Chapter 118. Do Jun-hyeok Runs Through Time
"It's 18.5 billion won. Eighteen-point-five billion. Just because our ZJ Group supposedly has assets worth somewhere around 300 trillion won, do you think we consider 18.5 billion some neighborhood dog's pocket change? Even that 300 trillion figure is ridiculously inflated. The cash we can actually move right away isn't that much. Maybe a few hundred billion at best. If 18.5 billion suddenly vanishes without leaving anything but a trace behind, how are poor little corner-store owners like me supposed to survive? Huh? Isn't that right?"
"Hahaha, a corner store... So how exactly was that 18.5-billion-won figure calculated?"
"We've got plenty of people who are good at math in our company. Graduates with doctorates in science from Korea University. Let's see, one, two, three... Anyway, those guys did the calculations, and that's what they came up with. We were supposed to acquire Seongdam Engineering, find some good land in Cheonan, secure the site, and then all we'd have to do was put up the buildings. Do I, ZJ's Jung Jun, look like the kind of man who lies? The kind who exaggerates? The biggest expense was acquiring Seongdam in the first place, and that isn't even included in the 18.5 billion."
It was footage of an interview between business tycoon Jung Jun and anchor Shin Seok-hee.
Jung Jun.
The media usually portrayed him as a fairly warm and benevolent old man.
But in this interview, he was extremely agitated.
Listening to what he was saying, I could understand why.
Basically, ZJ Group owned a company called ZJ Trading that manufactured heavy machinery.
To lower production costs, they had acquired a Korean-owned heavy-equipment parts company located in China and spent an enormous amount of money moving it back to Korea.
The project had been possible because of a government policy called the Returning Company Support Program.
The government was supposed to support the taxes incurred when a company returned to Korea, as well as the minimum cost of purchasing a domestic site, excluding the acquisition price itself.
ZJ had trusted that promise completely and pushed ahead with Seongdam Engineering's return.
The result had been disastrous.
The government simply failed to pay the promised support properly.
Jung Jun didn't seem to be exaggerating.
If anything, he might've been understating the losses.
If merely bringing the company onto land in Cheonan had cost 18.5 billion won, the real expense would've been much higher.
Roughly speaking, once you included ordinary losses from losing existing clients and other disruptions, it might even reach the trillion-won level.
I had no relationship with Jung Jun himself.
But I'd become somewhat close to his second son, Jung Tae-jin.
If I advised him not to trust that project and instead buy another domestic company, I could put him in my debt.
This video had to be telling me to give him useful help and then receive something I needed in return.
I called Jung Tae-jin and asked if his father was planning some major business deal.
"A major business deal? I'm not sure. He expands so routinely you'd think he's planning to spin the entire planet himself. Lately, he's been trying to acquire one of our major suppliers."
"Which supplier?"
"Seongdam Engineering. It's a Korean-owned Chinese company. He's incredibly enthusiastic about it, saying all those taxes we've paid are finally paying off and that this is practically a free opportunity... Why do you ask?"
The spam had arrived at exactly the right time.
If I warned him now, I could probably correct the situation before it became irreversible.
"So that's what it was. It's because of the Returning Company Support Program, right?"
"Ah, yes! That's right. How do you know about that program? Do you own a foreign subsidiary or something?"
"No, nothing like that."
I needed to make him believe me.
I quickly came up with a convincing story.
A little lying should be forgivable if the intention was good.
"There's an American producer I've known since my Pantheon days. Lately he's become completely obsessed with the Korean idol industry, so he's been asking me for advice for the past few days."
"I see. Getting advice from CEO Do Jun-hyeok? Lucky guy."
"You're flattering me. Anyway, his business is pretty large-scale, so even I was nervous about it. Then he brought up that Returning Company Support Program. Apparently, after looking into it, he calculated that the support he could receive would be close to fifty billion won."
Jung Tae-jin sounded surprised at the amount.
"There are quite a few businessmen like that. His project would probably cost trillions to begin with, and I started wondering whether the government could really support every company at those levels. So for now, I talked him out of it. I don't know how it'll turn out, but the possibility of not receiving that money is way too high."
"T-That can't be right. I looked at the project plan, and the total budget was thirty trillion won."
"That figure is definitely inflated. They're pushing too many other policies alongside the Returning Company Support Program. And with the economy already bad lately, there's a very real chance they'll pretend they never made those promises later."
Jung Tae-jin listened silently.
He had far more experience in business than I did.
Still, he was probably paying attention because the one saying this was me.
The guy who'd predicted both the narrow-mouthed-frog disaster and the Ma Cheol-seong abuse scandal.
"Then... do you have an alternative in mind, CEO Do?"
"Your chairman seems like the kind of person who won't be satisfied cutting one rotten radish once he's already drawn his sword."
"Exactly."
"Then he should acquire an existing domestic competitor instead. Or invest in one."
Jung Tae-jin fell silent, apparently deep in thought.
At that moment, another call came in on my phone.
Kwon Dae-hun.
"Looks like I've got another call. Think it over carefully and let's talk again."
"Yes. Let's do that."
I immediately switched over to Dae-hun's call.
"Your heavenly hyung was in the middle of an important conversation. What's so urgent?"
"Haa... I don't know what kind of conversation it was, but get up to the office right now. There's no way it was more important than this."
What could possibly be more important than at least 18.5 billion won moving around?
"Fine. What happened?"
"Every major entertainment businessman in Korea just received a summons for a parliamentary hearing. Hyung, you have to appear the day after tomorrow too!"
Right.
One small insult aimed at me was obviously more important than someone else losing 18.5 billion won.
Let's say Dae-hun was right this time.
Never thought I'd live long enough to attend a parliamentary hearing.
I'd figured once I'd been to a police station, I'd already visited every unpleasant place worth visiting.
To make things worse, my seat was dead center in the front row of the tiered witness section.
Shin Hyung-geol sat to my right.
Riven's CEO sat to my left.
Things had become awkward between us because of the recent mess, so we only exchanged brief greetings and kept drinking water.
When the hearing began, the esteemed members of the National Assembly entered all at once.
Looking at the lineup, most of them were opposition lawmakers who had clearly sharpened their tongues through repeated government audits.
Each one had brought printed display boards or stacks of documents thick enough to resemble doctoral dissertations.
Public opinion was bad, so they were probably hoping to tear us apart on camera and turn it into momentum for the next general election.
"There are currently numerous allegations that entertainment companies centered around Root Entertainment have been cooperating to create an oligopolistic environment, and that trainees are being harmed as a result. We're also receiving far too many complaints about ten-year trainee contracts. Is this the Joseon Dynasty? Can you explain what kind of relationship exists between your companies?"
"As people running businesses in the same industry, we occasionally help each other, but there has been no harm to the trainees."
"I'm glad you said that, CEO Shin Hyung-geol. Then why won't you disclose your trainee contracts?"
Shin Hyung-geol seemed to have experience with hearings like this.
He knew how to answer defensively.
"You should be ashamed. The public is watching. ...Then let me ask CEO Do Jun-hyeok. CEO Do Jun-hyeok. Where were you and what were you doing between 7 PM and 9 PM on March 28, 2023?"
"What? Last year... March 28? Um... I don't remember."
"It's always the same! 'I don't remember!' 'I wasn't informed!' Do you think the public will fall for it if you dodge every question like that?"
How the hell was I supposed to remember what I did on March 28 of last year?
It wasn't even this year.
I didn't keep a diary like an elementary school kid.
