Flies Don't Leave the Shit
The new retirement system—offering additional consolation pay on top of the standard severance—gave those who dreaded the company relocation a fresh choice and handed those already dreaming of a life beyond the firm an early chance to seize it. The idea won an enthusiastic response from a great many of Ilhyeon Watch’s employees.
They had been given two weeks, yet Ilhyeon Watch staff kept streaming into Kim Seong-ho’s office, retirement applications in hand.
“Uh… you’re really going to pay us, right?”
One employee clutching his form asked Jeong Byeong-ju carefully.
Every single applicant who came to file had asked the same thing, so Section Chief Jeong Byeong-ju was used to it. He took the form, set it on the reception desk, and answered.
“Yes, that’s correct. Once we verify the application and find no issues, both the severance and the consolation pay will be deposited within a month.”
“Really? You’re actually giving us fifty months’ salary on top of the severance?”
“Yes.”
Jeong Byeong-ju handled the same exchange several more times before he finally had a moment to breathe. Looking at the mountain of applications piled on the desk, he shook his head.
“Ugh, I’m dying. Never thought this many people would flood in. And most of them are employees who don’t have long until retirement.”
“They ran the numbers,” Kim Seong-ho said from beside him. He swiveled his chair to regard the neatly stacked forms on Jeong Byeong-ju’s desk.
“They weighed regular retirement against voluntary retirement, punched the calculator themselves, talked it over with coworkers who were wrestling with the same choice, and once they decided voluntary retirement was the better deal, they handed in the forms without hesitation.”
“Yeah, even I think the voluntary package looks better. Dozens of months of salary? How often does a chance like that come along? It’s not as if you’re going to sit around doing nothing after you hit the mandatory age. Better to jump into business a few years younger with more cash in your pocket than wait until then. Even if you just switch companies, this still wins.”
Jeong Byeong-ju rested a hand on the stack of applications and nodded.
“Thinking about it again, it’s a brilliant move. Completely erase employee discontent and get them to walk out on their own.”
The more he turned it over, the more he marveled; praise for Kim Seong-ho kept spilling out of him.
Of course, one bomb still remained inside Ilhyeon Watch.
“But, Assistant Manager Kim—what about the people upstairs?”
Jeong Byeong-ju pointed a finger toward the ceiling.
Kim Seong-ho understood at once that he meant the executives and gave a light smile.
“We’ll clean them out too.”
At that, Jeong Byeong-ju edged closer and lowered his voice.
“There’s plenty of circumstantial evidence they were sucking the company dry, but no hard proof. That’s what’s been worrying me… Do you have a way to handle it?”
“I plan to make them move themselves.”
“Make them move themselves? How?”
Jeong Byeong-ju was ready to press for details when the executives, led by Do Eun-cheol, walked into the office.
“Assistant Manager Kim.”
Kim Seong-ho patted Jeong Byeong-ju’s shoulder—wait a moment—and turned toward Do Eun-cheol.
“What brings the president here in person? If you’d called, I would have come to you.”
“The one with business should be the one who visits.”
Do Eun-cheol, President of Ilhyeon Watch, spoke as if dropping by Kim Seong-ho’s office himself were nothing special, then gestured to the other executives.
“I have a few questions, but first—sit.”
Without further ceremony he dropped onto the office sofa; the rest of the executives followed. Kim Seong-ho gave a short, dry laugh, rose, and took the seat opposite.
“So what exactly is so urgent that the whole lot of you had to come swarming in?”
Do Eun-cheol’s gaze flicked to the retirement applications heaped on the desk, then returned to Kim Seong-ho.
“The company relocation and the voluntary retirement for the staff are already settled, so I won’t say another word about them. But what is this about severing ties with Seimo?”
“Did you not receive the report from the Strategic Planning Office?”
Kim Seong-ho paused, looked around at the executives, and continued.
“We simply no longer need Seimo’s help while they keep extracting excessive profits.”
“And you expect us to trust domestic parts?”
“You should have received the test results. Did you not look at them? Using domestic components actually produced better outcomes.”
“Still, even so—”
“The matter has already been approved by the Chairman.”
The words were few, yet nothing more powerful existed.
“…”
President Do Eun-cheol and every other executive fell silent as if their mouths were full of honey.
After a brief exchange of glances with Executive Director Bang Ju-gyeol and Managing Director Ju Seong-su, Do Eun-cheol stood and held out his hand to Kim Seong-ho.
“Very well. Then who will be the new parts suppliers?”
Kim Seong-ho flicked a look at Jeong Byeong-ju, who handed Do Eun-cheol a sheet listing the new companies.
Do Eun-cheol scanned the names and looked back at Kim Seong-ho.
“These are the ones that will supply our watch components from now on?”
“Yes. All domestic firms, excellent in both technology and production capacity.”
“Understood. We’ll be going, then.”
Do Eun-cheol turned; the other executives followed him out of the office.
Jeong Byeong-ju, who had been tense the entire time, stared blankly at the surprisingly easy retreat.
“What was that? I thought they’d raise hell. Why did they just fold?”
He closed the door, shaking his head, and sat down beside Kim Seong-ho.
