The Hospitalized Chairman (2)
As I had suspected from my earlier question, Chairman Kwon Byung-do's condition looked far from good. The bandage wrapped around his head appeared thicker than the winter coat I was wearing. The machines and tubes dangling from his body seemed even more numerous than before. In particular, a thick tube I hadn't seen right after the surgery now pierced through his ribs and extended deep into his chest. To someone like me with no medical knowledge, that pipe alone seemed like it might be threatening his life.
Chairman Kwon Byung-do couldn't live forever, but I couldn't let him go so meaninglessly. Everything that had brought me to this position after taking over Kwon Ho-gyun's body had only been possible because of the endless opportunities he had given me. Yet I had never once properly expressed my gratitude beyond formal greetings. There was also something I absolutely needed to ask the now-conscious Chairman Kwon Byung-do. What exactly was the Homunculus that resided in both his head and mine? Having lived with the same thing inside him for far longer than I had, he was likely to hold answers I had yet to find.
The neurosurgery department head, seeing my dark expression, cautiously continued.
"As a doctor, this is the hardest part—delivering news like this to a guardian. As you mentioned, Chairman Kwon Byung-do's condition is not good. Normally, consciousness should return within a week after stopping sedatives for there to be hope. Today marks exactly the tenth day."
"Does that mean my father might never wake up?"
"It's difficult to say for certain, but the probability of regaining consciousness does decrease over time. For example, if the chance was 90% yesterday, it becomes 89% today and 88% tomorrow."
Hearing it put that way, I immediately understood why the chairman's continued unconsciousness was such a serious problem. Those numbers were just examples, and the department head hadn't meant it literally, but it sounded as though if he didn't wake up within roughly ninety days—about three months—it would be over.
"I see."
"Our medical team will continue doing our utmost, including the ongoing 3H therapy. However, I must say with great regret that it would be wise to proceed with various matters while preparing for the worst-case scenario—that Chairman Kwon Byung-do may not wake up."
The department head had apparently rushed over, setting aside his outpatient duties, just to say this.
"Understood. Thank you for your time."
While Chairman Kwon Byung-do and Je-gyun lay side by side in the hospital, I had been extremely busy. The first thing I did was reorganize Law Firm Seungbaek. According to Chairman Kwon Byung-do's will, the process of transferring Seungbaek's shares to QS Co., Ltd. in exchange for 200 billion won was underway. I held 100% of Seungbaek's shares, and I was effectively the final decision-maker at QS Co., Ltd., which was equivalent to the Central Management Headquarters. The chairman had said that the exact percentage of shares to be transferred in exchange for the 200 billion won should be negotiated later between QS Co., Ltd. and Seungbaek. So in reality, I could decide as I pleased, but I didn't want any unnecessary gossip over it.
Chairman Kwon Byung-do taking Seungbaek's shares meant he intended to incorporate the firm into the QS Group. Therefore, I transferred 51% of the shares to QS Co., Ltd. for 200 billion won as a way of handing over actual management rights. Since I controlled both entities anyway, it was no different from moving something from my left pocket to my right.
There was one more measure I took at Law Firm Seungbaek. I stepped down as representative attorney and installed Oh Il-mu in that position. This was to avoid violating the conflict-of-interest bylaws that would be proposed at the executive meeting to target Seong-gyun. There was an additional benefit: as the official head of a QS Group affiliate, Oh Il-mu could naturally attend the executive meetings and support me.
The acquisition of QS Life Insurance shares, which had been agreed upon in exchange for transferring Seungbaek's shares to QS Co., Ltd., was also progressing smoothly. In addition to the 200 billion won infused by QS Co., Ltd., Seungbaek secured another 100 billion won through a paid-in capital increase from selling my Daebong Bio shares. Negotiations to acquire 3.5% of QS Life Insurance shares with a total of 300 billion won were proceeding without issue. An unexpected variable had even emerged in my favor.
Rumors that Chairman Kwon Byung-do was bedridden had spread through securities circles, causing QS Life Insurance's stock price to plummet in the short term. Thanks to this, Seungbaek, which now held the upper hand in negotiations, was steering the talks toward acquiring a slightly larger stake while keeping the price the same.
After that, my remaining disposable funds came to roughly 220 billion won after deducting the odd billions. The perfect time to use that money was fast approaching.
While I had secured my position from the prodigal son Kwon Ho-gyun to head of the Central Management Headquarters, my remaining rival Seong-gyun had been desperately securing ammunition—that is, cash reserves. Though I couldn't be sure, combining his personal funds with company money he could mobilize would likely approach one trillion won. My 220 billion wouldn't stand a chance against that. This money needed to be multiplied once more.
