Potato Chips
Republic of Korea's number one conglomerate, JK Group. Total sales of 350 trillion won. Sixty-two affiliates. From semiconductors and electronics to construction, chemicals, and automobiles—JK Group had its hand in every major industry.
Most chaebols trace their origins back to buying up seized Japanese assets after liberation. JK Group, however, started as a private moneylender. The ability to wield massive cash flows was power itself. With that capital, they joined hands with the political elite. Backed by enormous funds, they swept up promising companies by any means necessary. That was how they rose to the top of Korea's business world.
I am Kim Ki-hyuk, head of the JK Group's control tower—the Future Strategy Planning Office and secretary general. The power at my disposal was immense. I held authority over personnel and audits across the entire group—no need for further explanation. A single phone call could cost executives or even affiliate presidents their jobs. Thanks to that, even the most arrogant presidents bowed their heads at the sight of me.
But it didn't stop there. District prosecutors in Seocho-dong who strutted around with puffed-up necks, media moguls who called themselves the "presidents of the night"—they all lowered their heads to me. My power didn't stem from money. It came from knowing every detail about the royal family, the Kang clan, without missing a beat. Their dirty, secret private lives, slush funds, hidden motives no one else knew. That unknown information was power.
It might sound glamorous, but it wasn't romantic at all. There was never a quiet day. And today, as usual, disaster struck.
"Director, we have an emergency."
"What is it?"
"A report came in that the chairman's private jet doesn't have the even crispier potato chips prepared."
Today was Chairman Kang Jin-gwang's departure for overseas. The news that the absolutely essential "even crispier" potato chips were missing hit like a bolt from the blue.
Taesan Confectionery made just two kinds of potato chips: crispy ones and "even crispier" ones. Someone had screwed up and prepared the wrong snack.
"Time until takeoff?"
"35 minutes and 29 seconds."
Whose mistake it was and where it went wrong could be sorted out later. What mattered was that only the regular crispy potato chips were on the jet. This situation needed fixing fast.
"Everyone, focus!!!"
The staff working at their desks snapped to attention at my command, turning their heads to await orders. My judgment here was crucial. Everything hinged on it.
"Nearest convenience store selling the even crispier ones?"
"Found it. Ten kilometers from Incheon Airport."
"Stock?"
"Five bags."
No time to check the map. Not a second to spare.
"Estimate arrival time."
"From purchase to Terminal 1: 18 minutes."
"Get a motorcycle ready. Offer an extra million won if they deliver within 15 minutes."
"Understood."
People who think all potato chips are the same would never get this. But in our Future Strategy Office, it was more urgent than anything else in the world. A high-stakes race against every minute, every second.
Reports came in real-time.
"Motorcycle just left."
"Position?"
"Passed 3 kilometers."
"Not gonna make it at this rate."
"What should we do?"
"Up the bonus to 3 million. The driver will figure out the rest."
"Yes, Director. Got it."
Money can unleash incredible human potential. Three million was a delivery guy's monthly salary. He'd pedal like his life depended on it. A few bucks was nothing compared to getting those "even crispier" chips to the jet on time.
We kept monitoring. My heart pounded. Cold sweat trickled down my back. My lips cracked dry.
"Position report."
"Three minutes to Terminal 1."
I stared at the massive monitor without blinking. Felt like my blood was drying up. Every minute, every second dragged like an eternity. At least takeoff wasn't imminent.
"Arrived at Terminal 1."
"Connect me to the protocol team."
"Yes, Director. Patching through."
I wanted to chew out the protocol team right then, but that could wait.
"Protocol Team Leader Bae Min-su speaking."
"Can't you read the 'even' on the bag?"
"I'm sorry."
"Update the situation first."
"We've stationed staff at intervals around the airport. Ah! He's here now."
"He's here? Hang up and run it over!"
"Yes, Director. I'll call back once delivered."
The Future Strategy Office gathered Korea's sharpest minds. As the crisis resolved, the staff let out sighs of relief—all for successfully delivering a slightly crispier bag of potato chips.
I was the one leading them. I didn't like what I saw. As long as I was in charge, this kind of mistake wouldn't happen again.
"Since when does the JK Future Strategy Office pat itself on the back for crap like this? Shouldn't we have prepared properly in advance?"
The royal family lived in a different world from ordinary people. Catering to their whims required obsessive attention to the tiniest details.
"Team Leader Gong, what do you think?"
"I'm sorry. We'll make sure it never happens again."
"Send official notices to all affiliate secretary offices, security teams, and protocol teams: From now on, it's not 'even crispier potato chips'—it's 'more crispy potato chips.'"
"Yes, Director. Understood."
