The Temperature of the Han River
The irregular investor Kim Sang-guk let out a startled “Ack!” while checking the water temperature of the Han River. A breaking news alert had suddenly flashed across his screen.
“Whoa!”
- Urgent Breaking News!
- U.S. military executes Operation Thor’s Hammer!
- White House confirms capture of Osama bin Laden!
- Prisoner now being transported aboard a specially arranged aircraft!
After confirming the television news, Kim Sang-guk returned to his desk and powered on his monitor. His computer tower stayed on at all times; he only toggled the monitor for work. The HTS trading program was already running, its screen frozen at Friday’s closing prices. Dozens of stocks glowed blue, signaling declines. The bluest of them all was his own account, showing a brutal –57%.
His original capital had been roughly 200 million won. Liquidating everything now would leave him with less than 100 million. Just a week earlier he had been sitting on a 10% gain. None of it felt real. Worse, the money had to be withdrawn in cash by the end of September at the latest—it was the deposit for their newlywed apartment, with the contract scheduled for early October. He had planned to grow the sum quickly through short-term trading. Stocks had always seemed the fastest route, and he had been steadily profitable before. Then 9/11 struck.
He learned for the first time that every stock could hit the daily limit down. His account, which had still carried a faint red tint, turned a deep, icy blue. There was nothing he could do that day. He told himself the next day would bring relief, but the losses only deepened. That was when he made his fatal mistake.
What finally drove Kim Sang-guk to check the Han River’s temperature was the futures options market. While everyone else’s screens bled blue, a strange certification post appeared on the stock forum he frequented. Someone claimed a 10,000% return—earned by exercising put options. Normally those puts would have expired worthless, but the historic drop after 9/11 had turned them into gold. Shaken by two consecutive limit-down days, Kim Sang-guk bought options without proper research. Days later his account sat at –57%.
“How cold is the Han River again?”
He had never imagined he would be the one repeating the dark joke that losing investors posted on the forum. He even found himself regretting not simply investing in ID Investment’s fund instead of trading directly. While stock investors and fund managers alike were bleeding, plenty of people were smiling—those who had put their money into ID Investment’s fund.
The U.S. stock market had suffered the most from 9/11. The attacks had occurred on American soil, and there were no daily price limits. ID Investment’s fund, heavily weighted toward U.S. equities, should have taken the heaviest losses. Instead its returns rose. The fund had maintained a sizable equity allocation, yet its hedges were so perfectly executed that it actually profited. Its large positions in oil, gold, and grains—commodities that surged after the attacks—further boosted performance. Investors in the fund reportedly earned around 30% regardless of when they joined.
Kim Sang-guk, who had dismissed funds as boring and fee-heavy, now deeply regretted going direct. Then came the news from America: Osama bin Laden had been captured, and bombing of Afghanistan had begun. Three days after 9/11 the market had staged a weak rebound before sliding again. Everyone assumed the bottom was still far away. Just when it seemed all was lost, the capture announcement sent U.S. futures into a frenzy.
“What a shame today is Saturday.”
The only regret was that it was the weekend. Unlike the 24-hour U.S. market, Korea shut down completely on Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays. If the market were open now, Korean stocks would surely follow America’s surge. After two days of closure, however, the momentum might already be fading. Kim Sang-guk prayed Monday would deliver the powerful reversal the American futures were signaling.
The thought of checking the Han River’s temperature had already vanished from his mind.
Monday, September 17, 2001. The Korean market Kim Sang-guk had awaited with bated breath finally opened.
“Jackpot!”
The rebound was vertical. Every stock—options and equities alike—surged. Before the opening bell the sell-side order book had looked heavy, yet the moment trading began the sell orders vanished. The same happened with Kim Sang-guk’s holdings. Stocks that had shown massive sell walls on Friday, seemingly incapable of any rebound, opened bright red.
“This isn’t the time to hesitate—buying opportunity!”
His attempt to increase his position only reminded him he was still an amateur. Three monitors meant nothing when his decision-making and execution were slow. He rushed in buy orders that never filled, merely adding to the bid queue. Still, his mood lifted. His account’s overall return had jumped from –57% to –20% in minutes. Call options, in particular, were rocketing higher. He had bought calls expecting a technical bounce and taken losses; now that the real reversal had arrived, their value soared like rockets.
“Terrifying. This market is truly terrifying.”
Only two days earlier he had been calculating the Han River’s temperature. Now every ticker glowed red. He should have been celebrating the event he had hoped would trigger a rebound, yet he felt only fear. The rebound he had anticipated was merely technical. The capture of Osama bin Laden had been beyond imagination—just as 9/11 itself had been. A market that could not be predicted was no place for him.
“Does any of this make sense? Once I’m back in the black, I’m selling everything and moving into a fund.”
Thoroughly disillusioned, Kim Sang-guk made his decision. He did not even have to wait until the next day. Although the broader market remained mixed, his call options had climbed so dramatically that he had not only recovered his losses but turned a profit. When he moved the cursor over the sell button he hesitated for a moment—the momentum suggested further gains tomorrow, and his calls might multiply again. But the reversal he had mentally committed to had already occurred in a single day. He clicked and sold everything.
