Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: Self-Destruct Button (1)
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“What the hell are you? Is this how you always handle the jobs you’re paid for?”
“Eek!”
Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader, barely dodged a flying plaque with a weave.
If he hadn’t boxed back in the day, that sharp eagle-beak sculpture would’ve cracked his forehead open.
Of course, he’d never have the guts to throw a counterpunch at his boss’s face.
“You idiots can’t even read a ledger properly, and you call yourselves an audit team? And you, why can’t you manage your underlings worth a damn?”
“Um… Headquarters Director. Could you give us just a bit more time? The records are… all wrong somehow.”
Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader, bent at a perfect right angle, like a folding chair.
He felt wronged.
Tears welled up in his eyes, chicken-shit style, barely holding back.
For the audit team to work, they needed clear accounting records. The problem was the ledgers themselves were murky.
The numbers added up, sure, but they vanished like a desert mirage the moment you got close—strange footprints in the records.
It left Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader, utterly frustrated. Finally mustering his courage, he raised a defense to his boss.
“If we input the ledger numbers into the program, the algorithm should catch it. But we’re getting a weird result where it matches but the numbers don’t line up…”
“Hey, Yoo Ji-won. You telling me this while knowing that catching shit like that is your job?”
“You’re right. I mean, not that I’m right, but what you’re saying… Eek!”
Another metal plaque flew his way.
This time, Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader, couldn’t dodge and clutched his throbbing shin.
‘This is driving me insane. The program was working fine—why the hell is it screwing up now…?’
They were fresh ledgers from all the affiliate presidents just this afternoon. They should’ve been error-free by default.
The one trap making Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader, suffer like this was a single account.
8888 account.
This one overseas account was throwing an incomprehensible error into the algorithm, dragging out the audit.
Han Hwa-gi growled a threat at his tightly shut-eyed subordinate.
“Two weeks. I’ll give you two weeks. Find out exactly how the predecessor’s slush fund was built and where it flowed by then, no excuses.”
“Y-Yes, sir! Thank you for the chance!”
Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader, bolted out the door. The second he was out, he grabbed his bruised shin and grimaced.
“Whew, Team Leader Yoo. The Headquarters Director looks seriously pissed today, huh? Room full of storm clouds or what?”
Of all times, there stood Jeong Cheol-sik, Executive Director from Finance Headquarters—his old colleague waiting outside. He’d seen the exact scene Yoo didn’t want witnessed.
“Ugh… Executive Director Jeong. Your timing is always just…”
Jeong Cheol-sik, Executive Director, heard the rough rundown.
He burst out laughing, then pointed at the door inside and chided Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader.
“Heh heh heh… Didn’t I tell you? That guy in there’s got a temper like a fuse. Gotta ride it careful.”
“Cut the gloating. What’re you here for? Bark wrong in front of the boss now, and I’m done for.”
“Bark? Hell, even an amateur like me bagged game. Check it out.”
A blue velvet-covered binder.
Tucked tight under his arm, it didn’t look like your standard document submission.
Jeong Cheol-sik, Executive Director from Finance Headquarters, beamed with pride.
Like a kid showing off a new toy, he spread the documents in front of Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader.
“The Iraq seawater desalination plant project. Bank PF additional loan approved, kid. That’s what you call skill, right?”
“Loan amount: 1.35 trillion won? Crazy… They’re set on dumping money into Iraq. Hold on—if the loan’s 90%, the company’s gotta front…”
“115 billion won. Gotta have that locked down, no question.”
Yoo Ji-won, Audit Team Leader, already nursing a headache from the internal audit, now faced another accounting wrinkle.
He looked up at the ceiling and let out a long sigh.
“Whew, where the hell are we supposed to scrape that up?”
“No worries at all on that front.”
Jeong Cheol-sik, Executive Director, smirked mysteriously. He almost regretted not being able to explain the smile’s meaning to his colleague, who’d picked the wrong side.
Ammunition Securities President Gu Seok-su, a reliable college senior. And the new lifeline he’d unexpectedly gained from him: Han Seo-jun.
Jeong Cheol-sik, Executive Director, gripped the binder tight.
‘Feels like I switched careers to bomb delivery guy.’
Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader, stared blankly, not getting it.
Jeong Cheol-sik, Executive Director, slung an arm over his shoulder and spoke softly.
“Anyway, that cross inside there—he’s the one who’ll shoulder it.”
“Cross?”
“Yeah. Whole process start to finish… responsibility included.”
* * * *
A massive cross on one wall, pieced together from stained glass in every color.
