Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Bamboo Roots Uprooted (3)
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“Aigoo, he looks just like ya, back in yer young days, old timer. Like a fish-shaped bun stamped from the same mold. Ain’t that right, gramps?”
“Cough, quit yer yappin’ nonsense. Hey, you there, just sit tight like I told ya!”
“Makin’ a fuss in front o’ the one who’s gonna inherit the chairman’s seat... That’s enough o’ that, ain’t it? Here’s that password.”
The elderly couple launched into a full-on debate right in front of me, no holds barred.
Even Uncle Kim Won-cheol, who’d come along, couldn’t stick around for it.
Former councilor Han Yul-san had shooed him off to buy makgeolli in town the moment they got home, claiming he was in the way.
“Hey now! The wife’s rushin’ me... Whether I give it or not, let’s first take a good look at the man’s character!”
“As if ya don’t already know... Fine, take yer fill then. I’ll head inside.”
Kim Bok-hee slid open the sliding door and stepped out. Grateful as I was, she was already beaming at the news that I’d been tapped for the chairman role.
“Hmm...”
Meanwhile, Han Yul-san sat there, arms crossed, deep in thought. The furrows on his brow looked like freshly plowed fields, sown thick with seeds of anguish.
Was he still against me?
Word had it he’d backed my uncle with unyielding stubbornness.
Since I couldn’t yet read this old man’s mind, staying quiet and gauging his reaction might be the safe play.
But... that alone wouldn’t cut it. I needed to make a decisive move.
No beating around the bush—a straight-up frontal assault.
“Better one concise sentence than a hundred rambling words.”
“What’d ya say?”
He was the man my father trusted enough to hand over the slush fund account password.
He moved solely for the prosperity of Ammunition Group and the Han family.
No way Han Yul-san backed my uncle out of petty personal gain.
That’s why, with three short, clear company names, I slid a stack of documents his way.
“YSS Precision, Yeongil Metals, BT Chemicals.”
“...!”
For the clan council. No, beyond that—for the survival and growth of the entire group.
What Han Yul-san wanted to see in me, and what I needed to show him, was like two mirrors reflecting the same image back at each other.
Han Deok-sul, the honorary advisor scheming to run rampant under the clan council’s banner, and the Chinese private equity firm in Shanghai.
The Ammunition Group chairman had to show he could rein them in from above.
Through the tools of finance and accounting—the language of business.
“I analyzed it myself. What the real problem is. And... some pretty interesting stuff came up.”
“This is what yer eyes saw, boy?”
“Every ledger leaves footprints. Footprints of capital etched on paper as white as snow-covered plains.”
Like peering through a magnifying glass at tracks in the snow, I pointed to the recent major shareholder changes.
The heavy tread of money, blatantly marking its path.
“Institutional and foreign ownership ratios are way too high. The accumulation pattern doesn’t scream speculative play by the big money boys.”
“...Keep talkin’.”
“It’s not short-term trades chasing price swings. They needed voting rights in these three companies, and fast.”
I flipped through the documents, showing Han Yul-san my stock chart analysis.
Blue bars crashing down like fierce waves slamming the pier.
Trading volume, plummeting for ages, suddenly erupted skyward one day like fresh red lava.
“All three, Ammunition Group subcontractors, timed perfectly the same. Just a week after Father’s funeral. That’s where the answer lies.”
Han Yul-san stared into my eyes, as if urging me to spit out the solution I’d found.
Something like hope—or possibility—seemed to ripple past the old man’s bobbing Adam’s apple.
“...So, what’d ya see?”
“Conviction that Ammunition Group’s orders to these subcontractors would spike. To make that happen, they need control over group leadership—or...”
My hand gripped the edge of the documents tight.
As if that paper scrap were all of Ammunition Group, a vow to the stubborn old man that I’d never let go.
And right after that declaration of will came the resolution to his deepest worry.
“No link to the clan council. I won’t allow the former if I take the chairman seat, so it’s gotta be the latter, right?”
* * * *
Outside Han Yul-san’s hanok, a five-minute walk away, a grove of pine trees.
The rustle of green needles swaying in the sea breeze sounded just like maracas shaking.
And amid the pines, a broad, flat rock big enough for three or four people.
“Damn it, was buyin’ makgeolli in town such a time sink? What’re ya dawdlin’ for? Get over here!”
“Aigoo, sir. That mart from last time went bust, had to circle around.”
Kim Won-cheol trudged up, black plastic bags in both hands, lips pursed in a pout.
“And we coulda just drunk at home—why drag us out here for the ‘ambiance’...”
