Chapter 230
Chapter 230
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 230
Chapter Title: Banco Delta China Bank (1)
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“North Korea’s secret accounts hold about one trillion won in funds. Why don’t we just skim it off in the middle?”
Did I say something I shouldn’t have?
Thud. Kim Won-cheol dropped the chocolate he was eating onto the floor and showed no sign of picking it up.
“Hold on a sec, Chairman. So, what you’re saying right now is…? Can I take a moment to sort this out?”
“Do whatever makes you comfortable. Take all the time you need.”
Like a dog desperate to poop, Kim Won-cheol spun in circles right there on the spot.
Once he’d apparently sorted out the chaos inside, he grabbed a board marker, trying his best to stay calm.
“So, Han Hwa-gi’s getting help from [Shanghai Capital]. Since they’re short on cash, he’s pulling funds from North Korea’s secret accounts.”
“That’s right.”
Thud, tap.
Circles appeared on the massive whiteboard.
Lines extended from circles labeled North Korea, Uncle, and [Shanghai Capital], weaving together like a spiderweb.
And in the center where those lines converged, a single circle with my name on it.
Using a red board marker to draw stars nonstop around the edge of my circle, Kim Won-cheol posed the question to me.
“So, as a countermeasure, our Chairman here is going to swallow up North Korea’s money whole?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell are you talking about? How do you plan to swallow their money?”
North Korea, the world’s worst dictatorship.
And their secret slush funds scattered around places like Macau.
Under normal circumstances, intercepting those funds midstream—or even getting tangled up with North Korea at all—wouldn’t happen.
But.
“Well, we still need to color it in, but this is the rough sketch for now.”
I knew.
The inner workings of North Korea right now, less than a year after Kim Jong-il’s death.
“The clueless nephew who doesn’t know the ways of the world, and the fox propping up a paper tiger in front while scheming to play kingmaker from behind.”
Kim Jong-un and Jang Song-thaek.
The early stages of the power struggle between uncle and nephew.
If we played that chaos right, maybe this absurd idea could actually become reality.
I took the board marker from Kim Won-cheol’s hand and immediately drew two more circles on the whiteboard.
Red circles labeled Kim Jong-un and Jang Song-thaek.
“We don’t need anything else—just target the fox. If he wants to stay kingmaker forever, he’ll need big money. And more than that.”
Then, on the last circle I drew, I added a big star.
A star of tragedy, to hasten the fate soon to befall this man.
“Right now, that uncle fox is the one holding the keys to the vault. At least until he gets hit with the anti-aircraft gun and executed.”
* * * *
At the same time.
A certain secret mansion in Pyongyang, North Korea.
“Ten billion USD, ten billion…”
Jang Song-thaek pondered deep in an underground concrete bunker, past layers of heavy security on the surface.
The proposal from [Shanghai Capital] awaited only his final approval.
Like a Go player facing the board, he fiddled endlessly with a couple of stones in his hand, lost in thought.
“Is this really okay, Number One Comrade?”
Finally unable to hold back, his cousin Jang Cheol-gyu—who had risen to a high position in North Korea—spoke up.
“Those damn chinks. Sounds plausible enough at first, but if they get nabbed by the Yankee bastards during the laundering, won’t our heads split open in pain?”
“Tsk tsk. You still don’t get how things work, do you? It’s not just about laundering the money.”
“Yes…?”
Even in the bug-proof underground bunker, Jang Song-thaek had the double doors firmly locked to block any possible listening ears.
In a tiny, low whisper right by his cousin’s ear, barely audible, he said.
“I’m the one playing kingmaker. And you, part of our Jang family. Don’t you think we’re walking on clouds?”
“I won’t deny it. But what does that have to do with this money laundering business?”
“You’re so dense. How could it not? Walking on clouds means the moment your foot slips, you plunge straight into the mud below and die.”
The guards outside the double doors, armed with submachine guns.
Jang Song-thaek could command those guards like limbs in the ready position, but he knew.
The Paektu bloodline. The moment that innate heir twitched a finger, he could become less than a worm crawling on this floor.
That’s why, in a calm, sunken voice, Jang Song-thaek issued a warning to Jang Cheol-gyu.
“You included, all my comrades riding on my back.”
“…….”
Tick, tick.
Harsh cigarette smoke quickly filled the underground bunker. Between the flickering lightbulb and the thick gray haze, Jang Song-thaek’s stern face flashed and faded repeatedly.
“Before Jong-un draws the sword from its sheath, we need to prepare a hill to lean on in advance. For that.”
“For that…?”
“The secret funds tied to the Dear Leader outside. We need to quietly slip those into our pockets first.”
Sizzle. Jang Song-thaek stubbed out his cigarette roughly in the ashtray.
Having made his decision, he gave Jang Cheol-gyu his orders.
Unaware that this choice would spin the clock hands of his fated anti-aircraft gun execution faster.
“Prepare to send the loyal funds in Banco Delta China Bank to [Shanghai Capital].”
