Typhoon from a Single Washing Machine
It was unrealistic for the parties involved in the Glass Wallet Incident to underestimate the situation they faced. Warning bells were ringing from every direction; any reasonable person’s body would instinctively shrink back. Yet it was not entirely impossible. When the involved parties heard that an inspection team from a higher command had descended on the battalion or independent company to which Lieutenant Jang Taek-su belonged, their legs momentarily went numb. The inspection, however, turned out to be far milder than they feared. The inspectors merely asked why the donated appliances were sitting in the battalion commander’s quarters. Moreover, Lieutenant Jang Taek-su’s company commander—who was skilled at flattering the battalion commander—was a master at deflecting blame. He claimed that because groundwater had dried up and they could not operate the washing machine, they had placed it in the commander’s quarters—where tap water was available—so they could collect and launder the troops’ clothing. By hiding behind the excuse of no running water, he neatly sidestepped the central crime of embezzlement. The division inspector nodded along and even recorded the explanation verbatim in the official report. He then glossed over the matter by asking a few perfunctory questions about irregularities or harsh treatment inside the unit.
The truly absurd part was that even this was a trap. The note reading “It would be good to establish a rotation schedule for game console use” was interpreted as evidence that seniors were monopolizing the device while juniors could only watch helplessly. Because that note had come from the platoon under Lieutenant Jang Taek-su’s command, he too was dragged into the crosshairs. No matter how one looked at it, the inspection seemed deliberately aimed at him—as though the investigators knew he was the one who had tipped off ID Group about the washing machine embezzlement. Fortunately, that was not the case. The division had simply launched the probe on its own because rumors surrounding him were unfavorable; Lieutenant Jang Taek-su had merely been selected as an example to tighten discipline. His DM to Yoo Jae-won had not yet been exposed.
While society at large was beginning to boil over with the donation-goods embezzlement scandal, the people inside the military experienced the situation quite differently. The military existed in near-perfect isolation from civilian life. A force of seven hundred thousand, it guarded the nation’s core security interests and therefore always received special treatment. The division to which Lieutenant Jang Taek-su belonged was a frontline barbed-wire unit granted considerable autonomy. There the division commander reigned like a king, and regiment and battalion commanders wielded power akin to feudal lords. The metaphor was not exaggeration; their actual authority matched it. The battalion and company commanders believed they could smooth this matter over quietly. After all, they had buried far larger incidents than washing-machine embezzlement. Their confidence, however, was baseless. This time Yoo Jae-won, ID Group, and Tiffany were involved.
As IDDC 2002 drew to a close, the following statements appeared on NBC:
Beginning with that interview, the full story of the donation-goods skimming scandal poured out across every outlet where Time Warner Nextcom and ID Group held influence. Yoo Jae-won’s impulsive act of charity and its unintended consequences were laid bare. Sensational headlines fueled by her “aunts” seized public attention; once the mood was ripe, accurate information flooded the airwaves. Tiffany’s NBC appearance in particular created enormous ripples. Unlike her husband, who rarely appeared on television, she had stepped forward herself. That alone was major news. The declaration that she was considering a direct lawsuit delivered even greater impact. Although NBC had framed it merely as “under consideration,” the suit was filed the moment the broadcast ended through Kim & Jeong, Korea’s premier pro-bono law firm.
Kim & Jeong had been established as one of ID Group’s social contribution projects to assist those trapped in legal blind spots. Yet the caliber of its attorneys was dazzling; on average they ranked among the top ten percent of the Korean legal community by billing rate. Moreover, its founding representative, Kim Chang-wan, had been elevated to the inaugural head of the Corruption Investigation Office for High-ranking Officials. He had begun purging corrupt judges and prosecutors with terrifying efficiency. Figures who once could commit almost any crime without facing indictment were now being charged in special tribunals; those sentenced to prison or worse were dismissed from the bench or bar. Dozens of heads had already rolled. Stagnant water always rots, and the prosecutors and judges had built high walls around their own closed society. Thanks to these reforms, Kim & Jeong’s prestige among those who passed the judicial exam grew enormously. The firm had expanded to handle ever-larger cases, and the military donation-goods skimming incident was the biggest it had ever taken on.
“I can’t just sit still either!”
On the stage his wife Tiffany had prepared, Yoo Jae-won had no intention of remaining idle. A soft chime sounded. Checking the clock set to Korean time, he picked up his smartphone. The device gleamed as though freshly unboxed; naturally it was the flagship Android S2 unveiled at IDDC 2002. Unlike competitors who maintained a gap between announcement and availability, ID Group made every product purchasable the moment it was revealed. Not every country enjoyed immediate access—nations burdened by slow bureaucracy and numerous certification requirements were placed further down the list. The United States and South Korea, however, could buy the moment the conference ended.