“Hey! Still got that thick skull, eh?!”
“Ah, gonna whack me with the cane again. For real.”
After the minor commotion died down, Han Yul-san, seated on the rock, uncorked the makgeolli jug and passed it to me as he spoke.
“Nice and peaceful here, eh?”
“Great spot. The setting sun slips into the sea through the pines.”
“Sittin’ here cuts the fierce sea wind a bit. A couple lone trees wouldn’t block it.”
No sooner had he finished than a gust of sea breeze whipped in.
It tousled his snow-white hair as the old man continued.
“This old coot... wishes the forest hadn’t burned. The Ammunition Group pine forest.”
“You think what I showed you earlier falls short?”
“Nah, more than enough. Ya got what it takes to be chairman. Just... one worry.”
Han Yul-san paused, his palm caressing the trunk of a young pine planted right by the rock.
Then came his voice, laced with concern and unease.
“Splittin’ off the financial affiliates. Tryin’ to glue back what’s been torn apart... that sticky sap’ll catch fire quick.”
He already knew about separating the financial arms, starting with Ammunition Securities.
His next words finally let me feel, deep down, why he’d put me in this seat.
“A group burned by infightin’ won’t block the sea winds anymore.”
“You think I’ll throw a knife at my uncle’s back as he flees?”
“Like handin’ a match to a guy holdin’ the fuse. Gotta do it, no choice.”
The old man, anxious his lifelong guard might crumble away.
With a long sigh, he raised the white flag—and added terms scribbled on a scrap of cloth.
“...I’ll hand over the slush fund password right away. Long as ya don’t use that money to swallow up Han Hwa-gi’s shares in his companies.”
Han Yul-san, reluctantly made up his mind.
His eyes weren’t on me, but the whole pine grove.
As if praying this choice wouldn’t return as future regret.
“Understood. I’ll do just that.”
And that choice of his would prove right. I’d make it so.
“I promise you here and now. I won’t chase back Uncle’s financial affiliates. No group collapse from infighting either.”
“...A promise’ll do.”
Late summer evening, sea breeze blowing. Three dented brass cups clinked together, and every puzzle piece for claiming Father’s slush fund fell into place.
Amid the flushed faces, Kim Won-cheol’s voice slipped out, barely audible to me alone.
“Keuhe... Our strategy director. That... that weak-kneed old...”
* * * *
The next day.
In the car with Kim Won-cheol at the wheel, talk turned to yesterday’s events.
He brought it up first, asking if I remembered his mutter.
My odd expression reflected in the side mirror beyond the window.
“Weak-kneed? I just dealt straight with an elder worried for the group.”
“Kekekeke. Spinnin’ off the financial affiliates. Stuffin’ ’em with bombs and handin’ over the shells. Han Seo-ho, that fool, gulped the poison thinkin’ it’s a gift?”
I just sat there, Buddha-like smile on my face, whistling softly.
Seemed to irk him a bit, so he nudged me with his right elbow and asked.
“[Cocoa Bank]. Ammunition Securities already wrapped up the derivatives buy, right?”
“Yoo Se-na’s a pro. All quiet-like. And...”
Once we kick off the affiliate split, no need for me to reclaim those financial time bombs anyway.
Han Yul-san’s worry? Solved without me taking a hit. It was as good as done.
I rolled up the passenger window against the stiff breeze and continued.
“Diggin’ into that Han Deok-sul clan council honorary advisor mess, I kept comin’ back to that Chinese PE firm.”
“That [Shanghai Capital] crew? Gold bugs, but no dirt turns up. Wish we had a connect.”
Kim Won-cheol fiddled with his top shirt button, frustrated.
Makes sense. Shanghai Capital... for now, shadows in the black curtain.
*-Ding-dong! Suraksan Tunnel entrance, Seoul direction, 100m ahead.*
The nav voice chimed as we entered the dim tunnel.
For a split second, my face in the coated glass burned with unquenchable fury.
“...I already know all about them.”
“What? You know the Chinese crew, Director? How?”
How?
Before regression, when Ammunition Group crumbled and got carved up. Shanghai Capital took the defense arm. No way I’d forget that name.
“Yeah. Would’ve been better not to know those bastards.”
“Huh? What’re ya...”
Orange lights flickered past in the tunnel dark, like old film reels.
Strange how it dredged up prison days, tracing memories in the gloom, waiting for light.
As the beam at the tunnel’s end rushed forward, I smoothed my tousled hair. Steadying my slackened resolve.
“Actually, perfect. Might as well rip out the whole root now.”