Chapter 112
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 112
Chapter Title: Past (7): King
-----------------------------------------------------------------
#Past (7), King
Chairman Go Geoncheol had finally seized Paradise.
It was the timely culmination of a well-laid trap, and also the magic of capitalism where a 1% stake could shift control.
In the divorce trial, the heir to Paradise Group denied the affair. But the evidence was overwhelming. Go Ayoung was the clear victim. The alimony ballooned to astronomical figures. The court even recognized her contributions to the marital assets as greater than her husband's. After all, she was a member of Comet Group's executive board and originally one of Paradise Group's major shareholders.
The media splashed the verdict across headlines. Corporate governance shake-ups from chaebol divorces were commonplace. But this was different. It wasn't just a company—it had reshaped the nation's power structure.
Now Go Ayoung was Paradise Group's executive. But everyone knew the truth: her father, Chairman Go Geoncheol, was the real master.
Ayoung agreed.
'Right. It's just a nominal trust anyway.'
Nominal trust. When the titular owner of assets differed from the true owner. The Paradise shares Ayoung nominally held were, in reality, Chairman Go Geoncheol's.
Such arrangements were typically tax dodges for inheritance. But not for Chairman Go Geoncheol. In the past, he had paid every last won of gift taxes on trillions.
That was the tyrant's brand of fairness—and a gambit for the future.
Which was why he was furious today.
"What the hell? Tax evasion? Saving how much? You bastard! You dare try to steal my shares?!"
Paradise Group's accounting head was pale as a ghost. No doubt, he'd been trying to prove his worth to the new boss.
He had reported on how Paradise Group had minimized taxes so far, and how, under Comet Group's influence, even more efficient tax avoidance and evasion could be expected going forward.
The tyrant roared at his aides.
"You lot hear this too! Pay every tax we owe! And find every tax we can pay!"
Rage upon rage.
"I'm a fair merchant! I don't care how those other highway-robbing scum operate! I pay taxes to demand in return! More taxes! More rights! I pay the price! The state must cough up accordingly! I'm the majority shareholder of this country!"
The accountant trying to steal his shares meant exactly that. The chairman viewed the nation as an extension of corporate management. To a man who quantified everything in monetary value.
In the same vein, freeloaders dodging taxes had no right to wield power. That was why he was hostile to other executives. Parasites after a free ride.
A worldview that seemed fair at first glance.
But Ayoung sighed inwardly. The standards and methods were utterly absurd.
The tyrant demanded what he deemed fair compensation—by his own metrics. Elevating his personal business ethics above the law. So sometimes he traded what shouldn't be traded.
'Like that child's body...'
Ayoung watched the chairman's furious face, reminiscent of his youth. She compared it to the boy born in winter. The boy had never worn that expression. They were different people. She could only glimpse a pre-transaction innocence in the similar features.
What would become of this country, with that raging old boy on the throne?
Until now, the chairman had drawn his own lines. Rights gained for this amount of money end here. He was strict in that regard.
But seizing Paradise Group meant he could now pay far more in taxes than before. Perhaps even half the national budget. Ayoung could barely imagine what her father would demand next. His appetites knew no bounds.
Long ago, when she was still young and immature, her father—who despised his daughter—had dismissed everything she learned in school.
"Citizens are a fantasy. Savage pig-dogs."
He didn't trust humanity.
"Sure, they have shares. Tiny little shares. But even those are too good for them. They squander them without insight or deliberation... judging by birthplace, generation, education, job, gender, splitting into factions. Their infighting isn't about right or wrong. It's dogs ripping into each other's faults to claim them as their own privilege. Stealing others' rice bowls while guarding their own. As long as they keep their bowl, morality doesn't matter."
He repeated.
"In this shameless world, the answer is money. Everything must be economic. Non-economic contracts can't be trusted."
Ayoung hated her father's worldview, but the world truly was like that.
People admired her father for his wealth. Paying lots of taxes was patriotism. His inhuman words and deeds were repackaged as pioneering management philosophy.
Lost in these thoughts, Ayoung sat through the Paradise management meeting. No one asked her opinion. Token. Ornament. A fate forever denied agency.
So when the meeting ended and the chairman told her to stay, it surprised her.
"What is it?"
To his daughter's question, the father replied.
"I'll be holding your child for a while. It won't be there when you get home. Just so you know."