* * * *
At the same time.
Jo Seok-gu and Joo Gwae-yul, recently released on parole and suspended sentence.
“Man, the outside air feels damn refreshing after so long.”
Having shed their prison uniforms and stepped beyond the bars, they didn’t head to a family’s warm embrace.
Only to the hunting ground. Just one step at a time toward the prey they’d marked, ready to tear into it.
“That musty smell wafting up my nostrils—it’s just like the slaughterhouse stench when pigs get gutted. Ain’t that right, Chairman Joo?”
“Pigs? Hell, it’s a smell you could gut humans with too.”
The two had taken real losses from the savings bank fiasco.
Their overflowing rage had to vent somewhere.
Of course, in a way that maximized their own gains, within reason.
“True enough. Anyone who botches a job ain’t human—they’re just piglets. No need to split hairs.”
“Euhahaha. Exactly, exactly. Slice up a human or a pig, it’s all just chunks of meat anyway.”
And there was only one place for that rage to erupt.
“Alright then. Time to check if Honorary Advisor Han Hwa-gi’s human meat or pig meat by sizing him up.”
Han Hwa-gi. The man who had dragged Jo Seok-gu and Joo Gwae-yul into this mess.
But even on Liberation Day morning, when they were paroled, Han Hwa-gi had acted utterly indifferent, as if their anger was trivial.
“Shut your trap. Know your place. This ain’t the time for you punks to strut.”
“W-what…!”
“There’s always a Plan B for a messed-up job. I’ve fixed everything, so come to my place this afternoon after release.”
And now, Jo Seok-gu and Joo Gwae-yul were en route to Han Hwa-gi’s Gangnam residence.
“That mouth of his is national treasure-level trash talk… but damn it, he better pay us back for wagging his tongue.”
They weren’t wearing the businessman facades they’d used before.
Pure red-hot innards exposed, Jo Seok-gu and Joo Gwae-yul in their true organized crime thug looks.
Jo Seok-gu pulled a hand axe from his belt and grinned as he spoke.
“Otherwise, this thing keeps itching to chop off toes. Heave-ho.”
“I see ’em. Chairman Joo, your boys ready on your side?”
“What’s there to say.”
Joo Gwae-yul, in the front passenger seat, eyed the rearview mirror.
In the van following behind, a dozen burly, mean-looking guys were packed in.
Ready to crush Han Hwa-gi’s spirit anytime.
“Sometimes you gotta get a little rough to teach manners and seize control.”
There it was, a dense cluster of detached houses right in central Gangnam.
Stepping out of the car, Joo Gwae-yul pounded on the van door and bellowed.
“Everyone out! Move your asses, you punks! We’re going in—crush that Young Master Han Hwa-gi’s momentum right from the start!”
* * * *
“Huh…”
“Why the hell are there even these chink bastards…!”
Their clumsy attempt at seizing the initiative fell flat.
“You idiots. Guess the lowly scum nature never changes.”
Han Hwa-gi stood with dozens of cleaver-wielding Chinese men arrayed behind him like a backdrop.
“When you’re handling big deals, things go wrong all the time. To think you’d try splitting me and Ammunition Group with this level of patience.”
The numbers were overwhelmingly in Han Hwa-gi’s favor.
And that guy called Yan Long that Jo Seok-gu glimpsed didn’t look ordinary either.
Triad gangsters like these? If they died, he could replace them easily enough.
In that uneasy imagination, tension strung tight like a bowstring. Han Hwa-gi’s side snapped it first.
“Pathetic doesn’t even cover it. But.”
“……?”
“We can’t handle things purely on emotion like you fools do.”
Thud. Two bundles of paper hit the ground.
“Revised contracts. As you can see, they now include shares from [Shanghai Capital].”
The contracts rolled across the floor.
Seeing contents completely different from their prison deal, Jo Seok-gu and Joo Gwae-yul started protesting.
“Huh, this is…”
“Ahem, Advisor Han! Isn’t this adjustment a bit excessive?”
Han Hwa-gi brushed off the complaints without batting an eye.
“If you don’t like it, what else can you do?”
“Whew… Driving us right to the brink of drawing blades, our Advisor Han.”
Fortunately or not, the gangsters’ resistance wasn’t as fierce as expected.
“The <Cocoa> retail finance division—at least shove that in my mouth. You get me?”
“That much is fine.”
Jo Seok-gu’s bid to snag at least the core profits.
“Fine by me. Chinese capital might even add some stability.”
Joo Gwae-yul, focusing on the new angle of operational stability.
Finally, all new agreements wrapped up. Gazing at the signed papers, Han Hwa-gi spoke.
“As you’ve heard, this operation needs more time. Timing has to align too.”
A plan requiring fund routing through ethnic Koreans in China and Chongryon. Plus factoring in Korea’s political scene.
Having reviewed it all, Han Hwa-gi continued in a steady tone.
“Four months from now, December. When the presidential election ties up investigators and financial regulators. That’s when we launch the final assault. Betting everything.”