But the stock market was no longer an option. After the massive Daebong Bio stock manipulation case that had netted me a fortune, regulations and surveillance had been strengthened to an excessive degree. At least in the two years of the future I knew, no such windfall opportunities would arise in the stock market. Still, was the stock market the only place to grow money? For at least the next two years (and beyond that lay a future I had never experienced), a market that would shake the entire world and rattle South Korea was now opening up. It was the cryptocurrency market, represented by Byte Coin.
The current price of one Byte Coin was under ten dollars—roughly ten thousand won. Yet within two years, that price would surge more than a thousandfold, surpassing ten million won. A simple calculation showed that 220 billion won multiplied by a thousand would equal 220 trillion won. That amount would not only crush Seong-gyun financially but also ensure that, after taking control of QS, I would never be hindered by money again.
These days there was plenty of debate about whether it was a scam without substance or the future of monetary hegemony. Regardless, it was clear that for the two years it would take to finish my fight with Seong-gyun, this would become a reliable cash vault.
If it were up to me, I would have poured all 220 billion won straight into Byte Coin and similar cryptocurrencies, but that wasn't a good idea. For one thing, the Byte Coin market itself wasn't properly formed yet, and it was uncertain whether it could absorb such a large sum. There was a risk that dumping that much money would drive the price sky-high, reducing the number of coins I could actually acquire. So I decided to set aside about 100 billion won to gradually purchase coins through domestic and overseas exchanges over time, while using the rest elsewhere. I had decided to mine Byte Coin myself.
A few days ago, I met with Choo Kang-hyun, director of the Future Technology Research Institute under the Central Management Headquarters, regarding this matter.
"Hello, Director."
"Headquarters Chief, I was planning to greet you after your appointment. Thank you for calling me in like this. Is there a particular reason you wanted to meet separately?"
"Yes. I'd like to commission a project from the Future Technology Research Institute. I'll provide an initial research budget of about 10 billion won, and I intend to continue supporting it steadily afterward."
At the mention of a 10-billion-won research budget, Director Choo Kang-hyun's eyes lit up.
"If the Central Management Headquarters provides research funding, we'll of course be grateful to proceed with the project. What kind of research is it?"
"This project is a personal commission from me, not from the Central Management Headquarters. The funding will also come from my personal funds, and I'll take the results personally as well."
Director Choo Kang-hyun nodded as if it made no difference.
"Of course. If you're commissioning it with personal research funds, it's only right that you, young master, take the results."
"Director Choo, have you heard of Byte Coin?"
The expectant light in Director Choo Kang-hyun's eyes quickly turned to disappointment.
"Ah, that. There's been a lot of talk about it lately. It's basically like getting candy for solving math problems in elementary school. People are arguing whether that one piece of candy is worth over ten thousand won or not. Are you perhaps commissioning something related to Byte Coin?"
I let out a quiet sigh of relief. Director Choo Kang-hyun still had no idea how much Byte Coin would rise in the future. He was the perfect person—someone who would focus on solving math problems diligently without caring about the candy.
"Yes, that's correct. I'd like you to solve those math problems you mentioned. I heard it can't be done by hand and requires computer programs. Is that right?"
"Yes. But it's not as simple as just writing one program. To mine meaningfully, you'd need to connect dozens of computers in a row. The electricity bill would also be enormous."
"I'll cover the cost of designing the program and purchasing the computers. Mine the coins at the Future Technology Research Institute and hand over the mined Byte Coins to me."
A hint of disappointment crossed Director Choo Kang-hyun's face. He had thought a 10-billion-won research project would be something impressive, but now it seemed like he was being asked to do children's play.
"Understood."
"You mentioned needing to connect dozens of computers. The more computers connected, the more you can mine, correct?"
"Yes."
"Then let's start with about a thousand units. We'll increase the number as space becomes available."
Though still puzzled as to why I was taking children's games so seriously, Director Choo Kang-hyun nodded.
"Pardon? Yes. I'll proceed as instructed."
While handling various matters and preparing for the final showdown in the succession battle, one task still remained. It was the criminal trial of Seok Dong-hoon, who had played a major role in eliminating Je-gyun. The first trial date had already passed, yet I still hadn't seen Prosecutor Jin Yong-hwa, who was in charge of the case. Jin Yong-hwa had postponed the trial date twice—once claiming his computer had crashed and he needed to reorganize the trial materials, and again saying he had to take sudden medical leave.
In criminal trials, prosecutors file charges only after perfect preparation, so it was extremely rare for the prosecution to request postponements. That meant Jin Yong-hwa was deliberately stalling for time with one excuse after another, knowing something wasn't going his way.
Then today, I received an utterly absurd letter.
Seoul Southern District Prosecutors' Office
Chief Prosecutor Jin Yong-hwa
So Chief Prosecutor Jin Yong-hwa wanted to see me. And according to the summons, I was listed as a suspect.
Well, well. Let's see what this is about.