Chapter 166
Chapter 166
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 166
Chapter Title: Insiders (1)
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Near Uiryeong County in South Gyeongsang Province, at the Im family ancestral grave of the SA Group.
The late Chairman Im Gye-hyeon. His funeral had come to a desolate end midway up this rocky mountain.
“Father….”
At the tail end of January, with biting cold winds howling. Whether the chill had stolen his tears or not, Vice President Im Jae-ho’s bloodshot, reddened eyes held only a parched sorrow.
“The weather’s turning bitter, Vice President. How about heading down now?”
The direct chief secretary to the late Chairman Im Gye-hyeon approached Vice President Im Jae-ho and whispered in his ear.
But to a son who had just seen his father off, such cold was no concern at all.
All that mattered was soothing the hollow emptiness in his heart that had never been filled in a lifetime.
“Enough. Have everyone withdraw first. I need some time alone with Father.”
“…Understood.”
His trembling hand filled a shot glass to the brim with soju.
A titan of the business world, yet the late Chairman Im Gye-hyeon had simple tastes when it came to liquor.
With a dazed expression, Vice President Im Jae-ho poured the alcohol over the fresh grave, where not even the sod had fully settled.
“I… I don’t know. What were your thoughts, Father? What I should do from here.”
The worthless son who hadn’t even been at his deathbed.
And contrasted against that, the fact that someone not even blood-related had been with Father at the end—whenever Im Jae-ho thought of it, his mind went blank.
Filled with resentment, grievance, and self-loathing.
“If you hated me that much… couldn’t you have at least said so? Instead of leaving so suddenly like this.”
Drip, drip.
As if answering Vice President Im Jae-ho’s soliloquy, raindrops began to fall one by one.
A freezing winter rain, verging on sleet, poured down fiercely.
And from behind, the chief secretary approached, holding an umbrella.
“Vice President! You need to come down!”
“I told you to stay back—why come up again? A little rain’s nothing.”
“It’s not just the rain… There’s trouble in the U.S. right now! Dick Johnson from J-Coco has suddenly…!”
The downpour grew heavier.
Amid the howling wind mixed with the secretary’s mumbling explanation, Vice President Im Jae-ho stared blankly up at the sky.
His face now seemed enlightened, as if he’d let everything go.
“Could it be… you even foresaw this? Was that why you met that bastard Han Seo-jun alone until the very end?”
* * * *
The success story of a poor family’s eldest son studying abroad.
If Park Cheol-su’s life were summed up—the CEO secretary at J-Coco—it might read something like that.
The grueling study abroad days sustained by scholarships, followed by a Silicon Valley job.
Having escaped poverty and supported his younger sister who followed suit, he was held up as a role model in the immigrant community.
At least on the surface.
“You piece of trash! What’s the holdup if you’re still slow on the job?!”
Thwack. A sturdy dress shoe slammed into Park Cheol-su’s shin. Dick Johnson, venting his rage in front of him.
“The patent issue has too many legal complications… It won’t be easy to cover up.”
“Didn’t that empty head of yours think to shred the evidence documents?! Destroy them all so they can’t be used against us later!”
With the company sale looming, Dick Johnson—fearing developers might claim patent rights—was on edge.
Swept up in overwhelming greed that threatened to consume him, he seemed oblivious to the risks of his own orders. His eyes, already flipped by the massive sale price, couldn’t turn back.
“You filthy yellow monkey! Even with a green card dangled in front of you, you can’t do shit right!”
As usual, Dick Johnson unloaded his emotions on Park Cheol-su and stormed out of the office.
Left alone again in the room, Park Cheol-su gazed at the ceiling, forcing back tears.
“Whew, what a temper… But seriously, what do I do now?”
His slumped shoulders weren’t just from emotion.
If he followed Dick Johnson’s orders, he’d bear heavy responsibility later—possibly alone.
Defy them, and getting fired was a given, clear as day.
“What if I report it to the Commerce Department or the police…?”
Park Cheol-su shook his head.
Once branded a whistleblower, few companies would take you. At least not here in Silicon Valley.
“Sigh… What the hell should I do?”
He pulled out his wallet and stared at the family photo inside. His gaze settled on his younger sister, just starting college.
“…….”
Stuck in an impossible bind, suffocating in a dead-end trap.
That very moment, his pants pocket buzzed—his cell phone. An unknown number… but starting with 010, a Korean one.
“Korea…? Should I pick up? Hello?”
-Is this Park Cheol-su? The CEO secretary at J-Coco?
Clunk. Park Cheol-su’s heart sank.
The voice sounded young for a man, but knowing his personal info sparked unfounded anxiety.
