Chairman Cha Jinpyo's Scheme (2)

"Stem-cell injections are ordinarily given through a vein. Put them into subcutaneous fat the way you would an obesity drug, and they never spread through the whole body. Size is the problem. They aren't absorbed, and they can't pass inside the cell wall."

Dr. Choi Changsik, the lead developer who had carried Miradam from the earliest days of Daemang Pharmaceutical, was briefing Choi Seonggi on the research himself. Seonggi couldn't follow every word, but he bent his attention to it as hard as he could.

"So we broke the telomerase enzyme into fine fragments and ionized it, without letting it lose its original nature. That is our patented technology. Done that way, a simple subcutaneous injection can spread through the entire body, cross the cell wall, and enter the nucleus. As you know, telomerase is the enzyme that repairs telomeres. That is the core mechanism. The paracrine effect is only an indirect one, and yet... I can't understand why the FDA is making an issue of the paracrine effect. We've submitted experimental results verifying it, more than once, and still... Haah... Honestly!"

Dr. Choi Changsik sighed. Seonggi listened without a word and nodded. He had done his reading beforehand, but even with Choi Changsik speaking Korean, it was brutally hard to follow.

"So there's no telling when FDA approval will come. Isn't this the sort of thing the Korean government ought to step in and help with?"

"It wouldn't do any good. The FDA is a notoriously exacting agency. Not even the President of the United States can push it around."

"I see."

When Seonggi answered, Choi Changsik smiled bitterly.

"The truth is, there's an American global pharmaceutical company. You probably know it. Allize—they make an obesity treatment similar to Wegovy. They've developed a drug called Lighter, something along the lines of our Miradam. They're in the final stretch of clinical trials. If you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ask me, the reason Miradam isn't getting FDA approval is that the U.S. government wants to float that Lighter first."

"I was going to ask anyway. What's the difference between Miradam and Lighter? Which one is better?"

It must have been a sharp question. Choi Changsik lifted one eyebrow.

"From what I've been able to piece together about the clinical results, Lighter shows an effect quickly the moment it's administered, but there's little fundamental improvement. It does seem excellent for wrinkles. Our Miradam doesn't show results as fast, but it genuinely makes you younger."

"How long after you take it before it works?"

"With Lighter, improvements in wrinkles and elasticity appear within a month. They concentrated on the epidermal layer. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Miradam, on the other hand, has to be used for three months before a person feels that their whole body has grown younger."

"Three months? One month against three—that's an enormous gap."

"Which is why we're waiting on FDA approval. Release it on the Korean market and people will only half believe it. They won't have the patience to endure three months. But if we get FDA approval... that itself is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠proof the effect is real. Then everyone will trust it enough to buy."

Only then did it make sense—why they hadn't released it in Korea even though they could have. Put it out carelessly, and it was built to die on the shelf. How many people would pay a fortune for an unverified drug and grit their teeth through three months of use?

"It makes a person something like ten to twenty percent younger. Take someone at sixty, and it returns them to the body of a person in their late forties. We made a drug close to a miracle, something that could let humanity live younger and healthier... and now I regret it. The company is going under. The employees are leaving..."

In pharmaceuticals, astronomical sums went into making a drug, and just as much went into carrying it through clinical trials. No matter how outstanding the drug, if you lacked the money to survive every stage of that process, you went bankrupt. That was precisely where Daemang Pharmaceutical stood.

"Try to hold out."

"I wonder. How long we even can."

The conversation was drawing to a close.

"If you were an investor, Director Choi, would you invest in Daemang Pharmaceutical as it stands now?"

It was a sharp question, slipped into a gap. He asked it because everything Choi Changsik had said was true.

"Hmm. Hard to say."

He couldn't answer easily.

"What if you had to invest half your entire fortune?"

"Half my entire fortune? That's far too much..."

It was only a supposition, only an example, but Director Choi Changsik's face had gone serious.

"I... think I probably would."

The pupils wavered. A tremor ran through the creases beneath the eyes. The muscles of the face arranged themselves into an awkward smile, and tension gathered in the lips. Seonggi's lie detector registered Choi Changsik's words as a lie.

"Thank you. Thanks to you, I can make a proper judgment. I'm grateful for the thorough explanation."

Seonggi bowed his head to Choi Changsik and set off to meet the representative of the Daemang Pharmaceutical consortium.

Researchers, as a rule, don't lie. Of course a head of development needs some feel for management, so perhaps a lie was within his reach.

I can't be sure.

What unsettled Seonggi was this: right up until that last question—whether the man himself would invest—every word Choi Changsik had spoken had been judged Truth.

Meet the representative of the Daemang consortium, and he would be able to judge properly.

"It's a real shame."

"What is?"

"They developed a good drug, and now they're short of money, the American FDA won't approve it, and the way to market is blocked. Isn't that it?"

"This kind of thing happens all the time. They don't think about the aftermath. Charge in first and worry later—that's the idea. It isn't entirely a bad thing, either. It's part of why this country developed so brilliantly. Koreans are ferocious when they work."

"Yes, I agree. I only said it because it seemed a pity."

He hadn't meant to use Na Dohyung only as a driver or a bodyguard. He intended to give him a secretary's work as well. The plan had been to dump every tiresome task on him, and to Seonggi's surprise, Na Dohyung seemed pleased by it.

At the meeting with the representative of the Daemang Pharmaceutical consortium, two other men were seated besides the representative himself.

"I'm only asking on the off chance. What is your relationship with CEO Lee Gukjin?"

"We're on the closest of terms. We share every secret."

"Aaah, so that's why... such a young man... has come. Haha."

