The Poisoned Grail

The dry voice of a radio news anchor drifted out of the earphones in my ear.

Fifty-five thousand won.

Compared to where it stood before the management dispute surfaced, that was a surge of over 130%. The madness of the market, laid bare.

Let's run the numbers.

I picked up a pen over the notebook spread across my desk and began writing down the scattered figures from my head, one by one.

First, our side's holdings.

Next, Kang Byung-chul's side.

Even after playing the white knight and absorbing the foreign-held shares, Kang Byung-chul had kept buying stock on the open market, swelling his position ever larger.

And if you added in the proxy that Park Nam-gyu would soon deliver to him — the Reborn Capital shares —

Kang Byung-chul would be convinced that even though ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he fell short of a majority, he held an overwhelming advantage over us.

Even if Park Nam-gyu's shares turn out to be bait, on paper his numbers are still bigger.

I tapped the tip of my pen against the notebook.

Of course, I had a card prepared. If the future held its course, a court would rule that part of the shares Kang Byung-chul had illegally amassed must be barred from voting and forcibly divested.

The moment that happened, the board would flip.

But the real problem came after that.

The stock price has climbed too high.

That was the dilemma. The price had more than doubled since Kang Byung-chul began his accumulation.

Suppose the court declared his shares illegally acquired and ordered them dumped onto the market. For Kang Byung-chul, it would cost him nothing.

Quite the opposite — he'd sell at the peak, pocket an enormous trading profit, sit on the cash, and simply buy back in once the price collapsed.

In my previous life, that was exactly how Kang Byung-chul had dragged things out with a sneer at the law, tormenting Sangsa to the very end. His zombie-like ability to revive himself with cash was the problem.

This time, I can't leave him even that much room.

Winning this shareholders' meeting wasn't the goal. I had to make it so Kang Byung-chul could never again cast a covetous eye on Sunjin Sangsa — no, I had to put the management control of Sunjin Aluminum itself in jeopardy.

After a long stretch of deliberation, I closed the notebook and nodded. There was only one way.

Let's move SJ Holdings first.

I opened my laptop and launched the HTS trading program.

A sea of blue filled the screen.

The first-ever presidential impeachment motion had passed in the National Assembly. In the political chaos, the KOSPI was crumbling without resistance, and investors, seized by panic, were dumping their holdings in a fire sale.

I expected this. That's why I'd already moved most of our positions into political theme stocks.

SJ Holdings' portfolio had to be moving in exactly the opposite direction from the market.

The impeachment-related stocks we'd quietly accumulated in anticipation of the political backlash, along with the theme stocks positioned for the coming general election, had been hitting their daily upper price limits for days on end.

SJ Holdings' vault must be overflowing by now.

Time to liquidate all of it — and dangle a lure to keep Kang Byung-chul nervous.

I picked up my phone and pressed the speed dial for Jung Tae-sung.

"Liquidate every theme stock position and begin additional purchases of Sunjin Sangsa. I don't care if it triggers the 5% disclosure requirement."

"What did you say?"

A few days later, in the chairman's office at Sunjin Aluminum.

Kang Byung-chul's eyes bulged as he listened to his chief secretary's report.

"A firm called SJ Holdings has filed a disclosure of its Sunjin Sangsa stake. They've secured a total of 7.19%, with the stated purpose of participating in management."

"SJ Holdings? I don't think I've ever heard of them."

Kang Byung-chul clicked his tongue. He'd assumed it was one of those moth-to-flame private equity funds swooping in to scrape up whatever crumbs they could from the noisy management dispute.

But the chief secretary's expression had hardened like stone.

"Chairman, you may recall the advertisement the senior elders placed in the newspapers a while back."

A few days earlier, a statement had run across the bottom of the front pages of the major dailies — a declaration from the group elders backing Sunjin Group's Kim Ja-young and denouncing Kang Byung-chul. He'd torn the newspaper apart in a furious rage.

"Ah, so this is that fund old Kim Seok-jun was steering from behind the scenes."

"That's right. SJ Holdings is Executive Director Kim Seok-jun's family office."

The color drained from Kang Byung-chul's face, cold and sudden.

"Kim Seok-jun, you say?"

"Yes, sir. And alongside the disclosure, they issued a press release. They're delegating their entire 7.19% voting stake to the current management — Representative Kim Ja-young."

Kang Byung-chul's face mottled red and blue.

This was no fly-by-night fund chasing a quick profit. Kim Seok-jun — his brother's most loyal retainer, the man who had run the entire household finances of the group — had sharpened his blade and come for him.

"In fact, our analysis shows that SJ Holdings recently liquidated a large portion of its holdings at the market peak and aggressively built up its Sunjin Sangsa position."

The chief secretary tapped his calculator gingerly.

