New Beginnings
I approved the organizational expansion after reviewing the report, which I read as both a sales report from Assistant Manager Seon and a management proposal. "High expansion potential. High likelihood of future supply shortages." That single line sealed it. Of course, the sales figures preceding it made the reasoning crystal clear, and it felt good. The product was selling well.
I sent the revised reorganization plan back to Deputy Director Ha. It seemed like I was promoting people too frequently, so I only raised their salaries instead. "Good work," I told him. Deputy Director Ha thanked me. Hearing that as the head of the organization felt even better. It gave me a renewed sense of responsibility to work harder.
The logistics department would remain under the single Director 1 system. Beneath that, we would expand into a three Deputy Director structure. I instructed him to promote one more person from the manager level, with the director having final authority. Then I asked about the person who hadn't written the proposal. That was one of Deputy Director Ha's strengths—he didn't lie. He could have claimed he wrote it himself, but he admitted the Deputy Director in charge of funds had done it.
So I asked Deputy Director Ha to find someone under the funds deputy director and create a risk management team. The deputy director would recommend candidates, with Deputy Director Ha making the final call. The key point was not to pull from existing personnel. Their main tasks would be customer research and information gathering, especially regarding police authorities. Their situational awareness and judgment seemed solid. Once the organization was restructured, I planned to assign internal investigations to them as well. After seeing what happened with Brother Banjjak, everything could vanish in one blow. If a line got taken out like last time, that would at least be manageable, but if something exploded from inside, it would be over.
I also promoted five people from assistant manager to manager in one go. There had been complaints. What if a mutiny broke out on the ship? We would operate under a six-manager system, with three times that number—eighteen assistant managers and fifty-four regular employees. I issued the order through the proper chain of command. I emphasized not to rush things and sent down a bonus equivalent to one month's salary along with the instructions.
I gave myself a gift for all the hard work too. What was it? I finally bought a car. A midsize sedan. Ahem. Technically, it was a company car. The accountant—no, the representative—picked it out for me. He said a reporter who supposedly went out on assignments couldn't keep using rental cars; it would draw attention. Naturally, I needed one, so he arranged a company vehicle. Much appreciated!
I also approved promoting Assistant Manager Seon to manager and structuring her team with three regular employees. Where else would an organization promote someone after just a month, even if it was just a hole-in-the-wall operation? Seeing the delivery volume increase, I told her to promote at the appropriate time and hire new employees. Assistant Manager Seon would have final authority. I was trying to keep her completely separate from Deputy Director Ha's logistics department. If something went wrong, at least one part might survive. As a bonus, I also looked after the cultivation team—Yang Chohyeong and the younger sibling whose name I didn't know—as well as Minhee's siblings at the Haman Factory and Eun-seong.
That should have calmed any complaints. If not, well, I could always become a pirate captain sinking into the Cabri Sea. While I was gazing at the sunset beyond the Cabri Sea, calmly contemplating business plans, someone tapped me on the shoulder. Turning around, I saw the Trio brothers standing there. I shot to my feet, and the president's daughter looked startled. Out of habit, I had assumed the first of the eighteen stances. I wasn't sure if she sensed any killing intent. The Trio brothers had taught me to approach every opponent with the resolve to kill.
"Ahem. What can I do for you?"
"The president is looking for you."
"Pardon? What for?"
Why was he looking for me now? He had told me to do as I pleased before.
"I wouldn't know. Haha."
Her gently smiling face was lovely. I knocked on the door.
"Employee Choi reporting."
Hearing an invitation to enter, I replied and stepped into the president's office. The moment I closed the door, I saw the accountant—no, the representative—with dollar signs in his eyes. It had been a while since the factory incident.
"What is this about?"
"Have a seat."
"Brother, I've come across an excellent laundry product~"
Since when was I his "brother"? From there, the president's lecture began. It wasn't the first time I'd heard the content, but this time it was more specific. Did I know about virtual assets? Of course—Bitcoin, Ethereum, Dogecoin. I'd heard of them as a matter of general knowledge. They were hot. No upper limit, no lower limit, no circuit breakers—basically gambling products? I wasn't touching those. Why else would they be called "virtual" assets? They weren't visible to the eye. If I couldn't trust things I could see, how could I trust those enough to invest?
