Once news broke that IMF officials had entered the country in secret to begin their investigation, the market shook once more. The exchange rate spiked again to the point of another trading halt, and the KOSPI fell more than 5%. Worried voices began asking whether Korea, too, was headed for a bailout, and the market shrank back in fear. But government officials flatly denied any such thing, and the market continued to eye Korea with suspicion.
Amid this turmoil, Chung-seop Jo came to visit Seong-ho’s home.
Chung-seop looked around Seong-ho’s newly moved-into apartment with wonder.
“A palace. What did you say this was, 70 pyeong?”
“Yes, 70 pyeong.”
“70 pyeong… the kids could play soccer in here. Enormous.”
Seong-ho laughed lightly at that. The Pyeongchang-dong family had clicked their tongues, wondering why anyone would move to a place like this. But a neighborhood and a house that looked laughable to some could feel like an extraordinary blessing to others. Watching Chung-seop unable to close his mouth as he took in the apartment, Seong-ho thought most of Korea would probably feel the same way.
Still looking around, Chung-seop asked, “How old is this building?”
“About 20 years.”
“Whew. Looks brand new for a 20-year-old building.”
Chung-seop ran a hand along the gleaming marble wall and clicked his tongue. “When will I ever live somewhere like this. I’m envious.”
“You could buy a place like this even now, couldn’t you?”
Seong-ho led him to the living room sofa and handed him a glass of whiskey. Chung-seop took the glass and laughed awkwardly.
“I could buy it, sure. If I maxed out every loan, dumped every penny I have into it, and threw in a jeonse deposit on top.”
Chung-seop savored the aroma of the whiskey in his glass and smiled broadly. “The scent is wonderful. How old is this?”
“Thirty years.”
“Whew, why go to the trouble of pouring something this expensive for me? Seven years would’ve been fine…”
“When it’s CEO Jo, of all people, coming to visit my home, I ought to bring out something good.”
“Goodness, I’m the one who should be thanking you, being invited to a home this nice. I don’t even get to see apartments like this normally.”
Chung-seop followed Seong-ho’s lead and tasted the whiskey, letting out an exclamation. “Ahh, this is incredible. You can really tell it’s expensive, the way it goes down.”
Looking at the glass with an astonished expression, Chung-seop said to Seong-ho, “I’m living in luxury thanks to you, Head. Drinking whiskey this good in a home this nice.”
“You’ll have your own day soon enough, drinking better whiskey in a better home than mine, CEO Jo.”
“Just hearing you say that puts me in a good mood.”
Chung-seop took it as no more than a pleasant thing to say. But Seong-ho meant it sincerely — he knew Chung-seop’s future. Still, he didn’t go so far as to say something like you’re certain to become that. He figured whatever was bound to happen would unfold naturally before their eyes with time. And it wasn’t only Chung-seop’s future that would unfold that way.
Once the pleasantries seemed to have run their course, Chung-seop set down his glass and got to the real reason he’d come.
“Head. What’s going to happen to our country going forward?”
The face that had been smiling a moment ago turned serious as Chung-seop put the question to him.
“Not only did Thailand apply for a bailout — Indonesia has too, apparently. Some are saying Taiwan might apply next, and there’s talk going around that we’re… in the same situation.”
Chung-seop swallowed dryly and went on. “What Thailand and Indonesia have in common is that both applied for a bailout after IMF inspectors visited. Head — didn’t IMF inspectors come to Ilhyeon Hotel? Aren’t we going to end up applying for a bailout too…?”
Seong-ho gave no answer to the question. Instead, without a word, he pulled over a newspaper lying at one end of the table.
Chung-seop kept talking. “If we apply for a bailout, isn’t that a national default? Borrowing money from the IMF because the country’s gone bankrupt… does that mean our country is finished? Is our country really going under?”
Tak.
Instead of answering, Seong-ho set the newspaper down in front of him.
Chung-seop looked down at it. Printed across the front page, in letters large enough to answer exactly the question weighing on him, was:
[IMF: Korea Does Not Need a Bailout]
Chung-seop wore a puzzled expression and looked up. “So it’s really true, then — just as the article says, we don’t need a bailout?”
