First Meeting
"Already?"
Kim Jin-su jumped at the phone call from Korea, blurting out the question in surprise.
He was in the middle of on-site training at Hansang's agricultural production base in Vacaville, California.
"Yes, the full amount has been deposited today. Total settlement of 600 million won. Please check."
"Six... six hundred million?"
Jin-su couldn't believe his ears.
He'd figured the most he'd get was around 50 million won to cover equipment repairs and crop damage.
But 600 million? That covered the entire loan from installing the smart farm, mental anguish compensation, and every last won of lost future profits from their midnight flight. Not a penny short.
Choi Il-woo had pushed for a quick settlement to avoid dragging things out in court over his client's loan—Ji-hoon's request had made him go all out.
Jin-su had come to America, sure, but he'd been agonizing over the loan back home, wondering if he'd have to beg his parents for help.
That worry melted away like snow with one phone call.
"Thank you! Thank you so much, Lawyer Choi!"
Jin-su bowed repeatedly to the phone, pouring out his gratitude.
He hung up and immediately opened his banking app.
His hand trembled as he confirmed the deposit.
Without hesitation, he hit the loan repayment button.
Even after clearing all his debts, 200 million won still sat in his account—a massive sum.
"Haa..."
Free from the suffocating yoke of debt, his legs went weak.
With this much money, starting life in a foreign land felt a lot more secure.
Jin-su looked up at the landscape stretching before him.
Vacaville was worlds away from the stifling Korean countryside.
"Hey, Jin-su! Take a water break!"
"Got it, hyungnim!"
No brutal hazing here.
The local farm owners were mostly weekend hobbyists who came and went leisurely. And above all, there were plenty of young Korean guys like him who'd come over together.
People who spoke his language and understood his situation—perfect for unwinding over beers after work.
No room for loneliness.
What overwhelmed Jin-su most was America's insane agricultural scale.
What I was doing back in Korea... that was just child's play.
He stuck out his tongue at the endless fields before him.
His main gig, the smart farm, was still under construction, so he was learning open-field farming for now—and the scale blew his mind.
Onions, garlic, leeks.
These weren't "fields." Crops stretched to the horizon; you couldn't even guess where they ended.
He got why people joked you'd starve lost in an American cornfield.
Drones buzzed around spraying pesticides, house-sized tractors roared as they plowed the earth.
Jin-su had no choice but to feel humble.
"Alright, let's do this."
He adjusted his gloves.
Chasing after the local veterans and seniors who'd farmed here forever, he started soaking up techniques like a sponge.
The Korean nightmare was over.
Now, on this vast land, it was time to chase his real dreams.
America had labor laws locked in tight for a 40-hour workweek.
You could work more, of course.
Eight hours a day, five days a week.
But if you went over 40 hours to earn extra, you got 1.5x overtime pay.
From the employer's side, those costs were killer, so most small businesses stuck strictly to 40 hours.
In this labor environment, Ji-hoon's company Hansang added a new department.
Farm Management Department
Korea's food service industry and small businesses squeezed labor costs to turn a profit.
Simple reason: the structure was messed up.
Ingredient prices skyrocketed, minimum wage shot up, and Korea's unique weekly holiday pay strangled employers.
To make real money in a restaurant, food costs had to stay between 28-35% of sales.
But they averaged 30-40%.
Labor: 20-30%.
Rent: 7-10%.
Utilities, taxes, delivery fees: 10-20%.
After all that, owners pocketed maybe 7-10% pure profit at best.
It wasn't that bosses were devils squeezing part-timers.
To grab even that scrap, they split shifts to dodge holiday pay, tricks that dried up good jobs in a vicious cycle.
The rapid minimum wage hikes ironically killed jobs.
America was different.
No weekly holiday pay, flexible part-time culture entrenched.
Ji-hoon took it further.
Don't hire employees—hire bosses.
Seemed like Korea's shady subcontracting scam at first glance.
But Ji-hoon knew human nature cold.
Motivation.
The difference between "this is the company's field" and "this is my field" was night and day.
The magic words that made humans work hardest: my business.
Ji-hoon planned to spin off diligent farm workers into independent small farm owners.
The Farm Management Department existed to block any mid-chain exploitation.