"At present, we hold 34.6%, while Representative Kim Ja-young's side stands at 25.94% including SJ Holdings' stake. We still lead by roughly 9 percentage points, so on paper it's a comfortable margin…"

It was a comfortable margin only because Sunjin Aluminum still knew nothing of Reborn Capital, the stake Seon-woo had planted in their blind spot.

"With Kim Seok-jun in the game, there's no such thing as safe, is there?"

"…No, sir. Not with him involved."

Kim Seok-jun was a variable dangerous enough to warrant that answer — a man with the political leverage to rally the old guard and shape public opinion, and the execution to mobilize his own fortune and seize shares outright.

"He managed my brother's money and his connections alike, all of it. He'd make a genuinely irritating variable, no question."

Kang Byung-chul drummed his fingers anxiously on the desk.

This was the man who had guarded Chairman Kang Man-ho's vault. He had more than enough pull to bring new allies into the fold — and if he did, today's gap in shareholding could be overturned at any moment.

"Is there anything we can do?"

"At this point… nothing, sir. Our own capital reserves are exhausted. All we can do is wait for the court to block Sunjin Sangsa's new share issuance."

Our funding lines had run dry too — the sums already spent amassing the stakes were astronomical, and mobilizing any more cash was next to impossible.

Knock, knock—

Just as they were deep in their strategy talk, a knock sounded and a secretary slipped cautiously into the room.

The chief secretary snapped at her in irritation.

"I gave strict orders that no one was to be admitted while the Chairman is in a private meeting!"

"My apologies, Chairman. But we have a visitor, and he insists he must see you right now… He says it's an urgent matter concerning the takeover."

At those words, Kang Byung-chul and the chief secretary turned to stare at her in unison.

"Who is it?"

"He said that if you hear the name Park Nam-gyu, you'll know."

"Why would Park Nam-gyu come here? Did he contact you at all?"

Kang Byung-chul looked to his chief secretary, but the man shook his head.

"I haven't heard from him either."

A man who was supposed to be operating in the shadows, showing up at the company in broad daylight. Kang Byung-chul's temper flared, but the mention of something urgent forced him to swallow it.

"Show him in."

A short while later, Park Nam-gyu entered. The usual slick, fox-like manner was nowhere to be found; his face was stiff with tension.

"I apologize, Chairman. I know it was a breach of protocol to come to your office, but the matter couldn't wait."

"No, it's fine. Have a seat."

Once Park Nam-gyu had settled into his chair, Kang Byung-chul affected a composed, magnanimous tone.

"Still, it would have been better if you'd called our chief secretary first. We have a lot of eyes watching us these days."

"My sincere apologies. The matter was so important and so urgent that I lost my composure."

"So what is it? You look terrible."

"The lender… has demanded his money back. I'm going to have to sell the shares."

"What?"

Kang Byung-chul and the chief secretary went rigid at the same instant.

If Park Nam-gyu's 4.5% went up for sale, the gap would shrink to a hair over 5.5 percentage points. With Kim Seok-jun's emergence already rattling the board, the very ground beneath them was starting to give way.

"Why all of a sudden? We had an understanding!"

"The market crashed with the impeachment, sir. From what I understand, the lender took heavy losses in his other investments. He says unless he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pulls back the money he lent me immediately, he's finished…"

"Tch."

"Can't something be worked out? If I could just buy a few more days—"

"If I want to stay in this business at all, I have to stay on the lender's good side. I'm sorry — my own neck is on the line here."

Park Nam-gyu bowed his head low.

Kang Byung-chul pressed hard at his temples, as if a dull throb were drilling into his skull.

It always came back to money. If only he had the cash, he could simply buy those shares himself — but Sunjin Aluminum's vault was empty.

Park Nam-gyu studied the chairman's stricken face, then ventured carefully.

"Chairman, if it's more capital you need… how would you feel about meeting the Chairman of Bukchon?"

"Bukchon?"

"Yes — Kim Jong-soo, the man they call the Bukchon King Ant. I'm sure you know him well, Chairman."

"Know him? He's the big hand of Myeongdong, isn't he."

"Word is, he's made quite a lot of money in stocks this time around."

"Has he? Everyone else is howling that they've been wiped out."

"That's just it. Somehow or other, he seems to have known about the crash and the impeachment in advance — he profited enormously through inverse trades and theme stock plays. Right now, I'd wager he's the only man in Myeongdong with that kind of capital."

Park Nam-gyu cast out the bait with a casual flick.

"Shall I lay down the first thread of introduction for you?"

"You? Weren't you thrown out of the Bukchon King Ant's circle for playing games with his money?"

"I obviously can't step forward myself. But the connections I built there are still alive, passed along one hand to another. If you approach under your name, Chairman, he'll receive you readily enough."

When Park Nam-gyu answered with such confidence, Kang Byung-chul glanced at his chief secretary.

