Preparing for the Shareholders' Meeting (1)

Buy orders kept pouring in without end, and not long after Hanjeong Mulsan's stock broke through 200,000 won, it surged past 300,000.

Its market capitalization had swelled nearly eightfold, and it had proudly secured a place in the top ten on the KOSPI.

Senior Dongho clicked his tongue.

"Who the hell is buying at this price?"

"Probably the Hanjeong Group side raiding their slush fund to keep buying."

Even when conglomerates were rich, most of that wealth was locked up in stock, with almost no cash on hand. So they were probably emptying out every secret reserve they had painstakingly built up just to buy shares.

Once the shareholders' meeting was over, the stock would collapse.

At least, that was true if the three-way alliance won. If the founding family managed to defend control, the drop would be even worse.

It would lose at least half its value.

And yet, they had no choice but to keep buying for now. It must have been killing them.

"This is crazier than the Primus mess."

Honestly, whether a private equity fund blew a trillion won or not, it was somebody else's problem to anyone who hadn't invested a single won.

But when it looked as if one of the country’s top ten conglomerates might fall into the hands of speculative capital, the whole nation started buzzing.

In the run-up to the shareholders' meeting, the shareholder register was closed.

Once the register was closed, the person who held the stock when it was frozen, not the owner on the day of the meeting, was the one who could exercise the voting rights.

At that point, buying more shares no longer meant anything in terms of voting power. The only thing that still mattered was the proxy form.

As soon as the register was closed, the stock that had climbed as high as 343,000 won fell more than 20 percent and dropped back into the 200,000-won range.

Right after the freeze, Senior Dongho and Kim Beom-seok sold everything without looking back. And, of course, they handed their proxy forms over to Continue Capital.

"Hahaha! Just how much is this?"

They had been scooping it up since it was 40,000 won, so they had made more than 200,000 won per share. Not only had they recovered every last won they’d lost while dabbling in investments, they’d also made several years’ salary in one shot.

"Better than working at DA Securities, right?"

"Absolutely!"

Senior Dongho read the news and said, "But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there are a lot of people saying the owner family has the edge."

We’d have to wait for the day of the meeting, but the prevailing view was that the owner family was ahead by a hair. A fair number of experts were also predicting a Hanjeong Group victory.

"That’s because hostile takeovers against conglomerate groups have never succeeded."

It was practically a law of the Republic of Korea.

I was trying to break that law.

"If we lose, what happens? Are we safe here?"

This was Continue Capital's Korean branch's first assignment. If it went wrong, it would affect our future investment plans as well. In that case, there’d be no reason to keep the branch around.

"What are you worried about? We’ve already made a lot of money."

"Well, sure, but..."

Kim Beom-seok, who was practically the only employee, also looked worried.

It was hard to find a place that paid this well for so little work. And on top of that, you could even pocket extra income on the side whenever the chance came along.

"Don’t worry too much. It’ll work out."

Sarah asked, "Do you have some kind of guaranteed winning formula?"

I gave a faint laugh.

"If there were, wouldn’t that be nice? We’re just going to work hard."

I was moving with knowledge of the future, but even I didn’t know how this would end. Because this was a road I had never walked before.

The other side would be doing everything it could to win. So I intended to do the same.

I called Kim Sung-gwun.

Hanjeong Group launched a full-scale offensive in the lead-up to the shareholders' meeting.

Employees who owned Hanjeong Mulsan stock were required to submit proxy forms.

That still wasn’t enough, so they were assigned quotas by person. Officially, it wasn’t mandatory, but employees who couldn’t meet their quota had no choice but to grudgingly buy shares themselves just so they could submit a proxy form.

People at the company were even jokingly calling it an "all-staff last stand."

And if it was that bad for the employees, there was no need to mention the executives.

At the executive level, most people naturally held company stock, so they had already turned in their proxy forms long ago.

That included Representative Director Yoon Han-bin as well.

Normally, no one cared about a shareholders' meeting. But this one was different.

Not only the entire country, but foreign media too, had their attention fixed on it. That was only natural, since control of the company was on the line.

If they lost by even the smallest margin, no one could tell what kind of aftershocks would follow.

If the three-way alliance won and took control, a sweeping purge of the existing management would begin.

Everyone was on edge, thinking that if they didn’t stay sharp, they might not keep their seats.

At least the other executives might have some chance of holding on. For the representative director, though, it was safe to assume a one hundred percent purge.

Yoon Han-bin let out a sigh.

Was getting promoted a mistake?

He had been pleased to rise all the way to representative director in his fifties, still relatively young for the position. But now regret was flooding in.

The ones who had lost to him in the competition for the post were probably breathing sighs of relief.

Every day felt like walking on a blade.

Lately, the stress had kept him from sleeping properly, and the headaches had gotten bad.

He analyzed the data and calculated how many votes the three-way alliance had secured. Reports compiling the numbers came in every hour.

