The Empire's Counterattack
The sudden appearance of FBI agents did nothing to dampen the heated atmosphere at the event. They had not arrived wearing the bright yellow jackets emblazoned with "FBI" that agents typically donned when responding to active scenes. Moreover, they only showed up at the store after the open event had ended and some of the VIPs had already departed for lunch, so Yoo Jae-won learned of their presence much later. Thanks to that, the proceedings flowed without a single hitch.
Yoo Jae-won began by greeting each VIP who had arrived on time. Art Agnos, the mayor of San Francisco, was the first. A white man with brown hair and a prominent nose, he initially looked skeptical when Yoo Jae-won introduced himself. It seemed the mayor had come simply because his secretary had added the event to his schedule; he had no prior knowledge of ID Technology. Silicon Valley generated the highest tax revenue of any district in San Francisco, making it one of the mayor’s top priorities. That was why Art Agnos frequently appeared at events hosted by Silicon Valley companies. Of course, gatherings thrown by the valley’s established giants were far larger and more lavish. Yet for a mayor seeking visibility, a promising startup’s launch offered easier publicity and greater impact. If the company’s potential truly exploded, the credit would naturally flow to him. In that sense, ID Technology’s event was the best opportunity he had seen in recent months.
“Haha, today you’ve shown me that the pioneering spirit of Silicon Valley knows no age limit. I truly envy the parents who raised such a remarkable son.”
Along with his remark about the boundless spirit of challenge, Mayor Art Agnos treated Yoo Jae-won not as a child but as a full-fledged executive. Since this was their first meeting, Yoo Jae-won could not tell whether the words were genuine or mere flattery—perhaps they stemmed from the millions in tax receipts and the sizable campaign contributions ID Technology had made. Either way, it did not matter. The Korean newspapers would splash the mayor’s favorable comments across their front pages. After all, both San Francisco and Korean reporters had captured the handshake between Yoo Jae-won and Mayor Agnos; the Korean journalists were part of the press contingent that had accompanied him on this U.S. trip, their expenses covered by ID Technology. Having been burned by distorted reporting in his previous life, Yoo Jae-won found the arrangement distasteful, yet he accepted the necessity. This time, ID Technology—soon to become ID Group—would control the narrative and shape Korean public opinion.
“Thank you, Mr. Mayor. Thanks to your careful support of Silicon Valley, a fledgling company like ID Technology has been able to grow without difficulty and host an event of this scale.”
Mayor Agnos beamed at the reply. Though it was standard courtesy, the mayor found it far more pleasant coming from Yoo Jae-won, whose demeanor felt less like that of a typical businessman.
After the mayor, Yoo Jae-won cultivated relationships with executives from Intel, AMD, and other hardware firms friendly to ID Technology. Because they were all in the same industry, conversation came more easily than it had with the mayor. Many of them already recognized him, so there were fewer surprised reactions. Still, he devoted the most attention to Mayor Agnos—positioning him at the center for the ribbon-cutting, requesting a commemorative speech, walking with him during the opening, and demonstrating ID Office’s features on the display computers.
“One—no, make it three copies, please.”
His efforts paid off. The flagship store’s very first sale was made by Mayor Agnos, who purchased not one but three copies.
“One for myself, one for my secretary, and one as a gift for my son.”
“Of course. I’ll have them wrapped for you right away.”
The store manager, who had been waiting nervously, quickly accepted the order. When the flagship store opened, ID Technology had hired permanent staff. The highest-ranking employee was designated the manager, responsible for overall operations and accounting. Eight additional crew members handled customer service. All had been vetted for experience and reliability through Remington, and computer proficiency had been a decisive hiring factor. They had been brought on several weeks before the launch and given intensive training at the Silicon Valley office so they could answer questions when customers tried ID Office on the demo machines. For the opening day itself, five developers had also been dispatched to provide extra technical support.
“That will be three hundred and thirty dollars.”
“A very reasonable price!”
Simple arithmetic revealed that ID Office was priced at one hundred ten dollars per package in the U.S. market. Individual programs sold for forty dollars each, so four programs would total one hundred twenty dollars, but the bundled suite was discounted to one hundred ten. Even so, it was an extraordinary bargain. Lotus 1-2-3, IBM’s spreadsheet, cost two hundred ninety-five dollars per package. ID Office incorporated far more advanced technology, offered four office applications simultaneously, and still cost only one hundred ten dollars. Yoo Jae-won had no intention of maintaining rock-bottom pricing forever; rising development costs and inflation would eventually push prices upward. Even then, he planned to keep the burden on consumers within reasonable limits so that illegal copies would never become an attractive alternative.
“Today we’re running a grand-opening promotion—fifty percent off. Your total comes to one hundred sixty-five dollars.”
“Oh! There’s a discount too! Do you take cards?”
“Of course.”
With the mayor’s purchase breaking the ice, ID Office began selling like wildfire. The previous week’s advertising had announced a single day of fifty-percent-off pricing at the flagship store only; Electronics Arts retail outlets would sell at full price. The policy was designed to guarantee a spectacular first-day result, with a limit of five copies per customer.
“Here you are.”
“My, it’s heavier than I expected.”
The ID Office package was substantial. The final version, incorporating Android Alpha and the bootloader, required eight 2HD floppy disks, plus four thick manuals—one for each program. Even on lightweight paper, hundreds of pages times four made for a weighty bundle.
“Thank you! I look forward to working with you in the future.”
Yoo Jae-won offered his personal thanks. The true power of ID Office lay in its viral spread. Files created in its native format could only be opened with ID Office itself. When the mayor’s documents were distributed downward, staff would need the program to read and edit them. Public officials could not use pirated software, so they would have no choice but to purchase legitimate copies.
Yoo Jae-won remained at the mayor’s side like an attendant until Art Agnos left the store. Beyond the obvious networking benefit, there was another reason: the earthquake. On October 17, 1989, a magnitude 7.1 quake would strike San Francisco, killing sixty people and collapsing numerous buildings, including the Nimitz Freeway, which accounted for the largest share of fatalities. Yoo Jae-won had no intention of playing prophet, but he would not hesitate to leverage the situation before and after the disaster to expand his influence. Having the mayor’s cooperation would make that far easier, so he was determined to solidify their rapport today.
Following the mayor’s lead, other VIPs purchased copies as well—not corporate purchases, but personal ones. Still, each held significant sway within their organizations and possessed a practical mindset. Once they experienced the software, many would likely abandon their existing programs and buy ID Office for their companies. After the VIPs departed like the tide, the store filled with ordinary customers. The paid beta-tester program and aggressive online marketing had already generated widespread awareness; anyone active on the internet or PC networks had heard of ID Office at least once. Partnerships with prestigious San Francisco universities had further boosted adoption on campus. Students who tried it in computer labs wanted copies for their dorms and homes. The fifty-percent-off grand-opening sale made the price accessible even to those with thin wallets, and the small commemorative gifts—diaries and the like—only sweetened the deal. Lines stretched out the door and onto the sidewalk.
“This is already a resounding success.”
The flood of customers proved the discount had been decisive, yet the money spent on the promotion felt well worth it. So many buyers had converged that even the mass-media reporters who arrived later had plenty to photograph. The store had stocked three thousand copies of ID Office and one thousand of Zombie Crush; every unit sold out. Even then, the line remained, so discount coupons were hastily printed and distributed. Just as voters who waited in line before polls closed still received ballots, anyone who had participated in the grand opening earned the right to a fifty-percent discount—limited to one copy per person. More than three hundred people received coupons. They would surely return tomorrow, ensuring the store stayed busy for a second day as well.