“Generally speaking, the world tends to move opposite to the newspapers.”
“Sorry?”
“Dubo went under the moment the papers said it was fine. Same with Doa Motors. If anything, seeing the papers insist things are this fine makes me think the situation is even worse.”
Chung-seop’s mouth fell open at that. Thinking it over carefully, Seong-ho’s words made far too much sense.
Seong-ho put a question to the still-speechless Chung-seop. “How’s my account looking?”
At the question, Chung-seop gathered himself and answered. “As of yesterday’s close, the valuation crossed 150 billion won.”
“150 billion… not bad.”
“Not bad is an understatement.”
Forgetting entirely that he’d meant to drink, Chung-seop set his glass down and leaned toward Seong-ho. “The return is more than double the principal. Head, why don’t we think about pulling out the principal first? Set aside the original 50 billion separately, and just keep running the 100 billion in profit.”
“CEO Jo. Didn’t I tell you?”
Tap, tap.
Seong-ho, looking at him, tapped the newspaper with a finger.
“Seeing the press cheerfully insist everything’s fine makes me think we’re headed for a bailout after all. So what happens to our stock market then? And what happens to the position I’ve taken?”
“Even so…”
“In principle, you’re right, CEO Jo. But when a chance like this comes along in life, shouldn’t a person bet on it? I think now is exactly that chance. And I’ve had the good fortune to already be positioned well ahead of it. If that’s so, shouldn’t I ride it to the end?”
“What you’re saying is… you mean to hold the position with a bailout already factored in?”
“Exactly.”
Seong-ho raised his glass to Chung-seop and downed the whiskey in one go. Setting the empty glass on the table, he looked at him and said, “I think that to succeed, a person has to know how to spot an opportunity. And I think seizing an opportunity once you’ve spotted it matters just as much as finding it in the first place. A chance has come before us right now. And we’re holding onto it, too. Should we really let it slip away? I intend to hold on and ride it as far as it goes.”
Hearing Seong-ho’s words, Chung-seop’s ears went red. Not from the drink, but from the heat rising in his own chest.
The two shared one more light drink before parting ways. Seong-ho saw Chung-seop off to the entrance and, watching him head for the elevator, smiled silently to himself. He figured that, having said this much, Chung-seop would understand.
“With me holding a 20% stake, it matters to me too that Future Advisory does well. Now, when will Gyeong-eun be back?”
Thinking that Future Advisory’s success was, in effect, his own success, Seong-ho murmured to himself and went back inside.
As if he’d caught exactly what Seong-ho meant, Chung-seop, once he reached the ground floor, pulled out his phone before calling a taxi.
“It’s me. Don’t unwind the position — keep pushing it forward. Why? Because… I don’t want to give up on this chance. Let the clients know too. Tell them we’ve seized an opportunity, and we’re riding it to the end.”
Hanging up, Chung-seop put his phone away in his bag and looked up at the 11th floor where Seong-ho lived.
“Good thing I came.”
Feeling as though he’d just glimpsed the answer key, Chung-seop called a taxi in good spirits.
And within a few days, he’d see for himself that the answer key hadn’t been wrong.
A full revision of the Foreign Exchange Management Regulations was announced, including liberalization measures for the inflow of foreign capital. The revision — which promised not to ask where all that dollar wealth had come from — was a last-resort measure meant to draw dormant dollars sitting abroad back into the country. Following this, the ruling party and government announced measures to stabilize the financial markets. The content was simple: draw sleeping money out of circulation and into the banks through special-interest worker savings accounts, and stabilize the stock market by taxing investment gains and dividends separately. Amid these successive measures, one of the three major credit rating agencies, Company P, announced it was maintaining Korea’s sovereign credit rating, breathing a little hope into the market that stability might soon return.
But that hope lasted only a moment.
[Hong Kong Stock Market Crashes]
The Hong Kong stock market fell more than 7% intraday, signaling that the wave which had swept through Southeast Asia had now reached Hong Kong as well. And the next day, Company S — the most highly regarded of the three major credit rating agencies — downgraded Korea’s sovereign credit rating, indirectly signaling that Korea’s own measures alone would not be enough to survive the coming wave.