He was done with unpredictable stocks. The remaining money, after the apartment deposit, would go into a fund—specifically, ID Investment’s fund. He would add to it like a regular savings plan whenever he had spare cash, confident it would deliver better returns than his own trading. Years later he would confirm his choice had been correct. Though it took time, the rewards from choosing ID Investment’s fund over individual stocks would more than compensate.
“As expected, it’s Yoo Jae-won again.”
After selling, Kim Sang-guk browsed the news section of the HTS with a lighter heart and clicked his tongue. The articles credited stealth drones—developed over ten years at Yoo Jae-won’s insistence—as the decisive factor in Operation Thor’s Hammer. They also noted that Yoo Jae-won had provided various forms of assistance that allowed the U.S. to respond swiftly after 9/11. Evidence extracted from the iPhone S that helped identify the perpetrators had reportedly been secured thanks to his analytical skills. The word “as expected” came naturally.
“Wow, I’m actually jealous.”
For a moment Kim Sang-guk envied Yoo Jae-won. He himself had nearly jumped into the Han River before being saved by the capture news. According to the reports, even his survival could be traced back to Yoo Jae-won’s contributions. A young man wielding such global influence was enviable. At the same time, Kim Sang-guk found it almost supernatural—ID Investment had never once failed in any of its moves. Such accuracy was, to use the current slang, downright freakish.
The ironic part was that the very man Kim Sang-guk envied was currently facing complications of his own.
- Osama bin Laden arrives in Washington, D.C.
- Trial to be held in military court.
The entire world was in an uproar. Live footage showed the prisoner, flown in on a transport from the USS Nimitz, landing at Washington Dulles. Every American network, newspaper, and online outlet had dispatched crews, determined not to be outdone by CNN. The airport was packed.
- Stealth drone straight out of a sci-fi movie!
- The fruit of ten years of single-minded dedication!
- Pentagon positively reviewing adoption of unmanned aircraft!
Coverage of Yoo Jae-won and the stealth drone rivaled that of bin Laden’s arrival. The U.S. had been operating the Predator attack drone but had remained cautious. Seeing the specifications of the stealth drone ID High Tech had completed for Operation Thor’s Hammer left Pentagon officials stunned. Had the situation not been so urgent, the tradition-bound Pentagon would never have considered it. Once tested, however, the results were extraordinary.
Just as computer technology had advanced faster through Yoo Jae-won, drone technology had leaped a decade ahead. Its communications systems far surpassed those of the Predator, using multi-channel CDMA links that allowed far more detailed battlefield analysis. The transmitted imagery was processed by powerful cloud systems integrated with image-analysis modules, enabling analysis dozens of times faster than human operators. It was not a human analyst but the image-analysis module that had located Osama bin Laden’s safe house in one of Kabul’s upscale residential districts.
Cloud computing also drew renewed attention when discussions of Chinese cyber attacks resurfaced. During 9/11 an enormous DDoS attack had occurred, yet ordinary netizens barely felt it—thanks to ID Group’s rapid response. Achievements Yoo Jae-won had made in the IT sector were once again highlighted. And that was only the first part of the story; there were second and third chapters.
The second chapter belonged to ID Investment. The U.S. stock market had suffered the most tangible damage from 9/11. While not on the scale of the Great Depression’s Black Thursday, the crash was historic. Yet ID Investment, despite running equity-heavy funds, had avoided losses, and fame followed naturally.
The third chapter concerned Tiffany and Chevron. Impatient observers were already claiming that once Tiffany inherited Chevron, she would merge it with ID Group to create a supranational corporation.
In North America, Osama bin Laden was the hottest name, followed immediately by Yoo Jae-won. Media outlets quickly realized that any article mentioning either man guaranteed clicks, and they amplified every related story. Side effects were inevitable. The law of action and reaction was not confined to physics. The entertainment industry had a similar saying: excessive fan service breeds backlash. When agencies pushed their stars too hard, the public eventually pushed back. The situation surrounding Yoo Jae-won was strikingly similar. Although he had never sought the media attention, to ordinary people it felt overwhelmingly excessive.
Moreover, some of Yoo Jae-won’s actions during the 9/11 response touched on issues Americans found especially sensitive—personal privacy.
- Anonymous security expert who breached iPhone S security in just three hours likely Yoo Jae-won!
Media outlets digging into Yoo Jae-won’s background began examining his role in the 9/11 joint investigation headquarters and uncovered details about the rainbow table he had created for the iPhone S. Apple’s response was remarkable.
- Apple: “Three-hour breach claim is baseless rumor!”
- Apple issues emergency patch for iPhone and iPhone S!
- Apple strongly recommends users reset master passwords!
While firmly denying the three-hour breach rumor, Apple simultaneously released emergency patches and urged password resets—an unprecedented move that effectively lent credence to the rumor. Once Apple acted, the issue erupted into a massive controversy. The United States was a country extremely sensitive to personal privacy.