Threat (16)
I asked Secretary Ko to prepare some data. Specifically, how much product we were moving overseas, not just domestically. The sales reports only listed export volumes without destinations. About an hour later, the files came up. When exactly had we become a drug export company?
According to the data, we were shipping not only to Japan but also to Russia, China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong—basically every nearby country. Secretary Ko’s additional remarks were even more absurd. He said small quantities were also going to the Americas, Europe, and the Middle East, but those were treated as personal transactions and excluded from the official figures. Basically, anywhere with money and developed infrastructure was receiving our goods.
“Our people travel a lot. The product moves a little at a time during those trips.”
Japan ranked first, Hong Kong second. When I asked why China wasn’t higher, the answer made sense.
“Get caught there and it’s the death penalty.”
“Are we short on inventory?”
“We had some cannabis stockpiled, but it’s been redirected to the Japan operation. Opium stocks are being drawn down.”
“Opium production still hasn’t ramped up.”
Without dollars, where would we even source more opium? Maybe it was time to give up on that market.
“Once the Haman Factory comes online, we should have enough buffer stock for the remaining BS, the Sleeping Series, and PO.”
Our manufactured products might actually end up with an oversupply problem. BS and PO could probably be exported as well—I’d have to talk to the sales division.
“Understood. You can go.”
After sending Secretary Ko away, I kept flipping through the documents. It still felt strange that goods I had assumed were only for domestic consumption were now heading overseas. We would have to manage this carefully.
While I sat at my desk lost in thought, my phone buzzed.
woong~
I called Secretary Ko back in and told him to send samples to the Yongsan office he had arranged before, along with current inventory reports. That evening, WhiteSox contacted me again.
A big fish had arrived. Mr. Gonzales had told me to get his approval for large deals, so I needed to check.
Before I could even ask about price, she sent the market rate. The amount looked slightly generous.
80,000,000 USD has been deposited from whiteSox.
For the time being, the dollar shortage was solved. I ended up calling Secretary Ko several times that day. I told him to ship the goods to the office we had sent samples to earlier. Respect practically poured from his eyes. I felt my shoulders and cheeks lift toward the sky. It was a pleasant afternoon.
True to our “delivery nation” reputation, we delivered the next day—express shipping. My temperature rose to 38.4 degrees. Then Secretary Ko reported an emergency: we were out of opium.
I had just finished one satisfying deal, but now a chain of follow-up problems left me at a loss. Ali’s contacts had been wiped out by the Russians, and Duke Vladimir told me to wait—the situation hadn’t normalized yet. Money wasn’t the issue. Supply was. For now, we would sell what we had and mark everything else “Sold Out.”
May, the “month of family,” was supposed to be spent with family, but the moment the month changed, work came crashing down like a storm. Not that I minded. The dollar problem was solved, and while the opium shortage was new, exam season had begun at school. I wasn’t studying—grades didn’t matter. I already had one F anyway. While wondering what to do this summer, I spent my days idly.
I finally visited the survival training ground for the first time in ages. The legal facilities were openly built and expansive, complete with mountain terrain and outdoor ranges. Transportation, however, was inconvenient. The city had been asked to pave a road but cited budget issues.
The indoor CQB facility, shooting ranges, and sniper training areas were all well equipped with moving and pop-up targets. After zeroing at 10 meters and adjusting the click, I hit consistently out to 300 meters, but at 500 meters my feel was gone. If I weren’t the boss, the team behind me probably would have smacked me. The first two shots missed; my hands were shaking. The third finally connected and the tension eased.
“You should come more often.”
Team Leader Three had been lenient because I was the boss, but left that single remark. So I showed my skills in a 5v5 survival game—thanks to Cheol-min on the opposing team, we won. I still had a long way to go. “Make noise and you’ll get spotted, idiot,” I trash-talked while teabagging. Team Leader Hwang’s face turned red; I felt a little bad. We did some light sparring with training knives. It was fun to clash. The special forces martial arts differed from the eighteen movements I had learned. One of the security team members was a black belt in Krav Maga—his skill was no joke. Even when struck with a training knife, he didn’t blink and counterattacked immediately. I wanted to protest that getting hit meant he was neutralized, but he explained they trained to counter even after being struck, so I let it go.
After a day and a half of trading blows, we had grown closer. The old saying about sweating and bleeding together making friends seemed true. Chief Kim and another female soldier were both excellent shots. The rest of the team each had their specialties and were highly capable. Cheol-min said he would come up next month; I told him to keep working hard. After treating everyone to dinner for their training efforts, I left.
On the afternoon of the second day, the welfare center called saying they needed to report something and suggested a meeting.
“Did your training go well?”
I nearly died. They treated it like real combat.
“Yes, the security team’s skills are impressive.”
“Good to hear. Your brother says he’s staying in the Philippines. Met a local girl or something. I told him to handle it himself.”
“That’s fortunate. We should go to the Philippines together sometime.”
“Haha. Sounds good.”
“What did you want to discuss?”
“Do you remember the ID ‘impolice’?”
A police officer? Of course. It had been years.
“Yes, he was one of my first trading partners. He gave me cheap product and helped me build my seed money.”
“Right… It really is him.”
What was this about?
“There’s a section chief named Yoon in Sales Division One—the civil servant working in corrections I mentioned before.”
“Yes, the one who wanted to expand sales through prisons.”
“Correct. He reported that someone approached him claiming to have dealt directly with you, the chairman.”
“Our organization’s reputation is high enough now that we assumed it was just the usual prison bravado, but the details were too specific and he even provided photo evidence, so the report came up.”
“Take a look at the photo.”
Shit… But it was a face I recognized.