The Glass Wallet Law and the Presidential Primary
From the very entrance, the "God of the East" made his presence known. If things started like this, all the effort to enter the country quietly at the airport would have been for nothing. It looked like they'd summoned a swarm of reporters too, and now a fight was breaking out right in front of them.
"What should we do?"
"We flew all the way from America. We can't just leave. Keep approaching."
Yoo Jae-won wanted nothing more than to drive straight past without stopping and head all the way to the house in Deokjin-ri, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The problem was those two men. The rest of the party members and lawmakers had done nothing wrong. Besides, Yoo Jae-won still had matters to check on at the Tongil National Party.
"Then we'll get out first and handle the situation," Kim Dae-seok said.
Yoo Jae-won nodded. Moments later, the car carrying Yoo Jae-won stopped about five meters from the main gate of the Tongil National Party headquarters. Lee In-je and Jeon Jae-jun, who had been locked in a standoff until then, looked visibly flustered. Without hesitation, both rushed toward Yoo Jae-won's car at the same time. But Kim Dae-seok and the bodyguards moved first.
"STOP!"
Greg, the lead bodyguard, strode forward with authority. Yoo Jae-won had been far too well-behaved until now. In America, he only left the house or office for specific events, and even then, he attended venues with solid security systems. The bodyguards had little real work to do. After signing on with Yoo Jae-won, none of the dirty jobs that usually came with protecting high-profile figures had ever occurred. Now, at last, a situation had arisen where their protection was genuinely needed. It was time to show what they could do.
Once Greg and the security team took control and Kim Dae-seok began speaking with Lee In-je and Jeon Jae-jun, the chaotic lobby of the Tongil National Party quickly settled. Soon after, Lee In-je wore an expression that said "as expected," while Jeon Jae-jun stood with his lips pursed in displeasure. The car that had been waiting five meters away then moved forward and stopped directly in front of the main gate. Yoo Jae-won stepped out under escort from his bodyguards. Flashes erupted from every direction.
It had been several months since he last returned to Korea after the World Cup, and the Tongil National Party was his first stop. With the presidential election looming, any angle made for good copy. The photographers fired off shots as if they intended to burn through an entire roll of film.
"We sincerely welcome Chairman Yoo Jae-won's visit to our headquarters!"
The first person to extend a hand to Yoo Jae-won was Lee In-je, the party leader.
"Yes, thank you for the grand welcome. I watched your activities from America and cheered you on."
The reason Yoo Jae-won shook hands with Lee In-je first was simple: age. Lee In-je was significantly older than Jeon Jae-jun, so protocol dictated the order. He had no intention of letting anyone misinterpret this as an endorsement of Lee In-je in the Tongil National Party's presidential primary.
"Chairman Yoo."
Jeon Jae-jun, apparently having misunderstood, spoke with his lips still jutting out.
"It's been a while, Chairman Jeon Jae-jun."
"I stepped down as Football Association president a long time ago. From now on, please call me candidate."
No matter how hard one tried to find something likable about Jeon Jae-jun, there was simply nothing there.
A simple welcome ceremony prepared by the party soon began, marking the start of Yoo Jae-won's schedule at the Tongil National Party.
There were two things Yoo Jae-won needed to confirm at the Tongil National Party. The first was the so-called Glass Wallet Law—the Public Official Asset Disclosure and Personnel Regulation Strengthening Act. What had begun as a simple asset disclosure bill had expanded significantly because the disclosed information was also to be used for promotions and dismissals, requiring revisions to the entire State Public Officials Act. This naturally created greater conflicts of interest. The conservative Hannara Party and Minju Hanguk Party fiercely opposed it, claiming that if passed, all public officials would be forced to curry favor with the Democratic Party and the Tongil National Party—in other words, it was a power grab for their dictatorship. Their argument was flawed, however. Even within the Democratic Party, there were considerable voices of opposition. If the expanded Glass Wallet Law passed, the Corruption Investigation Office would gain even greater influence. Yet the current head of the office had no ties to the Democratic Party. Appointed by former President Jeon Myeong-heon, he was technically aligned with the Tongil National Party. Some even claimed he was one of Yoo Jae-won's people because he came from the Kim & Jeong law firm. Of course, Kim Chang-wan, the head of the Corruption Investigation Office, was known for his upright character and showed no favoritism toward either side, nor did he go easy on judges simply because he himself had once been one. Since the office's launch, ten to twenty judges and prosecutors had been dismissed each year under its investigations. The rigor of those probes was enough to make even special investigation unit prosecutors shake their heads. The case involving Major General Park Ha-il—the central figure in the military donation theft scandal—was also under investigation by the office. As the probe uncovered layers of military corruption and exposed internal factions like the Doksa Group and the Alja Association, it was expanding into a massive scandal. This was possible because the Corruption Investigation Office had the authority to conduct investigations based on information discovered during other probes. In a situation where the office was demonstrating capabilities beyond those of the prosecution, opponents feared that enacting the Glass Wallet Law and strengthening the State Public Officials Act would turn the office into a power institution surpassing even the police of the First Republic or the prosecution of the Sixth Republic. Although Kim Chang-wan currently conducted fair investigations, those caught in its net and their allies cried foul, claiming the probes were politically targeted. Their concern was that if someone highly biased or willing to distort cases for partisan gain ever took the helm, chaos would ensue. Thanks to this opposition, the Glass Wallet Law had yet to pass the National Assembly.