Ordinary folks would laugh this off as absurd. But it was stone-cold fact. Just not widely known. This was daily life at Korea's top conglomerate. We could shrug this off with a smile. The real problem was the nuclear bomb inside the group—a bomb with arms, legs, and a big mouth.
Every phone in the Future Strategy Office rang at once. Clear sign of bad news.
"Check the situation and report."
Team Leader Gong finished assessing and reported swiftly.
"Director Kang Min-ho has been in a drunk driving accident."
"Details?"
"He hit a utility pole in front of Jang Beom Galbi on Dosan-ro. No other casualties, fortunately."
"Blood alcohol level?"
"License revocation territory. No life-threatening injuries, but he's got issues with his arm and knee. Transported to Seyeon Hospital."
JK Group's one Achilles' heel. Vice Chairman Kang Du-seong's youngest son, the wastrel Kang Min-ho. An injured impala was enough to make hyenas salivate. The media, always watching Min-ho, bombarded the office with calls, hungry for a story. What the hyenas wanted was simple: no article in exchange for more ads and scoops.
"Director, media outlets keep calling for fact-checks. What should we do?"
Trash journalists at best. They could never beat me.
"Cut the main phone line."
"Pardon?"
"Need me to say it again?"
"Sorry. Cutting it now."
When a nuke detonates, you dodge—or sometimes charge straight at it. That can be the right answer.
"From now on, move exactly as I say."
"Yes, Director!"
I stepped to the large monitor and barked precise orders at the staff.
"Call every media desk and say one thing: Upload anything on today's Dosan-ro incident, and we pull all ads."
"Got it."
Ads were the media's lifeline and Achilles' heel. Pull them, and they'd lose all revenue. Never let the enemy lead. Always grab them by the throat. That's what kept you in this seat.
Team Leader Gong stared at the monitor, frowning deeply, then reported.
"Director, we've blocked the press, but we can't stop SNS."
"Put the video up on the big screen."
"Playing now."
A chaebol heir crashing drunk in broad daylight in Gangnam? It'd be weirder if SNS wasn't blowing up.
I checked the footage. Luck was on our side. By sheer fortune, Kang Min-ho's face wasn't clearly visible.
"Team Leader Gong."
"Yes, Director."
"Contact Dispatch. Tell them to drop a celebrity scoop."
"Understood."
"Have the marketing team flood it with counters and water down the noise."
Orders complete, I grabbed my jacket from the chair.
"Team Leader Gong, I'm heading to the hospital."
"Yes, Director."
"Call ahead. Send four staff and one car."
"Got it. We'll handle it smoothly."
I sped to Seyeon Hospital's ER. As I tried to enter, a security guard stopped me.
"Sir, sorry, but you can't just enter the ER."
Seyeon was essentially JK-backed. He had to be a newbie not to know me.
"New hire?"
"Uh? Yes, started last week."
No time for explanations. I handed him my business card.
"The male patient admitted 40 minutes ago?"
"Bed 12 over there."
I pulled back the curtain at Kang Min-ho's bed. Still half-drunk, he lay grinning and waving.
Assaults, DUIs, endless incidents—this guy had cost me more sleepless nights than I could count on one hand. Oblivious as ever, he beamed at me.
"Hey, it's our Kim Director, as expected."
"Director, you promised me you'd never drink and drive again."
"No, that's not—"
"What's the excuse this time?"
"I met President Yang for lunch and had a light drink with the meal."
"Light drink that revokes your license?"
"Come on, Director, shaving with plain water? Why so uptight?"
"As I said, I can't let this slide."
Kang Min-ho, failing to slither away, eyed me and spoke.
"Ooh, scary. So what're you gonna do about it?"
"Forgot our last deal?"
"I remember, but that'd put me in a bind."
"You know I'd do anything for JK."
"Then things might get awkward between us. You okay with that?"
"Doesn't matter."
Kang Min-ho sat up, raising his right hand in a mock threat to strike.
"Look at this punk's attitude. Grown some balls, huh? Think Dad's got your back, so nothing scares you?"
As I opened my mouth to reply, my phone rang at the perfect moment.
"We're here."
"Come inside. This way."
Four burly men in white uniforms entered and grabbed Kang Min-ho's limbs.
"Hey, what the hell? Let go!"
He knew where they were taking him and thrashed, but against four grown men? Futile.
"Director, promises are made to be kept."
"You... Hey, Director Kim, you wouldn't... How old do you think I am? You really doing this?"
"See you in a month."
"Hey, Director Kim, wait... Just hear me out!"
"Keep resisting, and the stay could be longer than you imagine. Please cooperate quietly."
I nodded, and the psychiatric hospital staff dragged him away. Nuclear bomb defused cleanly, I got back in the car and headed to the office.