After giving George Norman a few more instructions regarding the public relations strategy for the "Westeros Effect" in collaboration with Pat Kingsley, Simon sent him on his way. Once Norman left, Simon finished reading the documents in his hand and pressed the intercom to instruct A-lady: "Get me George Soros and the White House, Bob Rubin... no, forget Rubin, have Jim talk to him when he has time."
A-lady acknowledged the request, and moments later, Soros's call was patched through.
After a brief greeting, the old man immediately began teasing Simon about his "harbinger of disaster" reputation. It was clear that Soros was in high spirits, which was understandable. Simon's so-called disaster-bringing presence had caused a triple blow to stocks, bonds, and currencies across Asia. Even though Hong Kong, the main battleground, had been avoided, Quantum Fund's short positions in other regions had undoubtedly reaped significant profits.
As Simon pulled out a roster of Korean "chess pieces" from the file cabinet by his feet, he exchanged a few lighthearted remarks with Soros before getting down to business: "Plans have changed, George. Regarding Hong Kong, I need to take center stage... Yes, the reputation of a harbinger of disaster isn't exactly flattering. I'll have to show them that Simon Westeros can be both a harbinger of disaster and a savior... There's no quick fix, so we'll have to be blunt. I'll allocate a sum of money to buy Hong Kong stocks... Mainland China will also publicly increase its investments. However, our cooperation remains unchanged. By the way, have you received the materials on the new approach to investing in that highway project?... Trust me, George, ten years is enough. You'll see that it aligns perfectly with a small economic cycle... China is no exception. In the context of globalization, even Africa can't escape it, let alone China... That's all for now. I'll contact you if anything comes up."
After hanging up with Soros, the White House connection came through almost immediately.
Simon picked up the phone again: "Sorry, Bill, I hope I'm not interrupting your dinner with Hillary... Oh, you're still in the office too? What a coincidence, we're both busy people... Here's the thing, I wanted to give you a heads-up about South Korea... Bill, of course I understand South Korea's strategic importance to the U.S.... Yes, I won't deny that I've been involved in shorting South Korea, but I have no intention of destroying the country... Of course, I guarantee it. Otherwise, I wouldn't be calling you... The issue is timing. It's still a bit early. The IMF should wait a little longer... I know you've reached an understanding with Kim Young-sam, and U.S. credibility must be maintained. My point is, let the South Koreans change their minds themselves... I'll handle the arrangements... Don't worry, Bill, I'll manage it carefully. If it comes down to it, even if the IMF can't act in time, I'll step in... Yes, I guarantee it... Goodbye."
After hanging up again, Simon called A-lady back in and handed her two names he had written down from the roster, along with the document outlining the preliminary discussions between Seoul and Washington: "Contact these two individuals and have them start working on it. The core message is to inform the South Korean public that their president is about to sell out their country, and to incite them to resist."
A-lady nodded, took the note, and glanced at the names: Kwan Sa-won and Kwon Jung-jung.
She quickly recalled the profiles of these two "chess pieces."
Kwan Sa-won, 32, was a second-generation mixed-race Korean-American. His father was American, and his mother was Korean. He had previously worked in the media and public relations department of Verizon and was selected for this role due to his heritage and exceptional skills.
Kwon Jung-jung, 39, was a native South Korean and a former marketing executive at Kia Motors, a subsidiary of the now-bankrupt Kia Group, which had been South Korea's seventh-largest conglomerate. A father of four, with two children studying in the U.S., he had been secretly recruited by the Westeros system two months ago after losing his job.
Just from their backgrounds, A-lady could tell that their loyalty was assured.
Without saying much, she turned and left the room.
Back in her own office, she personally called both individuals and began discussing the specifics of their tasks.
Simon's instructions had been brief, but A-lady understood perfectly. Her boss wanted these two media-savvy individuals to leak the news that the South Korean president was about to sacrifice the country's economic sovereignty in exchange for IMF assistance. This would provoke public resistance from ordinary South Koreans, who were unaware of the nation's true economic situation.
