Haha, I’ve always had an eye for people. Jacob’s not the one. What kind of uncle fires his niece just because she delivered results? If he treats family that way, imagine how he treats employees.”
Ted Turner’s tongue was merciless. He even knew the precise circumstances behind Tiffany’s departure from Chevron to strike out on her own.
“I’ll be sure to pass that along to Grandfather Frederick.”
Fearing Ted would continue down a dangerous path, Jae-won moved to silence him.
“Hup. It was only a joke.”
Even the irrepressible Ted Turner apparently still respected Frederick Taylor II. He immediately changed the subject. Frederick had always been favorably disposed toward the current Jae-won, though he had been known as a formidable figure in his youth—something Ted remembered well.
“By the way, I didn’t realize you took such an interest in soldiers. Thanks to you, I ended up at an event like this.”
Ted’s words carried a hint of grumbling. He was known as a philanthropist and actively supported charitable causes, yet his preferences leaned toward peace and environmental issues. Supporting veterans’ associations had never crossed his mind.
“I’m Korean. Korea remains the world’s only divided nation, still facing off against North Korea. When you want peace, you must always prepare for war—that’s a lesson I keep close.”
The tension on the Korean Peninsula had eased considerably, yet Jae-won had never once let his guard down regarding North Korea. He knew the country could always produce the unexpected. Moreover, the worst terrorist attack in history—9/11—would occur the following year. To prepare in advance, building connections with high-ranking U.S. military officers was essential. That was why he had willingly attended today’s event.
“Your words are deeply moving, Chairman Yoo.”
As expected, his intention had struck home. A distinguished middle-aged man with a commanding presence approached, smiling. It was Brin Reistand, president of the U.S. Army Veterans Association and the very target of today’s gathering. A former four-star general with close ties to the Pentagon, he was precisely the connection Jae-won sought. While he had cultivated some intelligence contacts through long-standing CIA cooperation, he had yet to establish direct links with operational units or senior military leadership. He could have used President Clinton’s influence, but that risked unnecessary suspicion. Instead, he had chosen this traditional route to build relationships step by step.
“Hmm?”
Unfortunately, Brin Reistand had not come alone. An uninvited guest stood at his side—a man with sharp features, silver hair, and silver-rimmed glasses. It was the infamous Donald Rumsfeld.