Seize the Opportunity That Will Never Return
Once the sweltering summer had passed, genuine terror took hold of the market.
Daeil Precision—a solid company that had posted more than ten billion won in operating profit every year and, the previous year, an all-time high of twenty billion—went bankrupt overnight.
The firm manufactured computer peripherals and had been steadily expanding; when it collapsed in an instant, panic swept the market. It was not a company on the scale of Dubo or Doa Motors, yet Daeil Precision’s failure still sent a chill through every trader for one simple reason.
A company that had been booking hundreds of billions in black ink every year had gone under because it lacked a mere four billion in cash. The specter of profitable insolvency had become real. Even firms in the black could die for want of liquidity. Loss-making companies—or those that failed to generate enough surplus—could collapse that very day. Corporations scrambled desperately to hoard cash; banks slammed their windows shut, and money began to dry up across the market.
Chairman Lee Tak-hyeon summoned the group’s senior leadership with Vice Chairman Lee Mun-jong at the center. With a crisis upon them, he wanted the core of Ilhyeon gathered so they could put their heads together. Yet the fact that the situation was urgent did not mean Ilhyeon Group itself was in danger. The meeting was not even about weathering the storm together. It was simply a calm review of the restructuring they had already completed and a discussion of what Ilhyeon should do next—an almost serene gathering compared with the panic elsewhere.
As a result, the conversation that emerged was almost cheerful.
“Ilhyeon has completed its restructuring and brought every affiliate’s debt ratio below two hundred percent,” Kim Seong-ho reported to Lee Tak-hyeon. “Our cash-reserve ratio is also far higher than that of our peers. We expect the present credit crisis to have little impact on us.”
At Seong-ho’s words, smiles appeared not only on Lee Tak-hyeon’s face but on those of Lee Mun-jong and every other key executive present. They all shared the same thought: among all the companies in the Republic of Korea, only Ilhyeon could claim to be unaffected by the current turmoil. They listened with bright expressions, then regarded Seong-ho with something like wonder. He had sensed a faint, uncertain risk, launched a preemptive restructuring, and steered them clear of danger—an achievement that still astonished them.
Lee Tak-hyeon himself made no effort to hide his surprise.
“Director Kim, you’ve done something enormous.”
“Not at all. It is entirely thanks to the clear path you laid out for me, Chairman. I merely followed your instructions and worked in your place.”
Bowing his head, Seong-ho credited every success to Lee Tak-hyeon. Everyone in the room—including the Chairman himself—knew that both the design and the relentless execution of the restructuring had been Seong-ho’s alone. Yet the sight of a man so young and relatively inexperienced deliberately diminishing himself only deepened their admiration.
At that moment Hwang Do-beom spoke of the flood of inquiries that had been pouring into the Secretary’s Office.
“Chairman, other companies are requesting our help.”
“Help? What kind of help?”
Lee Tak-hyeon, still wearing a broad smile, turned to look at him.
“Calls are coming in nonstop from firms that say they want to restructure but have no idea how to go about it.”
“They’re asking us to teach them restructuring?”
“Yes.”
Hwang Do-beom glanced briefly at Seong-ho, then elaborated.
“Most companies still think restructuring means little more than laying off staff and tidying up the books. They have realized that alone will never clear out their bad assets, so they are turning to us for guidance. After all, we carried out a genuine restructuring—exactly as the word is meant to be understood.”
“True. We can rightly call ourselves the textbook case of proper restructuring.”
Lee Tak-hyeon looked satisfied. Then the corner of his mouth lifted.
“If requests keep coming, take them as they arrive.”
“And how shall we answer?”
“Don’t answer. Just say you understand.”
“Then…”
Hwang Do-beom’s eyes asked what came next. Lee Tak-hyeon answered that silent question with the same faint smile.
“These are the same people who sneered at us while we restructured. We have no reason to help them. Just listen politely and take no action whatsoever. Until they come crawling on their knees and knock their heads on the floor, we need not lift a finger.”