“Who is this? If you’re from the authorities, I don’t know anything….”
-No need to worry. I’d quit on the spot if I were with them.
The mysterious voice added a quip about some odd female prosecutor in the Korean courts.
He rambled about Prosecutor Park Eun-ji or whoever, but seemed to pull himself together and got to the point.
-Sorry for the nonsense.
“No, it’s fine. But… what’s this call about? And who are you?”
-Ah, sorry for the late intro.
His voice dropped, serious and composed.
-I’m Han Seo-jun, Chairman of Ammunition Group. I was thinking of helping you out, Mr. Park. Could we meet later?
* * * *
Near Silicon Valley, at a viewpoint overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge.
The hamburger here—eaten with Uncle Kim Won-cheol on my last business trip—was just as mind-blowing on a revisit.
Of course, no fussy middle-aged guy to ruin the appetite today.
Just Park Cheol-su, the Korean immigrant, looking a bit intimidated and glancing around nervously.
“I’m Han Seo-jun, the one who called.”
“Ah… Park Cheol-su. But….”
He snuck sidelong glances at me, then cautiously voiced his doubt.
“Pardon me, but are you really Ammunition Group’s Chairman…?”
“I get it. My age leads to misunderstandings like this often.”
I rummaged in my briefcase and pulled out a magazine.
Couldn’t use the private jet under maintenance due to my rushed departure, so I’d flown commercial. This women’s magazine had been in the seat pocket ahead.
Ridiculous to carry at the time… but handy now.
“It’s embarrassing—extremely so—but this is the best proof I’ve got.”
-[Weekly Housewives] Special! Ammunition Group Chairman’s Romance Rumors! Who will claim Han Seo-jun’s home? ‘Weekly Housewives’ investigates!
“…Well, it checks out, I guess.”
“Quite mortifying. Anyway, I flew here to help. Liberation from Dick Johnson, let’s call it.”
As I flipped past the scandal sheet, Park Cheol-su’s eyes widened.
Flustered, he stammered.
“Y-You know the situation? H-How?!”
“A big corp chairman gets all sorts of intel. The usual power trips, your green card leash, and…”
I knew it inside out.
That’s why I’d come.
Others might think it odd for a chairman to move personally just to recruit one aide… but he was the key man to crack this crisis.
“Even the patent cleanup headache at J-Coco.”
“……!”
“One more: You wearing it all alone and ending up in a U.S. prison. Green card or not, for life.”
Now it sank in; he bowed his head, pondering. I gripped his trembling hand and drove the final nail.
“I’ll help. Solve all your worries. But.”
“But…?”
“Just one thing—you cooperate with me, Mr. Park.”
“What kind of cooperation…?”
The key man looked ready to move. Threads from me now draped the former underdog’s back.
“U.S. Commerce Secretary Yang Wen-li. I’d like you to gild his face a bit, Mr. Park.”
* * * *
U.S., Washington DC. Commerce Secretary’s office.
On the desk—black ivory engraved with his nameplate—a somewhat unusual name was inscribed.
-Commerce Secretary Yang Wen-li
In America’s politics, dominated by whites with token blacks or Hispanics, Yang Wen-li had risen to Secretary as an East Asian.
Chinese descent, but he’d climbed here on merit alone. Today, too, he endured a coaxing call from somewhere.
-Secretary, come on, let’s meet and talk privately….
“No. I won’t. I’m not taking your damn bribes—don’t call again!”
Slam. Yang Wen-li hurled the phone. Beneath frost-white hair, his face flushed with anger, he lit his pipe and sighed.
“Whew. All that ethnic, bloodline bullshit, and when they can’t buy me with cash, they lose it.”
Shanghai Capital, was it? he muttered bitterly.
He’d spent his life overcoming glares and suspicions for being Chinese. Loyal to the U.S. through and through—yet one call kept shoving him to the political brink.
He tamped out the pipe tobacco firmly. Head aching, he rubbed his temples and muttered.
“Fucking dogs. Midterms’ll bring opponent attacks now.”
Pushed to the cliff-edge countless times, Yang Wen-li knew from experience.
What he needed was… some fitting incident to blow up. One to solidify his position.
“The right case to prove my loyalty… that’s the issue.”
Pondering Yang Wen-li.
The call log alone made impeachment from the rival faction likely.
And the reversal he needed arrived quietly, out of nowhere.
From a tiny nation across the distant Pacific.
“Secretary? Incoming call request.”
“China again? Tell Shanghai Capital or whoever—no.”
“No, not China… Korea. Ammunition Group Chairman Seo-jun Han says he has urgent words for you.”