By the numbers, his side still held a slight lead.

But he couldn’t be certain. There were too many variables, and the balance could turn at any moment. He couldn’t relax.

"Here’s the status report."

The person who came in carrying the file worked in the secretariat.

She was a woman in her mid-thirties with the sort of plain face you could see anywhere.

"Just leave it there."

Instead of leaving right away, she hesitated for a moment.

When Yoon Han-bin looked up at her, she spoke carefully.

"Is something wrong?"

"I’m worried."

If the representative director got cut, there was no way the secretariat staff would come out unscathed.

They weren’t executives, so they wouldn’t be fired outright, but they would be scattered to different departments.

"You don’t need to worry so much. The company won’t have any real problems."

"I’m not talking about the company, Director. I’m talking about you."

"Ah..."

"You’ve been too stressed lately. You look like you barely sleep at all. You should take a little rest. Your health comes first. And please take this."

She came over and set an envelope ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on his desk.

"What’s this?"

"Headache medicine. You’ve had headaches for days now."

Yoon Han-bin looked at her with a startled expression.

"How did you know?"

"I can tell just by looking at your face."

Even his family, who lived with him, didn’t always notice things like that. But she had apparently seen it long ago.

Before he realized it, a smile had crept onto his face.

"Thanks."

She said firmly, "You have to take the medicine."

Yoon Han-bin got off work on time for the first time in a while.

Leaning back in the rear seat, he watched the scenery drift past the window.

All at once, he found himself thinking back over the years.

The moment he graduated from university, he had joined Hanjeong Group and thrown himself into the work harder than anyone else.

Whether he was simply capable or just lucky, everything he touched seemed to go smoothly, and before long he had been assigned under Ju Cheol-jin, the chairman’s eldest son and heir, and set on the fast track to promotion.

That was when he got married, too.

His wife was Chairman Ju Min-jae’s niece.

Thanks to her energetic support behind the scenes, he had risen steadily through the group and eventually reached the position of representative director.

It had been an arranged marriage, but things between them were not bad. They had a son and a daughter, and not long ago he had married off his eldest son.

Now he was worried whether he would still be in his seat by the time his daughter got married.

Even if he went home early, it didn’t seem like he’d be able to relax properly. So, wanting to wash off the day and ease the tension in his body, he stopped by the hotel sauna.

"When you’re done, I’ll call for you, so go have dinner or something."

"Understood."

He sent his personal assistant away and went into the sauna alone.

After sweating it out and washing himself clean, he put on a robe and headed to the café connected to the sauna. He sat alone, drinking something cold and taking a breather, when someone approached and spoke to him.

"Hello. You’re Representative Director Yoon Han-bin, right?"

He looked up at the voice. The man looked to be in his late twenties.

Thinking he might be a company employee, Yoon Han-bin looked more closely, but he didn’t recognize the face.

"Who are you...?"

The young man introduced himself at once.

"Ah! I’m Han Miru."

Yoon Han-bin was stunned.

"Han Miru?"

Anyone in Hanjeong Mulsan’s management would know that name.

He was, for all practical purposes, one of the men leading the attack on Hanjeong Group alongside Kim Sung-gwun.

I knew his age, but seeing him in person, he looked even younger than I had expected.

So this kid is the one making Hanjeong Group itself reel?

Even while looking at him, it was hard to believe.

Seeing the wariness on his face, Han Miru smiled and said, "Funny. I didn’t expect to run into you in a place like this."

He made it sound as if it were pure coincidence.

"You expect me to believe that?"

There was no way this was a coincidence. He must have known that Yoon Han-bin came here regularly and had been waiting in advance.

Or maybe he followed me.

Contacting him like this only days before the shareholders' meeting could only mean one thing: there was some sort of intention behind it.

He didn’t know what that intention was, but he had no interest in getting dragged into it.

"I should get going."

Yoon Han-bin stood up.

He was just about to leave when Han Miru said, "Does your wife know about your relationship with Lee Yeon-ji?"

Yoon Han-bin froze.

"You..."

"Let’s sit down first."

Trying to keep his face calm, he sat back down.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Would you like me to say ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it out loud?"

"..."

Yoon Han-bin fell silent.

Lee Yeon-ji worked in his secretariat.

At first, he hadn’t thought anything of her. He had only paid a little attention because she had said she was divorced and raising a son on her own.

But as they worked together, he found himself slowly drawn to her.

He had been raised by a widowed mother.

She had never spared herself when it came to doing hard things for him, but she passed away before she ever got to see him succeed.

Lee Yeon-ji was a woman who looked fragile, yet somehow strong.

For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, she reminded him of his mother.

When she smiled, he felt strangely uplifted, and there were days when he even looked forward to going to work just because he knew he’d get to see her.

It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that was love. Without some special trigger, it would probably have ended as nothing more than a middle-aged man’s unrequited crush.