Korea’s stock market crashed once more. Market liquidity, already scraped down to the floor, now looked as though the floor itself had cracked open beneath it. Dozens of companies shut their doors every day. Companies recognizable by name alone collapsed one after another, countless in number. Only Ilhyeon Group stood aloof from the storm, holding Korea up almost single-handedly.
Two days after Company S downgraded the sovereign credit rating, Seong-ho and Gyeong-eun headed to Pyeongchang-dong for breakfast.
Gyeong-eun looked out the car window at the black sedans lined up outside the house and cocked her head. “Who could be visiting so early on a Sunday morning, and in such numbers?”
“One of two kinds of people, I’d guess.”
“One of two kinds?”
Looking out the window, Gyeong-eun turned to Seong-ho beside her. He’d stopped the car and now answered her question. “Either people hoping to resolve this situation, or people who’ve fallen into serious trouble because of it. Isn’t it bound to be one or the other?”
As Gyeong-eun pondered what sort of people he meant, House Steward Ung-hyeon Lee came over and knocked on the window.
Seong-ho rolled down the passenger window, and Ung-hyeon greeted the two of them through it. “Head. So many people have come to see the chairman that there’s nowhere to park. If you hand me the car, I’ll find an open spot.”
Startled by this unfamiliar scene, Gyeong-eun asked Ung-hyeon, “Have that many people really come?”
“Government officials and various company chairmen and presidents have come, hoping for a meeting with the chairman.”
“Government officials?”
“The Deputy Prime Minister for the Economy has come.”
At Ung-hyeon’s answer, Gyeong-eun turned to look at Seong-ho. Now she understood, through Ung-hyeon’s own words, who the “person hoping to resolve this” and the “person in serious trouble” that Seong-ho had mentioned really were. But she hadn’t imagined it would be the deputy prime minister, and looked at Seong-ho with wide eyes.
Seong-ho smiled at her look and said, “I didn’t expect the deputy prime minister either. Well, Gyeong-eun, let’s get out. Looks like we’ll have to walk in from here.”
“Yes, let’s.”
As Gyeong-eun opened the passenger door and got out, Seong-ho got out from the driver’s seat. Ung-hyeon bowed his head slightly to the two of them once more and gestured to a waiting staffer to drive the car off. Then he walked ahead, guiding Seong-ho and Gyeong-eun into the house.
“Well, look who it is. Head Kim.”
Passing through the iron gate, they found the yard crowded with people. One of them came rushing over, greeting Seong-ho as if he knew him.
“It’s me. Byeong-mu Choi. Remember me?”
“Aren’t you a director at Homyeong Construction?”
At Seong-ho recognizing him, Byeong-mu quickly gestured to someone standing further off. Then, taking Seong-ho’s hand, he said, “My uncle came along too.”
“Chairman Cheol-jin Choi of Homyeong Construction came as well? What brings you here…”
“Please, help us out. We’re not exactly strangers to each other, are we?”
“Help you how? What is it you need help with?”
As Seong-ho looked at Byeong-mu with a puzzled expression, Cheol-jin, now approaching, spoke in his place. “We urgently need money over a Homyeong Construction matter. Just 30 billion… no. Just 20 billion would do. Please lend it to us.”
At Cheol-jin’s words, Seong-ho cocked his head and answered, “We’re not a bank — why are you asking us to lend you money? If you need funds, shouldn’t you be going to a financial institution?”
“The banks have no money. But Ilhyeon does.”
Cheol-jin gave a simple, straightforward answer to Seong-ho’s question. Then he looked around at the other company presidents standing nearby and said, “Everyone here has come to ask the chairman for help. Head Kim, please show us mercy. If we can’t borrow even from Ilhyeon, we’re all finished.”
At Cheol-jin’s words, the others gathered closer around him and Seong-ho. Seong-ho met their desperate gazes calmly and took Gyeong-eun’s hand.
(End of Chapter 96)