Plunder (5)
Thwack!
From seventy meters out, an elderly man knocked his approach shot close enough to the hole cup that it stopped almost within arm’s reach.
He looked to be in his mid-seventies and in remarkably robust health.
“Nice approach!”
“Grandfather, that was perfect!”
“Father, you’re incredible.”
Clap-clap-clap-clap!
Once the family confirmed that the old man’s ball had settled right beside the cup, applause erupted all around him. Every face among the men and women of all ages watching nearby wore a bright, automatic smile.
“Haha. The ball’s finding the sweet spot today.”
He turned toward them, wedge still in hand, and broke into a wide grin. His build was on the smaller side, yet the bones underneath looked solid as iron.
This was Lee Dojung, chairman of the Oyang Group—firmly settled inside the top sixty of Korea’s corporate rankings. He was also the younger brother of Lee Doseong, chairman of Doa Ilbo, one of the nation’s two major daily newspapers. Their grandfather, Sangchon Lee Jangsu, had ranked among the three wealthiest men in Korea at the end of the Joseon era. Lee Dojung himself sat on the board of directors of Gukuk University.
It was the weekend, and he had brought the whole household out onto the course. No matter how packed his schedule became, once a month nearly the entire family was required to join him for a round. It was a rule set by the head of the household.
His three sons and their wives, plus five grandchildren, were all present. The daughters-in-law and the grandchildren served as gallery for the men still playing. They did not ride carts. Oyang Group owned Shail CC, so it was routine to clear the tee times immediately before and after the chairman’s group. They walked the course and savored every step of it—a chance to drink in the brilliant May weather with every sense.
“Seokpil.”
“Yes, Father.”
Lee Dojung took a putter from the caddie and called his eldest son.
“How did you handle the congratulatory money?”
The round was never only for exercise. Once they left the cramped city and stood out on open grass, business talk flowed as naturally as the breeze.
“I delivered it in cash.”
“Personally?”
“No. Exactly as you instructed—through a close aide.”
Lee Seokpil ran Oyang Construction, the group’s core business. The chairman was checking on the inauguration gift sent to the newly elected president. Government contracts were the engine that drove Oyang Construction’s growth. The company had entered the field late and owed a great deal to the eldest brother’s newspaper. By cultivating the successive administrations that rotated through power, the firm had long served as the group’s most reliable cash cow.
“Good. A little will stick to the hands along the way, but that is simply the security deposit. Even if someone gets caught and goes to prison, most of the ones who skimmed will keep their mouths shut. Blowing the whistle only hurts them more.”
The family had been wealthy long before the end of the Joseon dynasty. They had ridden out the Japanese occupation, the liberation, and every storm that followed in modern Korean history. That was the true strength of the clan. Their ranking among conglomerates might have slipped a little in the present day, but their history still ranked among the very oldest. The know-how that had kept a Korean company alive through every era was never something they advertised. Even the children standing a respectful distance away never missed these living lessons in the family’s history. It was field education for the heirs who would one day run the group.
“Keep your distance from the people in the current administration. Do not get too close.”
“Why…?”
Lee Seokpil asked, clearly curious.
“They are swinging the knife as if they own the handle. Power used that way always breaks. That is how the world works. Anything taken too far snaps.”
Lee Dojung gazed up at the unusually clear sky and recited the oldest of principles.
“If they keep going like this, three years at most. Watch your step.”
“Yes, Father. Understood.”
All three sons bowed their heads at once. Their father might be advanced in years, but his insight was still unmatched.
“Anyway… Hyoju, Jeongho—are you both preparing properly for the entrance exams?”
He checked on the granddaughter and grandson who had been trailing a few paces behind.
“…Yes.”
Lee Hyoju answered her grandfather quietly.
“Jeongho?”
When no reply came, Lee Dojung stopped walking and turned around. He looked at Lee Jeongho, whose face was still covered in acne and whose expression was a mixture of sullenness and defeat.
“Haha. Father, Jeongho is preparing hard as well.”
Lee Hyoju was the only daughter of the second son; Lee Jeongho was the eldest son of the third. Both attended Cheonghwa High. Lee Dojung’s gaze was unreadable. Jang Huiae, the third daughter-in-law, laughed lightly and spoke up for her son.
“He’d better. If you’re going to ride an expensive horse, you have to make it worth the price.”
The barbed remark wiped the smile from Jang Huiae’s face. Unlike the academically outstanding Lee Hyoju, Jeongho had no interest in studying; he was preparing for university as a sports scholarship athlete.
“….”