But why was he introducing this to me? My eyes demanded further explanation, so he continued. Virtual assets were originally untraceable after just one or two rounds through domestic or overseas exchanges. Before the market became active, people used them for tax evasion and money laundering. Now that the market was heating up, if money came into Korean banks, taxes would be levied based on account records. Legislation was currently in process, but it was dragging on, creating an opportunity. It was like the last train. Once the law passed, laundering through this method would become difficult, so this was the final chance. He emphasized that point.
If I deposited the amount into the designated account, he said, the fee—no, the profit—would be wired to my Korean bank account the next day. If the tax authorities asked about the large sum, I could simply say I earned it through virtual asset trading. That way, I could launder the money without paying a single cent in taxes. It sounded like a smooth operation.
I listened, thinking, What kind of bullshit is this? It was a textbook Ponzi scheme. He must have read my expression, because he mentioned that coins were already being used by sitting National Assembly members and major chaebol groups for inheritance transfers. If I was interested, he said, I should trust him and invest. When I stared at him skeptically, he asked if I could at least lend him four billion won. What was with this guy? Suddenly acting like an amateur—he wasn't charming at all.
I stood up to leave. When he offered his company, his house, his land, and even his family as collateral, I looked at him with pity and told him to wake up from his dream before walking out. I wouldn't be renewing the contract next year. Actually, I couldn't. When I went to the office the following week, the doors were locked. Damn it. My remaining pay. I was unemployed.
While I was rolling around in Noryangjin, my phone rang. Ding~
'It's me.' —clenerten(36.5)
What did this person want? Ah, it was Brother Banjjak.
'What's going on in the middle of the night? Have you been well?' —GB(37.8)
'It's morning here.' —clenerten(36.5)
'I heard the news. Are you okay?' —GB(37.8)
'Fuck...' —clenerten(36.5)
Brother Banjjak started with profanity. Maybe I should start calling him "senior" instead. His words unfolded like a movie. I had thought the security team caused the incident after reading the article, but that wasn't it. Hadn't he mentioned back then that two important people were missing? The overall boss and the money man. The culprit was the money man. Listening to him, though, the movie wasn't Extreme Job. It was New World.
The senior, who used to pick pockets in Incheon and Bucheon, began his story from the point where he took over a splinter line after an inter-organization conflict. I listened until sunrise. Of course, it was summer, so the sun rose quickly. The plot went like this: Right after taking over the line, things didn't go smoothly. With Seoul's overcrowding and new city development plans, Bucheon was being developed while industrial complexes moved to Ansan and Anyang. His territory turned into an entertainment district, giving him a taste of a new world. His business grew, and filled with confidence, he expanded endlessly. But as they say, all flowers must eventually wither.
When China opened up, not only goods but people poured in through Incheon. Starting from Chinatown, the human wave tactics overwhelmed him, and the organization collapsed in an instant. Slightly pressured, the Chinese guys started acting up on the streets without fear. Thinking that backing down would mean the end, he clashed with them right there on the street. The result? Everyone got hauled away. The funny part was that the Chinese guys who fought alongside him were only deported. When he said that, the senior let out another string of curses.
In prison, he lived off the money he had saved and encountered the Sky app there. The Sky app's reach was impressive—it even extended into prison. Just as I started wondering why I was listening to all this, he got to the point.
When he returned after graduating, the environment had changed a lot. Of course it had—things were shifting rapidly even now. From face-to-face to non-face-to-face, KakaoTalk, messages, Telegram. And demand. Before he went to school, there had only been one or two organizations in Incheon and Bucheon. Now there were too many to count on fingers. Supply and demand had reached a balance worthy of Smith's equilibrium price theory, enough for everyone to make a living.
The senior used the infrastructure he built in prison and his old connections to secure a position. By the time he established himself, the youngest member had become the money man. While settling in, he suffered a few incidents, re-enrolled in school, and that youngest member rose to become the number two. That took ten years.
After a long silence—perhaps while lighting a cigarette—the senior delivered his final line.
'I'm planning to retire.' —clenerten(36.5)