Ayoung froze. An intangible chill seeped into her bones. Stammering, she asked why. Why take my baby? The father smirked.
"Even if your seat's just chaff, short-sighted thinking could get annoying. Since you delusionally love the kid, it'll make a fine insurance policy for now."
The chill turned to heat. It swelled, bursting from her mouth. What remained flowed as tears. Trembling hands hurled everything within reach. But nothing flew straight at her father.
Watching his exploding daughter, the old king was pleased. Good choice for insurance.
#April Vengeance, Camp Roberts (1)
The days preparing for "Operation Overt Liberation" were monotonous. Repetitive missions to secure advance routes and stockpile supplies.
One such day, an FBI agent came to see Winter. The agent greeted the boy officer with a crisp salute and at-attention stance.
"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Supervisory Special Agent Joanna Gibson, National Security Branch, Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Her visit was unexpected. Gibson had requested a private meeting with the boy lieutenant colonel, and the interview room provided was fully isolated from the outside. Why was the Bureau interested in Winter? What did she want to say? Any charges against me?
No background info meant Insight wouldn't activate.
This was uncharted territory. Winter offered a cautious greeting first.
"Nice to meet you, Agent Gibson. Is that how I should address you? Sorry, I'm not sure what rank Supervisory Special Agent equates to..."
"No problem. Roughly a captain, but the Bureau and Army are separate organizations. Different roles and scales. One-to-one equivalents don't make sense. In actual ops, I'd have oversight, but oversight and command are different concepts. Feel free to speak casually."
Clear context. Winter probed.
"Ops situation? Does that mean I'm being assigned to the same operation as you, Agent Gibson?"
"Yes. CIA requested Lieutenant Han Gyeowol. Before we go further, could you sign this?"
She offered a form with a businesslike smile. NDA. Promising secrecy about the op even after it ended. Winter hesitated.
"Do I have a choice?"
"No."
Clear, unhesitating answer. She produced another form.
"Take a look. Dispatch orders from DoD and Containment Line Command."
It temporarily relieved Lieutenant Han Gyeowol—currently attached to 160th Regiment "Seventh California"—of duties, assigning him to a CIA-requested op. Winter spotted Colonel Rappleyea's signature as regimental combat team leader.
No more need for hesitation. Winter took her pen and signed neatly.
"Thank you for your cooperation."
As she filed the form, Winter asked.
"You said CIA op— are you participating too, Agent Gibson?"
"Oh, regulations. Domestic CIA ops fall under Bureau oversight. CIA runs it, DoD dispatches you for support, and Bureau monitors for national interest conflicts or procedural issues."
Too many cooks. Catching his concern with Discernment, Joanna Gibson's smile grew warmer.
"Think of me as the car's brakes. Preventing runaway. I won't interfere unless necessary. No need to worry prematurely."
"Could you brief me on my mission?"
"Details after boarding the transport plane..."
"How long?"
After a pause, she shared limited info.
"You must have questions. I'll tell you everything I can now. Op duration... uncertain. CIA estimates a few months max."
"..."
"The op started earlier. You're the only one joining me, but plenty of personnel are already on-site. CIA requested you for specific reasons."
If the op predated this, there was a prior overseer. Domestic ops got Bureau supervision. A new one meant the previous couldn't continue.
'And taking me along... means they need combat capability.'
Likely the predecessor was KIA. Proof of the mission's danger.
Agent Gibson ended her brief explanation: departure at 2100 hours.
"I hear you personally look after some people. Might want to give them a heads-up. Something like 'assigned to special mission, away for a while.'"
"Thank you for the consideration."
"Please be at the parade ground by 2030. Gear's all set—just bring your personal kit. No more questions? See you then."
No point in more. Winter nodded once and stood.
With Gibson's visit, Winter's duties were done—the ops section had excused him. He went straight to the alliance to share the news. Everyone was stunned. The two chiefs worried most, especially Min Wangi.
"Not good."
The middle-aged scholar sighed deeply.
"Even with issues here and there, having the young commander around kept things in check. Religion, factions... everyone watched their step. Same with other groups. Honestly, it's a sensitive time..."
"No choice. Orders."
Winter felt forcibly detached from the ongoing story.
No matter how great alone, if the world flowed against you, you'd be swept away.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 112
Chapter Title: April Vengeance, Camp Roberts (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------