A New Beginning (10)
Watching the news, I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't gotten involved. Truth be told, I hadn't wanted to. After my brother warned me to keep my head down, why would I have been eager to jump in? I was finally starting to understand how this world worked. That stuff would hit the market again soon enough. This time, I wouldn't get caught off guard. Last time, I mishandled a cop's product and ended up on the blacklist for it.
While I was attending cram school for the civil service exam, renting a one-room apartment, and settling into Eunsu's life, the biggest holiday of the year for our people was approaching. The Vietnamese brother was probably grinning from ear to ear. I was genuinely surprised when I received the report that our Vietnamese brother's hashish was being sold under a separate brand name. GoldenWeed. Golden grass—they'd named it well. Classy. After all, branding starts with the name. Premium quality, clean transactions, consistent product. Didn't it already meet the criteria for a luxury brand?
But the more I heard, the more bitter it tasted. I couldn't afford to stand out. If an investigation traced it back, wouldn't both the Vietnamese brother and I get dragged into it?
Then good news came from Busan. It was a bulk deal, and our loyal man—despite being on the logistics team—had gone out and made a sale. A full kilogram of weed. When Hamo reported it to me, I had been watching for the right opportunity and promoted the loyal man from assistant manager to manager. While the war on drugs was sending people to prison, I'd filled the vacancy with a promotion. When I asked how he'd pulled it off, he mentioned his network among the sailors. I understood. I'd spent some time on boats myself. There was a certain bond among people who'd swallowed seawater. The shipment was headed for Russia, payment was upfront, and the supplier seemed reliable, so the report recommended proceeding. I told Hamo to verify it first. We had enough stock, but for urgent orders like this, he should contact Yeongcheon or Sinan.
Ah, right—the growers hadn't been vertically integrated yet. When I told Candlelight to keep his acquaintance under him for control, he refused, claiming he was terrible at managing people, so I kept it horizontal. A true leader had to account for individual strengths. The organizational behavior scholars had said as much: an organization that reflected both its own characteristics and its members' capabilities was essential. Our org chart was a mess—some units were independent, others vertically integrated. The logistics department was restructured and expanded into a 1-3-9-27 hierarchy. After that, I told Hamo to stop working in the field. His health was already poor, and it was too dangerous. I asked him to focus on quality control instead. Then I instructed him to distribute holiday bonuses through SkyBank.
After spending the holidays that way, I graduated middle school. Fortunately, the exam had been easy. I deliberately missed a few questions so I wouldn't draw attention with a perfect score—after all, didn't top scorers on the college entrance exam get interview requests? I gave the shameless answer that I'd only studied from textbooks and aimed for around 80 points. One mistake brought it down to 78, but it was enough to pass.
Then I finally decided on Eunsu's career path: journalist. At that particular news outlet. Why journalism? Reporters could occasionally slip into places under the guise of covering a story, and people tended to give the press some leeway. There was a touch of elitism to it as well. It was also a job where disappearing for a few days wouldn't raise suspicion. Traveling abroad would be convenient, too. And I planned to set it up myself—in other words, create a small media company that published online articles and engaged in community activities, then get hired there.
I knew the perfect person for this kind of work: the accountant who'd helped broker the apartment in Suwon where my real self lived. I contacted him after a long time. "Hello. How have you been?" True to form as a salesman, his reply came quickly. "Of course~ Looking for a new place?" "No, actually. Could we meet to talk?" "Sure~ Ah, I'm free this afternoon. Come by the office, you know where it is?" His tone had already shifted—he must have smelled money.
That afternoon, I bought a box of apple juice and headed to the real estate office. "It's been a while. You look much healthier. What happened? Personal training?" "No, I just tried not to get hit and ended up in better shape." I smiled. Then the accountant and I engaged in a battle of business manners. The same routine I'd done with Nakamura—weather, politics, culture, travel. Ten minutes later, I got to the point.
