The Duke's Bargain

While the world buzzed over Russia’s special operation, I kept my head down and attended university as if nothing had changed. My professors, ever the intellectuals, suggested that paying attention to the unfolding war and its implications for the future would be worthwhile. True to form, my international trade professor spent time explaining how the conflict would ripple through global commerce—Russia’s exports of natural gas and raw materials, its strained relations with European nations, and the Nord Stream pipelines that snaked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠across the continent in vast networks.

Once I got home, I had Secretary Ko prepare a report on how this might affect our organization. School was starting to feel dull, after all. I also spent time with the lady of the house, sipping tea while we watched foreign and domestic news together.

Today the American president—the self-appointed policeman of the world—had issued a statement. The anchor’s voice cut in: “Breaking news. The U.S. president just held a press conference regarding Russia’s special operation. Let’s listen in.”

The broadcast shifted to an interview with Professor Seo Cheon-hee, an American politics expert.

“Hello, Professor.”

“Good to be here.”

“It looks like the American president has drawn his sword. What do you make of it?”

“It’s hard to say. From Washington’s perspective, they won’t be able to intervene the way they might in the Middle East. Domestic anti-war sentiment is quite strong.”

“On the other hand, Ukraine might feel betrayed by NATO, don’t you think?”

The lady set down her cup. “What a mess. Why is this happening all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know. I just hope it ends well.”

She gave me a sideways glance. “Chairman, would you like to meet that friend you saw last time again?”

I didn’t even remember the face. “No, I’m fine.”

My tone was firm enough that she didn’t press further. The television droned on in the sudden silence until my phone vibrated.

I typed back quickly.

I sighed. Sorry, but anything from you right now is too risky. You yourself said it was difficult getting product ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out of the Caribbean because it’s America’s backyard.

I had to look up what “first right of refusal” actually meant. It turned out it simply meant I’d get offered the goods before anyone else under the same terms. I wasn’t particularly tempted. If I needed product, I could source it elsewhere. We’d recently opened a route through Myanmar—Ali had signed the contract the moment he joined purchasing and reported it straight away. Mai and the Vietnamese contact were also in Vietnam right now meeting suppliers.

Half price was tempting, but I knew better than to show it. In this business there were no permanent friends or enemies. Still, if I was going to squeeze, I might as well squeeze properly.

More volume was never a problem. He accepted the lowball offer without haggling, which told me his situation was urgent.

I wanted that clause locked in. If I ever found myself in a tight spot later, I’d be the one doing the squeezing. I spent the next week in high spirits waiting for the shipment list from the Duke.

When the list arrived, I was stunned. Export plans stretched across the globe—shipments as small as five kilograms, others up to a hundred. Origins weren’t limited to Afghanistan this time; product was coming from Africa, mainland Russia, and various parts of South America. The variety was staggering: cannabis, cocaine, heroin, opium, even LSD. I immediately messaged him to remove anything we didn’t handle.

The following week I understood why the Russian Duke had been in such a hurry. I felt a twinge of regret—I could have pushed the price even lower.

“Good evening, this is Wang In-soo with TVn News.”

I told Secretary Ko to prepare for incoming volume and to secure payment channels. While I was handling the transfers, another message arrived from the Duke.

I didn’t have that kind of cash on hand either. He pressed again.

“Secretary Ko, the client is asking about physical dollars. How much do we have?”

“One moment, please.”

Ten minutes later he returned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with the figure: roughly two hundred twenty thousand dollars. He’d been quietly converting funds at the bank ever since I mentioned needing cash. It was impressive, but nowhere near enough. A quick glance at the transaction totals showed we were talking hundreds of billions of won.

“Chairman, what if we use GBC? They’re good at laundering.”

“Last time I checked there was also a foreign-exchange swap agreement in place. We could route it through a front company.”

“If coins would have worked, he wouldn’t have asked for physical cash in the first place.”

“Skylight is basically the same as cryptocurrency. He could just receive it through SkyBank and convert it himself.”

“That’s true. I’ll look into it.”

I told Vladimir we would source the dollars and initiated the down payment. This week’s shipment alone was one hundred seventy kilograms—twenty million dollars in down payment. Surely it wouldn’t keep coming at this pace.

Of course, the white-sock lady’s dollars were still plentiful, but the unease remained. And as usual, my uneasy predictions proved accurate. The following week the volume dropped, yet a substantial amount still arrived. The big Russian player, growing desperate, began offering a finder’s fee for dollars. It didn’t matter. No one was walking around with suitcases of cash these days; everything was electronic.

A week later Secretary Ko returned with a solution: the Philippines. Our contact there had been quietly stockpiling cash received from clients—proceeds from junket rooms and casinos, hotel cash payments, and tourist fees collected through the guide operation. The amounts were significant.

I asked how they had been handling operating expenses and product payments. Secretary Ko answered matter-of-factly: local expenses in the Philippines were paid in pesos, Korean expenses in won, all electronically. They also held other foreign currencies—yuan, yen, euros—in substantial quantities. Over two hundred billion won in total. No wonder the tribute payments had stopped for two years; the money had simply been sitting in the safe.

I contacted the contact immediately. He scolded me for skipping pleasantries and jumping straight to business, but this was too good an opportunity to waste. I apologized and asked what was available. He confirmed the amounts Secretary Ko had mentioned and said to let him know if we needed more—he could try sourcing additional cash through friends who traveled with suitcases or carry-ons from Korea and especially China.