"What do you think?"

The chief secretary shot Park Nam-gyu a sidelong look.

He clearly found it unsettling to draw an outsider so deep into their affairs, but Kang Byung-chul raised a hand and cut him off.

"Ah, it's fine. We're all in the same boat now anyway. What's your own read? Do you see another option?"

"…Realistically, raising capital right now means borrowing from banks or the secondary financial sector — and that brings mandatory disclosures, not to mention rumors of a cash crunch leaking into the market."

"Exactly. That's the biggest headache of all."

"As far as I know, the Bukchon King Ant's money is kept strictly confidential. For a quiet injection of funds, it seems the best option available."

With even the chief secretary responding favorably, color finally returned to Kang Byung-chul's face.

In the worst of circumstances, a single escape hatch had appeared.

"Then set up the meeting. Discreetly, and as fast as possible."

At Kang Byung-chul's order, Park Nam-gyu bowed his head, a meaningful smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Understood, Chairman. I'll arrange it right away."

Bukchon — Kim Jong-soo's hanok office.

"I hear you've been stepping out into the open these days."

Kim Jong-soo, the Bukchon King Ant, had swept away the agents who'd long been playing him on stage and was now appearing in person.

"That's right. If I'm going to retire the lender's act for good and move on to acquiring a proper mutual savings bank, I have to come out into the light myself."

"A wise decision. People must have been stunned — seeing the real Bukchon King Ant unmasked after decades in hiding."

"Spare me the flattery. So — Kang Byung-chul is coming to borrow my money?"

Kim Jong-soo pushed up his glasses as he asked. There was something strangely mellow in his manner, unlike before.

And no wonder.

Even as the impeachment crisis had turned the stock market into a bloodbath, the political theme stocks I'd pointed him toward had been hitting their upper limits day after day.

If I had to guess, he'd just raked in an astronomical sum.

"That's right. He'll be contacting you soon."

"And what is it you want me to do?"

"Lend to him. The interest, the collateral — handle it the Bukchon way. Ruthlessly."

At my answer, Kim Jong-soo's eyes narrowed and glinted.

"What did you say? Isn't Kang Byung-chul trying to strip your mother of her company? And you want me to hand that bastard live ammunition?"

"I do. But there's one special clause I'd like you to write into the contract."

"A special clause?"

I slid the memo I'd prepared in advance across the table.

"This language must appear in the promissory note."

Kim Jong-soo picked up the memo and read it aloud.

Kim Jong-soo stared at me over his magnifying glass. The eyes of a moneylender who had weathered every storm the underworld could offer flickered with sudden sharpness.

"…You're a frightening one, aren't you."

"Safeguards work best when they're airtight."

This was a trap.

I intended to hang the outcome of this fight on the ruling from the Financial Supervisory Service's formal petition.

If our petition was upheld, the voting rights of every share Kang Byung-chul had accumulated would be frozen — and going further, the authorities could even order their disposal.

The instant that happened, this special clause would trigger.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Forfeiture of the grace period.

The maturity date would vanish, and Kang Byung-chul would find himself owing tens of billions of won by tomorrow morning if necessary.

Bukchon money came at punishing rates.

With compounded interest piled on top, the debt would balloon like a snowball rolling downhill.

And once he burned through his cash trying to repay it, Kang Byung-chul would have nothing left to mount another assault on Sunjin Sangsa.

I'd already sent Park ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Nam-gyu ahead to stoke the fire. A man starved for capital would snap at the poisoned grail without ever tasting the venom.

"And if I do all that for you, what more do I get out of you?"

Kim Jong-soo set the memo down and asked.

I gave an awkward little laugh.

Look at this old man.

"Haven't you already gained plenty? The theme stocks I tipped you on this round, and the savings bank information I gave you — that's not enough?"

A greedy smile spread across Kim Jong-soo's lips.

"Not enough. A businessman's appetite for profit has no bottom."

"Then tell me what it is you want."

Kim Jong-soo pointed a finger at his own head.

"That head of yours."

"I'm sorry?"

"When I take over that savings bank, I'm going to need you reading the board for me."

He was entirely serious.

"I don't just want to shuffle money around anymore. I want to do real, proper finance. But all I've got around me are muscle and con men playing money games. That eye of yours — the way you read the whole board — even the grand old masters of Yeouido couldn't imitate it."

I let out a small laugh.

It wasn't a bad offer. Kim Jong-soo was a whale with the power to mobilize staggering amounts of cash. If I involved myself when he entered the institutional financial world, I would gain one more steadfast ally in return.

"Very well. Let's do it that way."

When I nodded, Kim Jong-soo threw back his head and laughed heartily, thoroughly satisfied.

"Good! When Kang Byung-chul comes calling, I'll skin him to the bone. It's time he learned to fear my money."