“And if they do knock their heads, do you intend to help them?”
Lee Mun-jong asked, half hoping.
Lee Tak-hyeon turned his gaze from Hwang Do-beom to his eldest son and gave a scornful snort.
“As if. Not unless someone puts a bullet in my head first. Everyone else is struggling? That means the world is finally ours. Why on earth would we rush out to rescue other companies in distress? Do we get paid for helping? The most we would ever receive is a few polite words of thanks. Why bother?”
He shifted his eyes to Seong-ho.
“And I remember that day perfectly clearly. Don’t you?”
Lee Tak-hyeon asked, looking straight at him.
“Yes. That is something we must never forget.”
Seong-ho’s manner made it plain that the events at the Federation of Korean Industries still burned in his memory. Lee Tak-hyeon looked pleased, then raised his voice so everyone present could hear.
“When we went to the Federation, every last one of them pointed fingers at Ilhyeon—as if we alone had ruined the Korean economy. Why should we help people like that? If they collapse and come onto the market at fire-sale prices, we will simply smile and pick them up.”
Seong-ho lowered his head and allowed himself a quiet smile. Those words matched his own thoughts exactly.
Having finished, Lee Tak-hyeon turned to him and asked bluntly,
“Director Kim—what do you think? Isn’t that precisely the expansion of the second-phase restructuring?”
“It is.”
Seong-ho lifted his head and addressed the Chairman and the assembled core executives.
“That is why we endured the bone-cutting pain of restructuring in the first place.”
He looked around the table.
“As the market collapses, companies will be dumped onto it by the dozen. We simply wait for that moment, then quietly slip the good ones into our pocket one by one.”
“Hahaha! Yes—exactly that!”
Lee Tak-hyeon slapped the table and burst into delighted laughter. Riding the wave of that laughter, Seong-ho continued with words he knew would please the Chairman still more.
“If we make skillful use of the Ilhyeon Electronics investment, we will hold the upper hand not only with the present administration but with whatever government comes next. The knife is already in our hand. It is my belief that we must not let this opportunity—one that will never return—slip away.”
“Yes. An opportunity that will never return.”
Lee Tak-hyeon echoed the phrase, then issued an order that poured still more power into the Restructuring Headquarters.
“So everyone stay sharp and follow the Headquarters’ instructions. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
The loud chorus of assent left Lee Tak-hyeon looking thoroughly satisfied. Seong-ho, for his part, answered that he would produce results worthy of the Chairman’s expectations.
Hwang Do-beom could feel it clearly: the Restructuring Headquarters had grown so powerful that even the Secretary’s Office could no longer keep it in check. The day when it would leave the Secretary’s Office and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with it as a direct organ of the Chairman was not far off.
Director Kim’s power will only grow stronger.
Hwang Do-beom’s gaze moved back and forth between Seong-ho and Lee Mun-jong, wondering whether such overwhelming strength in Kim Seong-ho’s hands would ultimately prove a good thing for the Vice Chairman.
“Heading home for the day, sir?”
The security guard sitting in the booth slid open the small window and offered a cheerful greeting. Kim Seong-ho paused on his way inside, dipped his head slightly, and returned the greeting.
“Yes. Have you had dinner?”
“Shift change is any minute now. I’ll eat once I get home.”
“You’ll be hungry, working so late.”
“Haha, just hearing that is enough. Take care going up, sir.”
“I will.”
After exchanging the courtesies, Seong-ho went inside. The guard who had been approaching for the shift change watched the exchange with interest, then entered the booth.
“Kim, I’m here.”
“You’re early.”
The man who had just spoken with Seong-ho—Mr. Kim—greeted his relief, Mr. Park, warmly. Park glanced at the open window and asked,
“Who was that young fellow you just said hello to?”
“The young fellow? Ah—you mean the new resident on the eleventh floor.”
“Eleventh floor?”
“Yeah. A young couple moved in not long ago. Both of them have perfect manners and are unusually kind for people their age these days.”
