Chapter ONE
I accelerated hard as I turned off expressway one, onto the twenty-five, and eased the car into the fast lane. I pulled away from the other traffic. As the needle rose past seventy, eighty then settled at ninety, I felt myself forced back into my seat. The speed was exhilarating after the stop-go of Seoul’s city traffic, it wasn’t often I got the chance to test my skills at speed, and it felt good. As I headed ever southward the traffic soon thinned and my concentration relaxed. It wasn’t long before I started to mull over the problem of Park Song-yong once again.
It was over twelve years since I had first met Song-yong when we were mechanical engineering students at Yeungnam University, rushing out at the end of lectures to head into the bars of Daegu. Song-yong always drank single or double whiskies, according to the state of his finances at the time, but always the genuine article, whilst I had to be content with the local beer.
It quickly became obvious that Hyundai Heavy Industries was not a very appropriate setting for the charm and happy-go-lucky nature of Park Song-yong. I was not surprised to hear him announce one evening that he was joining the international ship financing company Dansk Skibskredit, where he hoped to find a bit more excitement travelling the world. He had lasted at Hyundai only a few months.
Song-yong was obviously much more at home in the world of high finance, and I was soon hearing reports of his rapid promotion. In a couple of years he had achieved a junior directorship. So I was a little surprised, a year later, to meet him by chance when walking along Cheonggyecheon stream in the centre of Seoul, and to see him rather casually dressed. Song- yong was the type who enjoyed wearing a smart suit at every opportunity, especially when he was in town.
He seemed highly delighted to see me again and insisted on standing me several drinks at the Blue bar in the Koreana Hotel. It was at least ten minutes before he admitted that he was no longer in finance; it appeared there had been some sort of ‘misunderstanding’ about the accounts for one of his deals. But he laughed it off quite convincingly, declaring that he was not one for sitting behind a desk staring at a computer screen.
Under the influence of several glasses of Song-yong’s favourite Johnnie Walker Black, the drinks, combined with Song-yong’s sunny charm, led me foolishly to tell him that I had just inherited the family’s small ship repair yard at Incheon following the death of an elderly cousin. His eyes lit up at once, and he seemed full of sympathetic interest. In vain I tried to assure him that the firm was overdrawn to its limit, that the plant was out of date, and the entire staff consisted of eight workmen, two labourers, and a secretary.
There was no deterring Song-yong.
‘You’ve got the potential there’, he kept assuring me. ‘All you have to do is bring the place up to date, get some new equipment, and then branch into some of the more modern boats that require specialist repairs to their plastic hulls. I was talking to a bloke only yesterday, who was looking for somebody to fit-out a two billion won luxury cruiser for a chaebol’.
Song-yong always knew somebody who was looking for something or other. Anyhow, before the bar closed Song-yong had persuaded me to take him into partnership. He was supposed to put in three hundred and fifty million won, but that never materialised, although he airily assured me that he would have no difficulty in raising it.
Strangely enough, the partnership was quite a success for a time. Between us we managed to inject a considerable amount of new life into the old yard. Song-yong saw the bank manager and using his financial expertise persuaded him to extend our overdraft so that we could buy several new machines. It was Song-yong who landed us orders for new jobs that showed a good profit. It was Song-yong who went abroad and explored the field over there, bringing back a couple of orders from Germany that kept us busy for over six months.
Sometimes it was by no means easy to fulfil some of the orders that Song-yong accepted, but that was my headache, and we usually managed to deliver on time. At the end of eighteen months we had doubled our staff and floor space and reduced our overdraft to a mere nine million won. Outwardly, the picture was pretty rosy, but I had already begun to entertain certain qualms on Song-yong’s account.
Unfortunately, Song-yong never seemed to be happy unless he was living beyond his income, and in no time he was playing the part of the business executive, complete with expense account and a Hyundai Genesis Coupe. He began making more trips abroad, and once or twice I discovered that he had been visiting Jeju island when he was supposed to be in Busan. Back in Seoul, he spent far too much time in nightclubs. In one of them he caught Kim Joo-young, the soap actress and former teen idol, on the rebound from her divorce. They had only known each other for a couple of hectic weeks when they announced their engagement.
I did my best to restrict Song-yong’s expense account, but it was by no means easy, and the accounting side of our business was the least efficient. I had too much on my hands in the works to spend much time in the office, and had to leave most of it to an elderly part-time cashier who was terrified of offending Song-yong.
However, as the orders continued to flow into our books I was content to concentrate upon practical matters, and Song-yong went his own sweet way, giving the impression to most of our customers, I learned later, that he was the MD of the yard. It was not until the end of our third year together that the company’s accountant took me aside one morning and showed me half a dozen cheques that had obviously been giving him cause for concern. They were for quite large amounts, and had been cashed by Song-yong at various banks. They bore both his own signature and mine as usual, and were apparently in order, but I had no recollection of signing them. It was not until I examined them closely that I realised my signature had been forged. It was a very good forgery.
Naturally, I had to have a showdown with Park Song-Yong. He began by denying it, as I expected, but when confronted with the question of what goods or value had been received for the cheques he eventually broke down and admitted that he had drawn them to pay off a few urgent debts. I guessed that they were not unconnected with gambling, but he was inclined to treat the whole affair quite airily.
‘It’s purely temporary, Han-sang. I’ll pay it all back in a month or two’.
‘Now look here, Song-yong’, I protested, ‘this isn’t just a question of a few won from the petty cash. It comes to nearly seven million won. What’s more, you’ve never paid the three hundred and fifty million won you promised into the partnership’.
He nodded solemnly. ‘To be fair you’re right’. He looked me square in the eye. ‘Let’s call it a level four hundred million, shall we? Of course, Joo-young would let me have the money this minute, but I’ve got a big private deal on hand that should bring in five hundred million during the next few weeks’
‘Private deal?’ I queried suspiciously.
‘Nothing to do with the business’, he assured me hastily. ‘Just a little side-line I’m putting through for a friend of mine’. Should be enough to clear my debt to you and then some.
He walked out of the office and I did not see him again for three days. Meanwhile, the bank was beginning to agitate about our overdraft, which was now running pretty high, and on top of that two of our biggest creditors began to press for payment. One thing led to another, and at the end of the month we were facing liquidation. Park Song-yong had been no help at all just when I really needed his financial know-how, to mention connections. He had been away for several two and three day spells, offering no explanations for his absences. I spent a lot of time trying to explain matters to creditors, but suppliers won’t wait for money nowadays, and two of our cheques had been bounced by the bank.
The day after our liquidation had been announced I had a note from Song-yong, scrawled on a half sheet of blue notepaper. It read:
Dear Han-sang, Our troubles are over. Meet me at the Dokgo hotel, Sinjang-ri, tomorrow evening. Will explain everything then, Yours Song-yong.
I left the Cheonan-Nonsan Expressway at Gwangju and headed south-west on route twelve. The weather had turned foul, rather matching my mood I thought.