Jang Huiae’s expression darkened. So did that of her husband, Lee Seokjong. He clenched his teeth out of pure pride. Unlike his two cultured, well-educated sisters-in-law, his wife Jang Huiae came up short. She herself was one of those children whose families had bought her a university seat with money. Lee Seokjong had always been the greediest of the three sons—especially when it came to money. For the sake of the future he had married Jang Huiae without asking too many questions, simply because she came from a wealthy household. Lee Dojung had never been enthusiastic about the match, yet unlike other conglomerate heads he left a certain amount of choice to his children. He believed each person chose a spouse according to their own destiny.
“Hyoju.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
The look Lee Dojung gave his granddaughter was warm.
“Nothing troubling you?”
“No.”
“Friends at school—everything going smoothly?”
“….”
Lee Hyoju’s school life had never really included “friends.” She closed her mouth for a moment. Lee Dojung knew his granddaughter’s basic nature perfectly well. The reason he still prodded at her lack of social ease was obvious.
“Father, I met one of Hyoju’s friends yesterday… she seemed very nice.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I’m thinking of inviting her over to the house soon.”
“Well done. A good friend made at that age becomes solid insurance for the future.”
Color returned to Lee Dojung’s face at the better-than-expected answer. He looked at Hyoju again, this time with open satisfaction. Even past seventy he still kept in touch with his own classmates—bonds thicker than most of the relationships he had formed after entering society.
“Father, go ahead and putt. They’ve got cold makgeolli waiting at the rest house.”
“Really? Then I’d better finish this quickly.”
Lee Dojung nodded at his eldest son’s words, took the putter, and stepped onto the green. Advanced age had not narrowed those broad, solid shoulders. The entire family standing around him watched that back with complicated eyes.
What the hell is this kid?
Park Dojun’s irritation was climbing fast. Ha Taewoong, who had claimed this was only his second time ever holding a club, had just launched a driver more than three hundred meters. Among golfers, driving distance was a matter of pride—and Taewoong’s accuracy was excellent on top of it. Even the caddie had called the shot perfect.
Whirr…
They were rolling along in the cart.
“Hyeonju, you got some secret trick or something?”
“Secret trick?”
“You’re carrying it farther than you did on tour.”
Choi Yurin was just as unsettled. Distance was life for female pros; the closer you landed to the cup, the easier the next shot became. An Hyeonju was out-driving her own past self.
Did she take something?
Choi Yurin was struggling to keep her expression neutral. She was trailing by a full thirty meters. Hyeonju’s drive had gone a full two hundred eighty meters—farther even than Park Dojun’s.
…Why am I suddenly longer?
The person most puzzled was An Hyeonju herself. At some point the ball had simply started flying farther and farther. Standing on an actual course and watching the confirmed distances, she became certain: it had begun the day she shook hands with Ha Taewoong. Her hips rotated more naturally; the finish dropped cleaner than before. Pros and amateurs alike would empty their wallets for even ten extra meters of carry. Distance gains were the clearest proof of improved skill.
Still, you’re no match for me. Heh heh heh.
Even though he was losing the distance battle, Park Dojun brimmed with confidence. His strengths were approach shots and putting—especially putting. He was called the Prince of Putters; his short game ranked among the very best in Korea. He could more than make up for the shorter drives with his putter.
“I think sand wedge will do it.”
Ha Taewoong planned to cover a little over a hundred meters with a sand wedge.
“…Give me the seven-iron.”
Park Dojun, knowing a sand wedge was hopeless for him, chose an iron instead.
“Taewoong, right? Look forward to it. Dojun’s a short-game wizard.”
Choi Yurin pumped up her partner’s spirits.
“Is that so? I’ll look forward to it, then.”
Despite the words, Ha Taewoong folded his arms at an easy pace and simply watched Park Dojun’s second shot.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Two practice swings later, Park Dojun settled into a clean address. The goal was the green.
Crack!
Textbook form sent the iron slicing through the air and striking the ball cleanly.
“Nice!”
Choi Yurin’s voice rose an octave as she checked the flight. Park Dojun’s ball sailed high, a tail of wind behind it, and kept flying.
“On the green.”
The caddie confirmed the landing. The ball stopped roughly twelve meters from the cup.
“Taewoong, fighting!”
An Hyeonju clenched a small fist toward him.
Whoosh!
Ha Taewoong took one light practice swing, then—
Thump!
—sent the ball up with a soft wedge. And then—
“Oh!”
“Nice!!”
The ball floated gently and settled only three meters from the hole.
Fuck.
Park Dojun’s face twisted as he checked the lie. The situation had just turned against him. An Hyeonju and Choi Yurin both found the green on their following shots as well.
Park Dojun took the putter. His ball sat farthest from the cup, so he would putt first.
I’m Park Dojun!
From ten meters he could drop it almost every ordinary day. He putted exactly as he always did.
Tick.
The ball left the face and rolled across the green—fast, true, straight for the cup…
“Huh!”
“Wh-what??”
It skimmed past.