“Just the couple? In a place that big?”
Park tilted his head.
“Wasn’t that originally Director Kim’s place?”
“That’s right. It belonged to Director Kim. Then for some reason he sold it, and this young couple bought it.”
“That expensive place?”
Park looked at the open window with startled eyes and clicked his tongue.
“They must have money. They didn’t even come in on a lease—they bought the unit outright. What does the husband do? Is he a doctor like the previous owner? That’s the kind of job that pays enough for a place like this, right?”
Mr. Kim shook his head.
“Doesn’t seem like a doctor. Both of them work for companies, they said.”
“Both of them?”
Park clucked his tongue again.
“Tch. Just company employees—probably nothing special. A man needs real ability, you know.”
“If he didn’t have ability, how could he have bought a place here? He has ability, so he bought it. Whatever it is…”
Mr. Kim stood, collected his lunch bag, and waved.
“I’m off.”
“All right. Get home safe.”
Park waved back, then settled into the empty chair.
While the shift change took place at the entrance, on the eleventh floor Lee Gyeong-eun—midway through cooking and still wearing her apron—greeted Seong-ho the moment he came through the door.
“Seong-ho! Welcome home. You must be starving. Just wash your hands and come to the table. I made a delicious soybean-paste stew.”
She took the bag from his hand. Seong-ho flared his nostrils at the savory aroma that had already reached him at the doorway, then smiled and asked,
“You made soybean-paste stew, Gyeong-eun? Is that really true?”
She gave an awkward little laugh.
“Well… to be precise, Auntie Oh prepared everything and left, but… Oh, what does that matter? I only put it on the stove and heated it, but the person who turns off the gas is the one who made the food, right?”
She planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes in mock indignation. Seong-ho laughed and nodded.
“You’re absolutely right. It’s your cooking. I’ll wash up and be right there.”
With an easy smile he headed for the bathroom; Gyeong-eun, smiling as well, returned to the kitchen.
“I waited for you, so I haven’t eaten yet either. Come quickly—I’ll finish setting the table.”
Seong-ho answered that he would and stepped into the bathroom. While washing his hands he looked into the mirror. The man reflected there was a Kim Seong-ho who looked a full thirty years younger than the man he had once been, and his face was bright. Happiness shone from that brightness—the happiness of a newlywed life he had never known in his previous existence.
In that former life he had been unable to leave Pyeongchang-dong until the day Gyeong-eun died. After her funeral he had been driven out like an unwelcome guest. Life in Pyeongchang-dong had always felt like walking on thin ice; the unease had poisoned what should have been a joyful honeymoon. Once he left, only emptiness and loneliness remained, and happiness had become something he could no longer find.
But everything was different now. Sharing a private space with a healthy Gyeong-eun, enjoying—however belatedly—a happy newlywed life, Seong-ho wished this happiness would never end. More than anyone, he wanted it to continue, and he was methodically putting in place everything necessary to make that wish come true. And along with it, the revenge for the previous life…
He smiled back at the smiling young man in the mirror, then left the bathroom to join Gyeong-eun, who was waiting in the kitchen.
After dinner the two of them sat close together on the living-room sofa, watching a drama and talking over the day’s events at their respective companies. Before bed they read side by side, turned out the light, and spent the final moments of the day in their private world.
Seven o’clock the next morning.
After a light breakfast Gyeong-eun left first.
“An important guest is arriving at the hotel from Washington today, so I need to go early. Have a good day at work too, Seong-ho.”
“Will you be all right driving yourself?”
“Of course.”
Unlike the Pyeongchang-dong days, when a driver had always been with her, mornings like this required her to drive herself.
“I may not look it, but I have a Class 1 ordinary license. Don’t worry. I’m off.”
After seeing her out, Seong-ho spent the remaining time before his own departure watching television in leisurely comfort.
The phone rang.
Unexpectedly, it was Gyeong-eun—who had left only a short while earlier—calling him.