Free Web NovelAfter finishing my visit with Chairman Song Youngjoo, I opened the hospital room door and stepped outside.
In the lobby, Manager Ma and the chairman’s secretary sat in silence, both wearing awkward expressions. I couldn’t help but laugh quietly.
I spoke briefly with the secretary about the chairman’s health, then turned away.
“Let’s go.”
“Yes, Boss.”
We headed down to the parking lot. Inside the car, I gave Manager Ma a short summary of my conversation with Chairman Song.
“Even without his help, it doesn’t really matter. What’s important is justification... That’s what you needed, Boss. A reason.”
As expected, Manager Ma had grasped the essence exactly.
He was right—isolating Ilseong from the business world wasn’t strictly necessary.
Ilseong was bound to collapse anyway, and once they did, no other conglomerate would step in to save them.
What I needed was the justification of fulfilling Chairman Song’s last request.
Daehyeon severing ties with Ilseong—that too would become part of the future I had rewritten.
And Song Youngjoo must have known it, yet made the choice anyway. Which meant I had no choice but to make sure the gesture was returned properly.
“I hadn’t planned to go this far, but... my heart got soft.”
It was true—I’d felt myself weaken, seeing his face so gaunt with illness.
I muttered wryly, and Manager Ma showed a faint smile.
“I think it shows who you really are, Boss.”
“Really?”
I smiled slightly in return, curious at his answer. He replied in his usual tone, but the weight of trust behind his words was clear.
“Because you cherish your people fiercely.”
My people.
I nodded, thinking of those walking this road with me.
That meant I’d have to make Song Chanwoo one of mine as well.
“Nice words. All right, start by mapping Daehyeon’s power structure. We need to know exactly which executives support whom. Who stands with Song Chanseong, who backs Chanwoo—find out.”
“Yes, understood.”
“I wonder how the chairman will choose to drop the bomb. He’s the bold type—he’ll make it a big one.”
After a short silence, Manager Ma spoke again.
“I’ll release an article with the headline: ‘Daehyeon and Ilseong at War.’ It’ll catch fire.”
“Good idea. Do it. I’m curious how Chairman Seo Yonggeon will respond. He must be under pressure. The law passed, didn’t it?”
The amendments to the Separation of Industrial and Financial Capital Act and the Anti-Circular Shareholding Act had sailed through the National Assembly.
Even though some lawmakers lobbied hard under Ilseong’s orders, a handful of politicians couldn’t stop the tide.
The conservative party, humbled, had resigned itself to playing second fiddle to the centrist bloc, while the ruling Progressive Party had pushed the bills through in line with Kim Hakgwon’s vision. freēwēbηovel.c૦m
They passed with overwhelming approval.
Unable to stop them, Ilseong turned to their newspapers, printing negative coverage to sway public opinion.
“Yes. But the circular shareholding structure was given a five-year grace period. Within that time, they must unravel the cross-holdings and transition into holding companies.”
“No choice. Otherwise, they’d risk burning down the entire house just to take down Ilseong.”
Because circular shareholding wasn’t Ilseong’s issue alone—it was how almost every chaebol operated.
They ruled sprawling webs of affiliates with minimal ownership. ƒrēewebnovel.com
Done properly, with transparency and oversight, circular shareholding could be an efficient corporate system.
But not here. In Korea, it was nothing but a shield to protect family fiefdoms.
“And the revised separation act has a grace period until next year. Until now, only banks were restricted. Now, even non-bank financial companies must be spun off from the conglomerates.”
By next year, every chaebol had to divest its insurance and other financial affiliates.
For Ilseong, that meant Ilseong Life, Ilseong Fire & Marine, and Ilseong Card—three cash cows.
Seo Yonggeon had used them to pump liquidity into affiliates, buying shares through capital increases whenever funding was tight.
Now, with that cut off, even he would face a cash crunch.
Their semiconductor arm was bleeding red in a brutal price war, and other affiliates were already strained under Joongwoo Group’s attacks. This new law would be a fatal blow.
“Next year...”
The credit card crisis—was it in 2003? To strike Ilseong hard before the divestment deadline, I’d have to trigger it earlier than expected.
“Seo must be in agony.”
The car sped through downtown Seoul.
Out the window, a giant billboard flashed by—an ad for a shiny new credit card, urging people to “enjoy life.”
* * *
In Ilseong Group’s headquarters, the affiliate presidents sat bowed in silence before Chairman Seo Yonggeon.
“You failed to stop the bill. You failed to sway public opinion. Just what are you people here for?!”