"What happened to the conservative groups that threatened to file a constitutional complaint?"
Some forces had deliberately tried to escalate the controversy, using conservative organizations to put the brakes on the Glass Wallet Law through a constitutional complaint.
"Of course, it was dismissed."
It was a relief. They had expected as much, but there was always the chance the Constitutional Court could make an unexpected ruling and undo the hard-won reform momentum.
"The dismissal was only natural. Under the amended constitution, anyone receiving tax money is simultaneously subject to audit obligations. Not only state institutions but also public officials paid with tax money bear audit responsibilities," Lee In-je explained.
Yoo Jae-won nodded. It was a newly added clause in the tenth constitutional amendment that took effect with the launch of the Seventh Republic. Though only a single line, its implications were enormous. Any sector receiving government budget—in other words, taxpayer money—was now subject to audit obligations. If anyone spotted wasteful spending of public funds, any citizen could request an audit. However, even long after the constitutional amendment, the Board of Audit and Inspection had remained the same size, and the subordinate laws needed to implement the constitutional provisions had not been enacted, leaving the clause largely symbolic. The current incident had finally prompted the creation of those supporting laws.
Lee In-je then proudly produced a document that appeared to be over fifty pages long.
"This is the Glass Wallet Law and the State Public Officials Act amendment that was completed yesterday."
Yoo Jae-won took the document and began reading through it rapidly. Despite the number of pages, the line spacing was wide and the font large, allowing him to flip through quickly.
"Hmm?"
His pace slowed at one particular section—the penalty provisions. If the audits were thorough but the penalties remained weak, the law would be toothless.
"This looks good."
Lee In-je and the other lawmakers visibly relaxed at his approval. Everything Yoo Jae-won had advocated for had been properly reflected. For example, fake address registration—a frequent topic during confirmation hearings—would now constitute a serious disqualifying factor once the law passed. A current public official who committed address fraud would face dismissal, a severe punishment.
"Yes, our lawmakers worked very hard to meet your standards. We even heard complaints that we were treating public officials like potential criminals."
Lee In-je emphasized his own contributions.
"They're public figures," Yoo Jae-won replied simply.
That ended Lee In-je's grumbling. Public figures, by virtue of performing public duties, were granted far greater authority than ordinary citizens. The core of this amendment was to ensure that such authority came with correspondingly greater responsibility. In the past, responsibility had been minimal compared to the authority granted, so even when officials caused massive losses to the state, most punishments amounted to nothing more than stern warnings. It was no wonder people had started calling them "heavenly dragons." While no one expected the Glass Wallet Law and the State Public Officials Act amendments to completely eradicate such behavior, at the very least, officials would now understand that the law had teeth.
"Have you finished discussions with the Democratic Party as well?"
"Yes. They seem quite dissatisfied, but with the presidential election right around the corner, they can no longer afford to delay reform legislation."
From Lee In-je's tone, it sounded as though some kind of deal had been made. But Yoo Jae-won had no interest in learning the details of any transactions between the Tongil National Party and the Democratic Party. He simply wanted his original draft to pass the National Assembly as quickly as possible.
"You've done well. If it passes in this form, I'll finally be able to sleep soundly."
At Yoo Jae-won's words, Lee In-je and the lawmakers present all looked as though they had cleared a major hurdle. But one more mountain remained.