“They can’t take kickbacks from the old suppliers anymore. Why walk away so quietly? Did they finally accept that the gravy train is over and decide to reform?”
The fact that Do Eun-cheol and the others—men who had never hesitated to pocket rebates—had left without a fight struck Jeong Byeong-ju as unnatural.
Kim Seong-ho smiled at him.
“Section Chief, have you ever seen a dung fly leave the shit?”
“If a dung fly leaves the shit, it’s not a dung fly.”
“Exactly.”
The corner of Kim Seong-ho’s mouth curved upward.
“They’re the same. They’re dung flies—how could they leave the shit? You said it yourself a moment ago: plenty of circumstance, no hard proof—what are we going to do?”
Jeong Byeong-ju nodded.
Curiosity filled his face as he asked,
“Do you have a way to dig up the evidence?”
“No need to dig. They’ll manufacture the evidence with their own hands and deliver it to us.”
“Manufacture it and deliver it? What does that mean? How would they—”
The question died unfinished as a possibility lit up in Jeong Byeong-ju’s mind.
“Don’t tell me you already talked to the new parts suppliers?”
“With the old ones the relationships were already too cozy; evidence was hard to come by, right?”
“Yeah. That’s what drove me crazy. The circumstances were solid, but no proof… Is that why you switched suppliers?”
“Among other reasons. Changing suppliers improves our watches’ competitiveness and lets us catch them red-handed. I never believed they would stop just because the partners changed. So I gave the new suppliers a heads-up: if those men come asking for kickbacks, collect the evidence.”
“You really are…”
Jeong Byeong-ju looked at Kim Seong-ho with pure admiration.
Kim Seong-ho smiled back and stood.
“Shall we go?”
“Go where?”
Kim Seong-ho took Jeong Byeong-ju’s coat from the rack and held it out.
Jeong Byeong-ju accepted it, eyes asking the same question.
Kim Seong-ho shrugged into his own coat as he answered.
“Evidence alone doesn’t settle everything, does it? I have a friend who’s a prosecutor.”
“Assistant Manager Kim—you can’t mean—”
“I never intended to let them walk away clean. They turned the company into this; they should pay for it.”
He checked his watch and urged Jeong Byeong-ju along.
“Oh no—look at the time. We’ll be late for the appointment. Let’s go.”
At the prompt Jeong Byeong-ju hurriedly pulled on his coat and followed. As he walked he shook his head and sighed over the sheer stupidity of Ilhyeon Watch’s executives, who, unable to abandon their greed, were already trying to sink their straws into the brand-new suppliers.
Lee Tak-hyeon, who normally handled affairs from his study in Pyeongchang-dong, made a rare appearance at the company.
He had stayed away so as not to undercut Vice Chairman Lee Mun-jong’s authority; his mere presence at group headquarters threw the entire Ilhyeon Group into a state of high tension.
Whether the news was good or bad, Lee Tak-hyeon’s appearance always meant something major had happened inside the group.
Thwap.
A thick file of documents slapped down in front of Lee Mun-jong.
Even so he could not speak; he simply stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at the floor.
“What the hell do you actually do?”
Lee Tak-hyeon’s words left Lee Mun-jong mute.
This time there was no excuse he could offer even if he had a mouth.
Lee Tak-hyeon barked at his silent, bowed son.
“You really didn’t know? Or was it you who ordered it?”
Lee Mun-jong, who had kept his lips sealed, finally raised his head.
“No, Father. I truly knew nothing about it.”
He denied it in a rush, looking even more aggrieved than Lee Tak-hyeon.
“I had no idea those lunatics were demanding kickbacks from the suppliers. I have nothing whatsoever to do with this.”
When Lee Tak-hyeon’s suspicion still did not lift, Lee Mun-jong raised his voice.
“I will take personal responsibility and deal with this myself.”
“Enough. There’s nothing left for you to deal with.”
Lee Tak-hyeon waved a hand in disgust and turned away to sit.
“I’ve already had the secretariat file formal charges. I’ve also spoken to the prosecutors and told them not to let this slide easily.”
Lee Mun-jong broke into a cold sweat at the word “spoken.”
Lee Tak-hyeon did not make requests; he gave orders.
That he had chosen the softer word meant his fury was that much greater.
“Daring to demand kickbacks from suppliers? Ten percent of sales, in cash? I’ll show those bastards. They stick straws into my company and treat it like a cash vault?”
Under that rage Lee Mun-jong hurriedly bowed his head, terrified the fury would splash onto him as well.
“This wasn’t a day or two—this went on for decades. And you claim you never knew? Makes me wonder whether you even belong in the vice chairman’s seat.”
“Father, I—”
“Get out of my sight. I can’t stand looking at you.”
At the roar Lee Mun-jong left the chairman’s office with slumped shoulders.
Lee Tak-hyeon watched him go with open distaste, then picked up the joint petition submitted by Ilhyeon Watch’s new suppliers that lay on his desk.
It detailed exactly when, how, where, and what Do Eun-cheol and the other executives of Ilhyeon Watch had demanded.
And beside the petition sat a cassette recorder containing the conversations transcribed in the letter—every word recorded exactly as spoken.