People who handled money preferred to move on a foundation that was, by their own measure, meticulous and solid. A young man had appeared out of nowhere, so they began with a check of his identity.

"CEO Lee Gukjin must be busy, of course? They call him the Warren Buffett of Korea. Heh heh."

The consortium representative in the center was in his late sixties, and the men on either side were about the same age. They smiled as if they were the pleasant sort, but those thin, smiling eyes raked over Choi Seonggi and Na Dohyung from head to toe.

"I heard the broad strokes of the situation from Director Choi Changsik. One thing puzzled me, though. The clinical trials are already finished. Why do you need money?"

"Ah, well..."

The man called the consortium representative swept a glance along the seat beside him. He was reading the room.

"We poured enormous ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sums into developing Miradam and running the clinical trials. Where do you suppose that money came from? All of it was borrowed. So right now, even the interest alone is an astronomical outflow."

"May I ask how much you borrowed?"

"What we borrowed from the banks isn't much. But as ownership changed hands several times, all of it got booked as debt... And how much were you thinking of investing?"

He didn't need to see the books. The picture was obvious. As ownership bounced from one side to the other, the company was being worn to rags, and the control structure and the accounts would be a snarled knot.

"Hard to say. Originally I was thinking in the tens of billions of won. Depending on the situation, though, I'm prepared to go into the hundreds of billions—even the trillions."

"I'm sorry—the trillions?"

"Trillions, you said?"

The eyes of the consortium representative and the men on either side went wide as saucers.

"At first I only meant to buy some shares, hold them, and skim a little profit. But looking at it now, even if FDA approval comes through, success would be difficult under the present structure."

Even if approval did come, fail to bring in the equipment and establish a real system of mass production, and the whole thing was perfectly built to collapse. On top of that, it was the sort of work that might or might not succeed even if everyone pulled together—and already a pack of dogs was swarming, mouths open, waiting to tear into any profit the moment it appeared. It was an environment that would make anyone hesitate to invest.

"When you formed the Daemang Pharmaceutical consortium, how much did each of you put in?"

At Seonggi's question, the three men in front of him tilted their heads.

"What are you really after, asking that now?"

"Why are you asking?"

Their expressions were twisting. It amounted, after all, to telling them to lay their capital on the table with no preamble at all.

For a moment, all of them stayed inside the silence.

"Puahahaha..."

"Hahahaha."

The men flanking the consortium representative burst out laughing.

"Now look here. We didn't put in tens of billions of won apiece just to pocket a lousy ten percent."

"Clear the FDA and we'd be making tens of trillions of won—hundreds of trillions—and you offer ten percent?"

They laughed as if the whole thing were absurd. Seonggi only looked at them, perfectly still.

"Thank you for all your help today. If you reach a decision, please call. This is his card."

Seonggi set Na Dohyung's business card on the table and stood.

"There won't be any call, so take it back. Honestly, this is ridiculous."

"I mean, really—a young man, trying to get it for nothing?"

Seonggi ignored the two grumbling men. He gave a slight bow to the one called the consortium representative, who was watching him in silence, and stepped out of the meeting room.

"May I ask why you made that choice?"

"Because of Director Choi Changsik."

"Did I miss something while you were talking? What was the director like, that... I'm sorry, but would you explain?"

"Director Choi Changsik has conviction in Miradam. Which means Miradam is real. Put it in front of the right executive, the right investor, and the right marketer, and it's a drug people will eventually recognize. It'll be a hit."

"Yes. I think so too. That Lighter doesn't actually make you younger. It only concentrates on wrinkle improvement and skin elasticity."

"At the end, when I asked Director Choi whether he'd invest half his fortune in Daemang Pharmaceutical, he hesitated. He said he would, in the end, but that wasn't sincere. The problem isn't Miradam. It's that the situation Daemang is in right now is a mess. With that structure, even FDA approval won't make success easy. The interests are too tangled for the thing to run properly. And in that situation, putting real production facilities in place would take another huge investment... The people who formed that consortium are just sitting there with their mouths wide open, waiting to look after their own cut first."

"Ah..."

Na Dohyung nodded.

"But judging by their reaction, it looks difficult."

"No. A call is going to come to you, Secretary Na."

"Oh, come on. Surely not. You saw how they reacted. They were sneering."

"That man they call the consortium representative isn't the representative for nothing. He knows exactly what situation they're in. He knows that if things stay like this, they're perfectly set up to go under. Keep dithering and Lighter swallows them, and Miradam fizzles out. Then the best they can do is sell off the drug patent. And that's if they're lucky."

"Even if the two men beside him are against it?"

"He'll persuade them. People who move money know it by instinct. There's a seat where you hold out and make ten times the money, a hundred times. And there's a seat where you take a reasonable profit and step back... Dig in like that in there, and they fail. Every last one of them."

"I see. You're really remarkable, sir."

"Remarkable? Hardly..."

At that moment, Choi Seonggi's phone rang. An unknown number—and it began with 070, the prefix used by offices and call centers. As a rule, that meant a high chance of spam.

Seonggi hesitated a moment, then answered. He had only recently changed his number. Unless it was someone who knew him, there was no reason they would call.

"Hello?"

"Yes?"

"Ah, Secretary Kwon! I'm sorry I didn't recognize you."

"Still... may I ask what this call is about?"

"Let's see... Ah! He did once say something along the lines of asking me to help with a matter."

"What kind of matter?"

"Please send that by text."

Seonggi fixed the time and place Secretary Kwon gave him in his memory.

The line went dead with a click.

"What is it? Did Secretary Kwon call?"

"He told me to keep it secure... I wonder what scheme he's cooking up... Tch."

Seonggi frowned down at his phone, then broke into a short, crooked laugh.