"Shall we discuss the presidential candidate primary now?"
Everyone present had been far more interested in the Tongil National Party's presidential primary than in the Glass Wallet Law. Lee In-je and Jeon Jae-jun were the candidates themselves, and the lawmakers knew that choosing the right side would determine their next four years. The key issue was the primary rules. Depending on how they were set, the game could be over before it even began. And within the Tongil National Party, the person with the most influence was Yoo Jae-won.
"Everything else is fine, but the national primary needs some adjustment to be perfect. If you're holding a national primary but people still have to come to the party convention hall to vote, who among the general public would bother?"
Yoo Jae-won raised an objection to the primary rules. At the same time, wrinkles appeared on Lee In-je's forehead, while color returned to Jeon Jae-jun's previously expressionless or slightly irritated face. The difference in positions between Lee In-je, who had deep roots within the party organization, and Jeon Jae-jun, who had been active outside and only returned to the party for the election season, became starkly clear. Lee In-je could mobilize party members by bus because of his organizational strength. Jeon Jae-jun had financial resources, but there would be penalties.
"Also, the weighting between different groups seems off. If this were a party leadership election, a higher proportion for party members would make sense."
The rules placed greater weight on party members' votes than on those of the general public. Though couched in complex language, mathematically it amounted to roughly a 20% bonus for party member votes. This was a presidential primary, not a popularity contest among party members. It was unclear what the point was. It spoke to Lee In-je's intense desire for the presidency, but wanting to be president did not make one president.
"If our Tongil National Party had around twenty million members, this might work. But it doesn't. When selecting a presidential candidate, the most important factor is the public's approval rating, isn't it?"
"That's right!" Jeon Jae-jun raised his voice.
Yoo Jae-won shot him a glance. He wasn't saying this because he liked Jeon Jae-jun. His goal was principle. He was tired of primary rules changing like taffy with every major election—whether legislative or presidential. This time, he intended to establish clear standards and ensure they were maintained going forward.
"Well, then, what is your opinion, Chairman Yoo?" Lee In-je asked in a trembling voice.
"We have excellent tools like the internet and smartphones. Why aren't we using them?"
"Chairman Yoo, it's not that we didn't consider the internet. But mobilizing people online isn't impossible, there are authentication issues, and internet users are skewed toward those in their thirties and younger..."
Lee In-je began offering a string of excuses. But to Yoo Jae-won, it was nonsense. The world's foremost internet expert was standing right in front of him, and yet here was this whining.
"I'll solve that problem for you."
Opinion polling via the internet and smartphones was a tool that would soon become widespread. Its applications extended far beyond elections—into internet services, broadcasting production, and countless other areas. Along with the acquisition of NBC, Yoo Jae-won had already shown part of his completed blueprint: the planning of the program Produce American Idol. He had no intention of launching it immediately in America, however. The plan was to test it first in Korea before rolling it out in the United States. In any case, creating a precise voting system using the internet and smartphones was a foregone conclusion, and using it for the Tongil National Party's presidential primary was also desirable.
Once Yoo Jae-won's intentions became clear, the Tongil National Party lawmakers quickly voiced their approval. Although Lee In-je and a small number of his supporters objected, they were indeed a minority. The one who became excited was candidate Jeon Jae-jun. He seemed to interpret Yoo Jae-won's decision as support for himself. Yoo Jae-won clicked his tongue at the sight. In truth, Yoo Jae-won had no expectations for either Lee In-je or Jeon Jae-jun. Even after his regression, important events still unfolded as they were meant to. The presidential election was no exception. If Yoo Jae-won truly committed himself to changing things the way he had with Jeon Myeong-heon, he could alter the outcome. But he had no desire to do so for Jeon Jae-jun or Lee In-je. That meant the next president would almost certainly be the Democratic Party's Roh Moo-hyun, just as in the original history. Watching them drink the proverbial kimchi soup so confidently left a bad taste in Yoo Jae-won's mouth.
Afterward, Yoo Jae-won shared his political views over tea with the lawmakers, posed for plenty of photographs, and then left the Tongil National Party headquarters. Dealing with politicians had drained him, but his schedule was not yet over. At least the next destination was better than the Tongil National Party. It was the headquarters of Dream Entertainment. His purpose was to finalize idol contracts with the trainees scheduled to debut in December.