The evening sunset filtered through, hitting the long wooden pews for contemplation—like a rainbow.
A cathedral near headquarters, perfect for avoiding prying eyes.
Seong Won-sik, President, sat beside me, hands clasped, head bowed.
Amid the Mass hymns filling the nave, he whispered to me.
“Just as you said, Strategy Director. Banks throwing loans around like this…”
“Boom times. In the face of ‘high-return safe asset’ hype, fiscal soundness just sounds like nagging.”
The banks’ careless funding wasn’t solely due to the economic climate.
Ammunition Group’s 90 trillion won in Saudi revenue dwarfed it. A loan just over 1 trillion seemed trivial by comparison—easily repayable.
“President Seong. So, when’s the funding infusion date set?”
“Full moon. Two weeks from now. Han Hwa-gi, Headquarters Director, said he’d time it with the internal audit.”
“Two weeks…”
Seong Won-sik, President, had nailed the timeline and even Uncle’s intent. Pulling him to our side was a masterstroke.
Uncle would likely wrap the audit before then.
“Soon as the funds come in, park them in a safe account separately. No more use for that money in Iraq.”
“You planning a full pullout from Iraq?”
“Yes. Don’t care about losses in the withdrawal. Existing bad debt’s tolerable enough—and above all… that place is cursed. Real bad juju.”
“What do you mean…?”
Iraq’s grim future loomed.
In a few years, ISIL would turn the desalination plant into rubble.
Of course, I couldn’t say that outright, so I brushed off Seong Won-sik, President’s question vaguely.
“Bigger picture at play. Anyway, thanks for your hard work. Oh yeah—how’re Heavy Industries and Construction Presidents doing lately?”
“Festival vibes. Even got drinks lined up late tonight. Park Han-i, President, is buying. Oblivious to what’s coming…”
Park Han-i, President, hyped on the PF loan news, blind to his savage fate.
Once this crisis passed, he’d fantasize about serving loyally behind Uncle’s throne as a founding meritocrat.
“Tell him to enjoy his last outside party. In the end, he’ll bear the blame.”
No mercy for the one who’d lobbied the Defense Ministry undersecretary for my indictment. Condemnation only.
-Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison.
The evening Mass neared its close.
Up front, the white-robed choir belted out the Miserere.
Only after the song ended did Seong Won-sik, President, lift his head.
Catholic, maybe? His eyes glistened with emotion.
“Ah… Sorry to show such an ugly side.”
“No, it’s fine. But why all of a sudden…?”
“Oh, that Mass hymn just now. It’s what I muttered alone on the balcony last night, agonizing.”
Sky-high anxiety and pressure had gripped him. He’d clung to the railing, lost in torment.
A sentence too heavy to bear, unpayable fines.
Terror that everything built would crumble—leading to his decision to turn.
“That Latin lyric? I’m not religious, so I don’t know the meaning… Could you tell me?”
At my question, Seong Won-sik, President’s face mixed bitterness and relief in a smile.
And like a painting of some nameless monk, the tension eased from his rigid features.
“Have mercy on me.”
* * * *
That same time.
Kim Won-cheol stepped off the intercity bus.
Facing the evening sunset blazing down from the seaside, he recited a different prayer from Seong Won-sik, President.
“Ahh… Please have mercy on me. God, Buddha, Allah—every deity out there.”
Booze from the night before, plus unplanned all-nighter.
He’d taken leave to recover at home, but sudden work threw him onto a bus south.
Head pounding from the hangover, he wasn’t fit to drive.
“What good’s annual leave? Work never stops. Can’t even fish these days… Guess I’m fated to slave forever.”
Even after the rural bus terminal, his destination was far off.
Talk about bad luck—taxis were scarce.
Kim Won-cheol sweated buckets climbing the hill.
An hour later? Finally, the grand hanok gate appeared.
“Whew, been a while. This whale-back tiled roof.”
Sea breeze cooling off at the ornate gate. Dusk had cooled the muggy heat.
He pressed the bell by the nameplate and bellowed the name of the man who’d dragged him here.
“Hey, anyone home? Madam Kim Bok-hee! It’s Kim Won-cheol! Here to see Old Man Han Yul-san… er, sir!”
Kim Won-cheol knew former Secretary Han Yul-san usually strolled for exercise at this hour.
But today, timing sucked.
-Thwack!
He clutched his stinging nape. Behind him stood a furious elder, cane raised, snorting steam.
“You punk…! Over fifty, and your tongue still flaps wild! Calling me ‘old fogey,’ you dare?!”