Yoo Jae-won had purchased this unit himself from a nearby ID flagship store rather than receiving a special edition. The one-click switching utility transferred contacts, text histories, application data, and settings from his previous device without difficulty.
“Yes, Chairman! This is Assemblyman Lee.”
“Hello, Assemblyman. My belated congratulations on your local election victory.”
“Aigoo, thank you for even saying so. It wasn’t something I could accomplish through effort alone. This was possible only because of the solid foundation laid by former President Jeon Myeong-heon and the help you provided, Chairman.”
Representative Lee was indeed politically adroit. Opening with Jeon Myeong-heon showed he understood Yoo Jae-won’s deep respect for the former president. At the same time, he reassured his listener that he had not forgotten either Jeon’s legacy or Yoo Jae-won’s influence. Of course, Yoo Jae-won’s opinion of Lee In-jae remained unchanged; he knew the man’s true nature all too well.
The conversation continued, and Yoo Jae-won made his position clear: he did not want a few scapegoats punished and the matter quietly buried. Such half-measures would only invite repetition. He wanted a genuine Special Committee on Military Reform that could remain an issue all the way to next year’s presidential election. Representative Lee immediately grasped the request and promised to establish the committee at once.
After ending the call, Yoo Jae-won did not set the Android phone down. He took a deep breath and selected another number—one few people possessed. It belonged to the current president of South Korea, Kim Dae-jung. They had exchanged contacts during a private meeting before the previous election; this was the first time Yoo Jae-won had actually dialed it.
“Ah, is this Chairman Yoo?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
When the call with President Kim Dae-jung ended, exhaustion filled Yoo Jae-won’s face. Unlike Lee In-jae, Kim was a giant on an entirely different scale; every word had to be chosen with extreme care. The mental effort felt like an entire day of programming. Still, the outcome was satisfactory. The president had promised a thorough investigation, measures to prevent recurrence, and the creation of a special committee for military reform. Establishing the committee jointly with the Democratic Party rather than through the Tongil National Party alone would make genuine reform legislation possible and prevent the matter from fizzling out as in the past.
“Tens of trillions of won are at stake. Even if they wanted to, they couldn’t afford to fail now.”
Yoo Jae-won had made it unmistakably clear: should the matter be mishandled again, his disappointment would lead him to overhaul ID Group’s and his personal tax policies entirely. Few chaebol leaders could issue such a warning. The taxes chaebol paid were enormous, but so were the benefits they received from the state; the relationship was mutually dependent. Unilateral rupture was nearly impossible. Yoo Jae-won, however, was different. The sheer scale of his tax contributions set him apart. From corporate to personal income tax, he had been rewriting the nation’s all-time payment records. The income from ID Technology’s recent listing was no exception; he had paid the income tax the moment the funds arrived—something only he could do. Thus, his threat to revise both corporate and personal tax strategies carried unique weight.
“Still not enough.”
Even with such enormous repercussions, Yoo Jae-won lifted the Android phone once more. This time the name he selected was Vladimir Putin, President of Russia.
“Oh, Chairman Yoo. It’s been a while. The whole world is buzzing about you these days. What can I do for you?”
“I have a favor to ask.”
“A favor? After more than ten years of acquaintance, that’s the first time I’ve heard that word from you. All right—what is it?”
“I’d like North Korea to participate actively in the joint Naro rocket development project.”
“Is that all?” Putin sounded almost disappointed. He had received a great deal from Yoo Jae-won over the years yet had never repaid the debt. This seemed like a good opportunity to lighten that burden, but the request was smaller than expected.
“That will be enough. Maintaining stable inter-Korean relations is worth more to me than anything else. Moreover, if North Korea remains quiet, it will prevent extraneous noise when we punish those who skimmed the donated goods.”
“I see. I’ll look into it.”
When Putin said he would look into something, it was as good as done. China might grumble about losing North Korea’s posturing against the United States, but if Russia supported the move, Beijing could not block it.
Starting the next day, the military fell into chaos. The clumsy internal inspection meant to bury the scandal was swept away by exploding public opinion. The National Assembly formed the Special Committee on Military Reform, with lawmakers from both ruling and opposition parties participating in force. They did not merely lend their names; immediately after the inaugural ceremony they began on-site inspections, starting with the 230th Regiment where the scandal had originated. That was only the beginning of a massive wave.
When President Kim Dae-jung, despite his age and physical ailments, personally led a field inspection, military officials were so horrified they nearly fainted. What had begun with a single washing machine listed for sale in the used-goods market had become a colossal typhoon engulfing the entire South Korean armed forces.