"There's something I'm working on." I could see the accountant transform from real estate agent into accountant, just like Hello Carbot shifting forms. "Hmm... the maintenance costs are steep." "To make it look real, you'll need at least five people on paper. Just names." I'd come to the right person. The fact that he was already talking money confirmed it. "Looking at this, it seems like a gift or inheritance situation. It'd be nice if they actually worked, but they won't, right?" The facts were different, but close enough. "No, I'll be going to work. Myself." He laughed at that. His expression said he thought I was lying. But I wasn't. "Ah... then one person's salary will be covered. For appearances, you'll need two more. The representative and someone to mind the office—call them a secretary or an accountant. But I get the feeling there's more to this." So I cut straight to it. "I'll need a scenario and an estimate, please."
Today was tax law. Since the accountant had brought up gifts and inheritance, I'd developed an interest and started studying in Noryangjin. The law was difficult, but there was no reason to give up. After reading it a few times, I was getting the hang of it. My personal definition was simple: a gift happened while someone was alive, inheritance after they died. There were legal nuances about estate inheritance, but I skipped those. From a definitional standpoint, it could be summarized as a tax levied on the transfer of wealth. This tax was quite high in Korea, which led to frequent tax evasion and the National Tax Service shaking everyone down. Yet Koreans were clever—they created backdoors to evade taxes. Name swapping, nominee accounts, stock valuation tricks. All sorts of methods that had drawn public outrage. Once something entered the administrative network, it was as good as caught. A few years ago, if inheritance tax wasn't discovered, the ten-year statute of limitations would have run from the date of inheritance. But the law had changed: if there was intent to deceive or fraudulent methods involved, there was no statute of limitations. I hadn't understood what that meant at first. The clock started from the moment the authorities found out—five years. Whenever the tax service or prosecutors discovered it, they could indict and seize assets. Clever bastards. Studying really did reveal a lot. I was already distinguishing that kind of wordplay. Still, the method I'd described to the accountant today was common and relatively safe. In the grand scheme, wasn't I doing this because I wanted to pass my wealth on to Eunsu? A respectable job, stable income, and so on. Registering the boss's children under their names, paying salaries while filing taxes, and letting the kids live comfortably on that money.
While I was studying, a message came from Nakamura. "GB, it's been too long since we last spoke." —Nakamura (39.4) There was still one line I hadn't handed over to Hamo yet: the Japan route. Why? My brother had told me not to. So I listened. When I asked out of curiosity, he explained that the Japanese wouldn't do business if it was transferred like that. They needed to be introduced, then re-vetted. If the deal went through, fine, but most of the time they took it as an insult and cut ties. In other words, they were doing business with me and my brother, not with whoever came after. I understood. Japanese business culture! "Have you been well? I was abroad for a while." —GB (37.6) "Yes, I heard. It must have been difficult overseas." —Nakamura (39.4) Then, as usual, we chatted. About today's weather. Then we got to the point.
He really did speak in a roundabout way. Was he talking about weed? "What kind of shipment is it?" —GB (37.6) I didn't need weed, but I asked out of courtesy.
Mr. Nakamura. I don't like discounts. Cheap things often come with hidden costs. Phenethylamine—English name Phenylethylamine, chemical formula C8H11N—was a primary ingredient in amphetamines. Its main effects included empathy, stimulation, hallucinations, appetite suppression, bronchodilation, decongestion, and antidepressant action. Developed in the late 1800s and early 1900s, it had actually been used as medicine. During wartime. That thing—berserker. An injection made from this substance that let soldiers charge into enemy lines. "I'm sorry. That's not something I handle." —GB (37.6) "Ah... I left out the conditions. It's an OEM request. We'll provide the recipe as well, so if you could just assist with manufacturing." —Nakamura (39.4) I told him I'd consider it and ended the call. According to the business book I'd read last time, telling a Japanese person you'd "consider it" was essentially a refusal. He'd understand.