Small Business Experience (1)
The accounting manager sat behind her desk, pen tapping against the surface in a restless rhythm.
She had put in the effort today—heading out to handle everything personally—while the rest of the team seemed content to while away the hours with idle chatter.
“Ugh, I’m exhausted trying to do all of this alone!”
She yanked open the drawer of her desk with a loud rattle and let it slam shut again.
Kim Chirok offered a gentle smile in return.
“You made a trip to the bank? I wasn’t asked to come along?”
“Kim Chirok-ssi has no car of his own, and if I sent him it would take half a day, at the very least. How could I ask him to do that?”
“My apologies. I don’t have a vehicle.”
“Look at that—there are people without cars in the world nowadays!”
“And today you went back to the bank to withdraw cash?”
“I was there to extend the loan maturity date. The principal and interest repayment is due tomorrow.”
[Extending the loan? It really does look as if the company is struggling.]
“If… if I were to trade in the Managing Director’s vehicle this time around, would the president consider letting me take over the one he’s been using? I’d be willing to buy it cheap and cover the maintenance costs if that’s an option.”
The accounting manager’s eyes widened at the suggestion.
“You’d really do that? I’ll mention it to the Managing Director and see if I can get him to knock the price down. Come to think of it, the general affairs office has some errands at the labor office as well. I’ll try to arrange for the fuel costs to be covered somehow.”
At that very moment the president entered the office. Everyone rose to greet him.
The president called for the accounting manager. He tended to summon her more often than anyone else.
After some time, the accounting manager emerged from his office, pen in hand once again. Kim Chirok glanced up curiously.
“Is there something you need?”
“He asked me to prepare a contract requesting an advance payment of the delivery fee from our main client, Mitsutec.”
“So we’re going to extend an advance payment?”
“I don’t know yet. We’ll see if he agrees.”
The accounting manager was already working on the draft.
Unfortunately, while her numerical work was impeccable, her document formatting left much to be desired—sentence structure was awkward and the overall layout felt strangely off.
Kim Chirok smiled.
“Manager, your draft is excellent. Would you like me to refine it for you?”
“Sure. This isn’t really my department anyway—it’s the general affairs office’s responsibility. Go ahead and give it a shot.”
Kim Chirok had composed countless official documents and business plans during his time at H Group. Formatting a simple A4 sheet was nothing new to him.
He produced a polished, professional version and handed it over for printing in no time at all. Just as he finished, the Managing Director walked in. The accounting manager carried the finished document straight to him. Final approval would flow from the Managing Director up to the president.
The Managing Director scanned the page and commented,
“The accounting manager’s document-writing skills have improved noticeably.”
“Actually, it’s thanks to the new employee Kim Chirok-ssi.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
The president, too, found no fault with the advance-payment request. He merely nodded.
Later that afternoon the Managing Director summoned Kim Chirok.
“Have you ever dealt with lawsuit documents before?”
“Not personally, but I believe I could manage the basics.”
“This is a payment-default lawsuit. Write a written objection for me.”
“What grounds should I cite?”
“That the company is in financial hardship and we can only offer installment payments. If we leave it like this, the court may issue a seizure order.”
“I’ll prepare it right away.”
“I’ll give you the file. Look at the sample I wrote for another client and follow that format.”
“Understood.”
“I’ll be out visiting clients, so finish it by the time I return.”
Kim Chirok’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. He was learning exactly how things worked in a small business—something a large corporation would never expose him to. In a chaebol, each department handled only its own narrow slice of the operation.
He completed the written objection in record time, citing the company’s difficulties and offering installment payments.
Watching him work, the accounting manager simply assigned him more tasks instead of leaving him idle. Kim Chirok glanced at the clock. He had spare time, so he opened his phone and checked the Japanese site he had been meaning to visit.
[The Japanese aunt mentioned Kochi Prefecture, didn’t she? I seem to recall seeing that Hirosue Yoshiko is from the same region…]
He pulled up the Japanese portal and searched for her name. A profile appeared.
Yes. Hirosue Yoshiko. Born in Tosa City, Kochi Prefecture. She had graduated elementary school there and attended the municipal junior high in Fushimi Ward, Kyoto.
[What a coincidence. It seems the Japanese aunt and Hirosue Yoshiko share the same hometown. But the generation gap means they probably don’t know each other. People don’t automatically know everyone from the same city.]
Late in the afternoon the Managing Director returned. He showed Kim Chirok the court documents he had prepared.
Kim Chirok handed them over.
“You really do look like you’ve worked in a law office.”
“Not at all. I simply followed your sample.”
“Good work. Submitting this by mail is acceptable, but… since we’re visiting the site anyway, why don’t we go straight to the Suwon District Court and file in person? I’ll send Kim Chirok-ssi tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
Kim Chirok returned to his seat and told the accounting manager,
“The Managing Director asked me to bring the lawsuit documents to the court myself tomorrow.”
“All right. Go ahead.”
“It really does seem like the company is struggling. We’re asking for an advance payment from our customers, yet they’re suing us over the raw materials we bought.”