Their contracts had ironclad clauses.
However, upon confirmation of discrimination, unfair treatment, wage theft, or any exploitative acts against employees, all supply contracts with Hansang terminate immediately, and the farm is expelled.
Hansang was their biggest buyer—their only client.
Direct deals skipping Korea's tangled middlemen meant huge margins for farm owners.
No idiot would kick the golden goose over pinching a few labor bucks.
The risk crushed the reward.
Ji-hoon's big picture went beyond farming success.
America was multi-ethnic.
Jews, Blacks, Hispanics, Chinese—tight communities wielding power.
Koreatown existed, but their bonds were weaker than others.
'Korea within America.'
That was Ji-hoon's endgame.
If Koreans worked the primary production hub in Vacaville, earned money, built families and villages?
A group of sturdy, organized Korean men—fresh off two years of military training.
No one in America could ignore the new force rising.
I held Lily's hand and drove out to the suburbs.
City noise faded, the view shifting from gray towers to green expanses.
We arrived at Oakland Municipal Cemetery.
Engine off, heavy silence settled.
Stepping out, it felt less like a graveyard and more like a vast park.
Endless green lawns rolling over Oakland's gentle hills.
Warm California sun slanted down, ancient oaks and live oaks standing sentinel through the ages.
"Let's go."
I gripped Lily's hand tighter.
Along neat paths, orderly white square headstones marched in rows. Some spots boasted grand statues or family plots.
Too serene and beautiful for the dead.
Atop the hill, Oakland's skyline and San Francisco Bay unfolded in panorama.
The bustling world of the living met the eternal rest of the dead at this strange border.
Only rustling leaves in the breeze broke the quiet.
Lily's parents' spot had prime sun and view.
"It's been a while, Dad. Mom."
Lily murmured softly.
Her voice drifted on the wind.
March in California was full spring.
Sunshine poured, life budding everywhere.
But today, Lily and I wore somber black suits out of respect for the departed—clashing with the bright season.
We walked the plot in silence.
Lily rarely talked family.
I never pried.
No sense ripping open old wounds.
But as winter ended, she mentioned it casually, like the weather.
"Honey, next week is my mom's death anniversary."
March marked her mother's passing—my mother-in-law.
Father buried her here, then chose the spot beside her for himself.
His way of love: visit both on her anniversary.
We stopped before two headstones side by side.
Left: Irina Shuisky.
Right: Eric Brown, etched clear.
Shuisky...
Russian lineage explaining Lily's looks.
Lily pulled out handkerchiefs and wet wipes.
"So much dust."
She knelt, gently wiping years from the stones.
Her care was so tender, I watched a moment before joining quietly.
I placed the white chrysanthemum bouquet we'd brought neatly in the center.
Squatting beside her, I wiped the tops.
Spring breeze tugged our black clothes, but calm silence wrapped us.
Stones gleamed, reflecting California's blue sky.
I straightened my clothes, stood with Lily, closed my eyes.
Brief moment of silence.
Leaves whispered.
I opened my eyes; Lily hooked her arm in mine.
"Mom, Dad! Say hi."
Her voice rang bright, defying the graveyard—like a girl introducing her boyfriend.
"This is my husband. Cool, right?"
She leaned on my shoulder, giggling.
"I'm su~per happy. You guys gave me this gift by leaving me alone, huh?"
She chattered to the stones.
Not grief—pure joy, bragging.
"I'm doing great these days. Not hiding anymore, eating tons of yummy stuff. Know how good my hubby cooks?"
"Father-in-law! Mother-in-law! Thanks for making Lily so pretty!"
I chimed in; she poked my side, glaring playfully.
"See? He says I'm pretty all the time. I live like a total princess."
She stroked the stone.
"So Mom, Dad—no more worrying. He's the one who brought me into the world, loves me more than anyone. Right now... I'm the happiest in the world."
Sunlight, not tears, gathered in her eyes.
Her strength, her stable life— it shone in her voice.
I readjusted her hand, speaking inwardly to my in-laws.
Nice to meet you. Son-in-law Kim Ji-hoon.
The cold stone felt strangely warm.
I'll take all of Lily's tears. Make her smile forever. Rest easy.
A gentle spring breeze wrapped us, as if in answer.