He slammed the table and roared.
“...”
They quailed, none daring to speak.
“If you have mouths, then use them! What the hell are you doing? Do you want to resign, go home, and play with your grandchildren?!”
“...We’re sorry, Chairman.”
They bent lower, like mice before a cat.
“Haa...”
After venting, Seo dropped heavily into his chair, letting out a long sigh.
“Fine, the circular holdings will take time. But what about the shares held by Ilseong Life, Ilseong Fire & Marine, and Ilseong Card?!”
“They’ll have to be taken up by other affiliates, but there are no funds available right now.”
At the mention of no funds, his brow twitched dangerously.
“...Loans?”
“No banks will issue new loans. They said unless you pledge your personal holdings—Ilseong stock, or property—as collateral...”
“What?”
Seo’s face contorted.
“You mean the banks dared tell me, Seo Yonggeon, to put up collateral?!”
“...Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
“How dare they...!”
Murderous fury blazed in his eyes.
“Since when do banks order me around? Who in Korea would dare?!”
“...”
“Answer me! Who? Which bank?!”
“...All first-tier banks said the same. Meetings with their presidents were denied. Those who did answer the phone said their hands were tied. Since the IMF crisis, regulators forbid loans without collateral, even to blue chips. Especially loans to chaebols are under close watch by the Financial Supervisory Commission.”
“...”
He chewed his lip, face twisting.
That salaried bankers would reject him—him!—was unthinkable.
“That’s not the real reason.”
“...There are rumors Taesan Finance threatened them. Any bank that lends to Ilseong will be ruined—whatever it takes.”
Seo laughed in disbelief.
“Taesan Finance? You’re saying lofty bank presidents bowed to one loan company’s threats?”
“...No one matches President Kim Muhyuk in liquidity. He has the reserves built up since Chairman Cheon Taesan, and more besides...”
“Kim Muhyuk. Always Kim Muhyuk!”
He leapt to his feet, shaking with rage, his face crimson.
“I should have killed him! The moment he set foot in Pyeongchang-dong, I should have killed him!”
“Chairman.”
It was Lee Seokmin’s voice, quiet but firm. Seo turned.
Seokmin’s face was pale, his eyes signaling toward the gathered executives.
At last, Seo realized himself. The presidents were staring up at him, wide-eyed. He coughed and sat back down.
“What are the other chairmen saying?”
“There’s a Federation of Korean Industries meeting next week. Honorary Chairman Song Youngjoo of Daehyeon has called it. It’s assumed to be about the new laws.”
“That old man?”
“Yes. He specifically asked for your attendance. How should we reply?”
“Tsk. Persistent old bastard. Shouldn’t he be on his deathbed by now?”
“...”
Seokmin fell silent. ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) Seo glanced around at the others, then gave a curt nod.
“I’ll go. This time, business must stand together.”
“Yes, Chairman. I’ll deliver your reply.”
Seokmin bowed and left. Seo looked over the remaining executives.
“Think of solutions. Don’t just sit collecting paychecks.”
“Yes, Chairman!”
“Get out.”
They stood and bowed deeply before leaving.
Though Ilseong was crumbling, they still believed in him. Seo Yonggeon had built the empire, and though he was a tyrant, his ability was undeniable.
Now alone, Seo closed his eyes and fell into thought.
* * *
A week passed.
I had cleared the backlog from my Busan trip, enjoyed rare rest, and was browsing the news in my study.
“Boss, the U.S. Embassy keeps calling. What should I do?”
Manager Ma entered, reporting. I closed the browser and turned.
“They keep calling? Then it’s enough, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It wouldn’t be wise to antagonize America too much. Meeting them now might be good. Hear them out, then decide.”
“Fine. Arrange it. Tell them to send Jessica alone.”
“Understood.”
He left. I shut down the computer.
‘By now, the U.S. must be realizing their mistake...’
They thought they’d crushed Afghanistan, but they hadn’t counted on the Taliban’s resilience.
They’d occupied land with overwhelming firepower, but the enemy had burrowed into mountains, caves, tunnels.
For over a decade, America would remain trapped in that quagmire.
And they were already laying groundwork for the next one: Iraq.
Two hours later, Manager Ma returned—with Jessica.
“Boss, I brought her.”
So quick—she must have been desperate for my call.
She never imagined I’d keep her waiting this long over a slight insult.
“Familiar face now, isn’t it? I’m Kim Muhyuk.”
I stood, smiled, and extended my hand.