“It used to be better three years ago…”
“The sales figures have dropped?”
“Our products are rubber components, so our unit price is razor-thin. We supply rings made by Ilryung Precision. The real money is in that supplier.”
“I see.”
“We used to hit 18 billion won in annual sales, but now we’re barely under 15 billion. Still, Kim Chirok-ssi’s salary comes in on time, so I guess that’s how it is.”
“Haha. Thank you, Manager.”
That evening Kim Chirok stayed late, alone at his desk, reading.
Then he picked up the audit report from the accounting firm. These reports came in annual booklet form.
He scanned the pages. Sales were declining, losses were widening, and while a small operating profit appeared, heavy financial costs turned the net profit negative.
[The company keeps bleeding red, yet the president refuses to let it go.]
Probably because it was a loss-making firm, but he was simply enjoying personal benefits for the time being. The president pocketed massive salaries and enjoyed the company card; that must have been motivation enough.
Another possibility: land values around the factory would eventually offset the debt.
Kim Chirok wanted to see the land registry for the factory site online.
He had always rented, so he knew little about real-estate titles. When his mother moved to Bongcheon-dong, the landlord had asked him to examine the lease documents because of the recent surge in rental scams.
That was the first time he had ever pulled up a land or building title. He had followed online instructions and downloaded it himself.
Through the Supreme Court’s internet registry office anyone could access public records for a small fee. He had been able to print copies as well.
Knowing that, he now viewed the title for Hyangnam Tech’s factory land and building.
The company was encumbered by countless mortgages. Capital companies had liens, unpaid supplier debts had seizures, even private lenders and a neighborhood savings bank held security interests, and wage arrears had triggered attachments.
[This really is a company on the brink. Small businesses are all in trouble, it seems.]
Even if he started his own venture one day, the same financial burden would await him. Kim Chirok had no silver-spoon background like Jeong Chan-young or Lim Jae-geun to fall back on.
Financing would be a nightmare.
He let out a long sigh.
Korea’s large corporations might be stable, but small and medium enterprises were exhausting.
Yet if the president had simply owned enough money to avoid loans altogether, would the financial costs have disappeared? Perhaps.
Still, wealthy people preferred foreign workers for manufacturing, or they would have invested elsewhere. They could earn far more by living off real estate alone.
[That’s right. Lim Jae-geun said his apartment in Songpa had risen seven billion won in a single year—more than the factory president earned. What about Bang Mihee? She claimed her Banpo apartment jumped two billion won in a month.]
Why would anyone burden themselves with a small business when they could simply chase real estate? Small businesses rarely turned a profit, and if an employee were injured on the job, the owner faced criminal charges.
So wealthy people poured their money into property instead.
Even high-ranking government officials must know this reality.
It was maddening why the market only pushed real estate upward.
Nevertheless, Kim Chirok wanted to build something from the ground up. He longed to apply the management lessons he had learned in school and create jobs for others while paying substantial corporate taxes to contribute to society.
He was about to head back to his one-room apartment when he decided to check what kind of company Mitsutec was. Since it was listed, the stock site would show the latest financials.
Mitsutec was large. A Tier-1 supplier to Hyundai and Kia, yet not part of the chaebol core. Its annual revenue exceeded three hundred billion won and it employed roughly eight hundred and fifty people.
He scanned the shareholder list.
The chairman held fifteen percent; the president, thirty. The chairman appeared to be in his late seventies and the president in his late forties—clearly a wealthy family.
Even if the Mitsutec chairman wasn’t on the scale of the H Group chairman, he was still a formidable figure. The company wasn’t losing money; it posted small but steady profits.
[These people are true tycoons.]
Jeong Chan-young and Lim Jae-geun would never reach their level.
He reviewed the executives’ careers and education. The president had graduated from the Seoul National University Business School.
[Oh? One of my seniors.]
Kim Chirok had always believed that SNU Business School graduates should inherit family businesses rather than start from scratch. That made perfect sense. Yet a strange unease stirred inside him.
He had studied management, but never had the chance to use it. Even landing a good job meant waiting twenty or thirty years to become CEO. The opportunity wasn’t here yet.
He figured the Mitsutec president could apply what he had learned without restraint.
Kim Chirok searched for Ilryung Precision, the firm that made the rings for his products. The listing site showed nothing.
[Not a listed company.]
He considered checking the Financial Supervisory Service’s corporate database, but the hour was late. A last bus might already have left. He set the search aside and headed home.
The following day arrived.
Kim Chirok greeted the Managing Director and accounting manager before leaving for the court. He was delivering the objection documents for the payment-default lawsuit.
The Managing Director laughed.
“Transport expenses will be reimbursed later.”
The accounting manager lifted her head.
“The Managing Director’s vehicle—Kim Chirok-ssi has agreed to take it over at a discounted price.”
“Really? That car is ancient. I wonder if you’ll even be able to drive it.”
“Better than nothing.”
“The depreciation period should have ended long ago, right?”
“Yes. It expired years ago.”
“All right. We’ll discuss the car transfer later. Right now, let’s get to the court.”