The goal was simple: to delay South Korea's acceptance of IMF aid.
Given South Korea's precarious economic state, every day of delay would reduce its bargaining power. By the time the country was on the brink of collapse, it would have no choice but to accept even harsher terms.
At that point, the Westeros system would be in a better position to maneuver.
After separately briefing the two individuals—who did not know each other—A-lady received another note from her boss, instructing her to compile a list of contacts for the primary creditors of South Korea's foreign debt. She glanced at the note, made a note in her own memo, and tasked her assistant with handling it.
The reasoning was clear.
At this stage, South Korea's main crisis wasn't just currency depreciation but also its massive short-term foreign debt. If the country couldn't repay these debts in the coming months, its credit would collapse, effectively leading to national bankruptcy.
Her boss was preparing for the worst.
In a critical moment, having these contacts would allow the Westeros system to exert its influence and persuade major creditors to temporarily halt their demands for repayment.
---
It was already the morning of October 17 in Asia.
News of the Dow Jones's circuit-breaker-level drop the previous day had spread, and Asian markets continued to decline in stocks, bonds, and currencies upon opening. The only consolation was that it was Friday, meaning there would be a weekend reprieve from the relentless market turmoil.
In Seoul, South Korea.
In a nondescript five-story gray office building in the Yeoksam-dong district, home to many domestic and international corporate giants, a 39-year-old man with streaks of gray in his black hair hung up the phone after a call from North America. He immediately called his wife, who served as his secretary, and instructed her to gather everyone for a meeting.
The man was Kwon Jung-jung.
As a former mid-level executive at Kia Motors, a subsidiary of the now-bankrupt Kia Group—once South Korea's seventh-largest conglomerate—Kwon Jung-jung had experienced a rollercoaster of emotions over the past few months.
Three months ago, when the Asian financial crisis hit, the already struggling Kia Group could no longer hold on and collapsed. Kia Motors, which had the second-largest market share in South Korea after Hyundai, was the first to declare bankruptcy, quickly dragging down the rest of the group's businesses.
At first, there was hope that the government would step in to save the company. Both Hyundai and Daewoo, South Korea's other major automakers, as well as Samsung, which had recently expressed interest in entering the automotive industry, were vying to take over Kia. It seemed that, no matter who won, Kia would survive in some form.
During this time, Kwon Jung-jung and his colleagues at Kia worked tirelessly to save the company.
But it was all in vain.
The infighting among the three major conglomerates over Kia's assets made the government hesitant to intervene, as favoring one would alienate the other two. This indecision sealed Kia's fate, leading to its complete collapse and liquidation.
What followed was a creditor takeover and unprecedented mass layoffs.
South Korea's labor system, similar to Japan's lifetime employment model, meant that Kwon Jung-jung, who had worked at Kia for over a decade alongside his wife and had four children to support, had never imagined he would lose his job. As mid-level managers, the couple had enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle and had even sent their two eldest children to study at a high school in the U.S.
When Kwon Jung-jung and his wife lost their jobs, it coincided with the time when their two children in the U.S. needed to pay a combined $80,000 in tuition fees, along with living expenses. Additionally, their two younger children were attending expensive private schools in South Korea. These financial burdens caused Kwon Jung-jung to develop streaks of gray hair in just a few days.
The family's savings were only enough to cover basic living expenses.
Selling their two cars wouldn't fetch much money.
Their last remaining asset was a 260-square-meter luxury apartment in the upscale Shinsa-dong neighborhood, overlooking the Han River. A year ago, the apartment had been worth 650 million won (over $800,000 at the time). Now, due to the economic crisis, its value had dropped by 30%, and even if they were willing to sell, it would likely only go for a fraction of its former price.
During this period, Kwon Jung-jung often stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment, staring at the Banpo Bridge over the Han River, and contemplated driving off it to end his troubles.
Just as the couple decided to bring their children back from the U.S., sell their apartment, and move back to their hometown of Daegu, leaving Kwon Jung-jung alone in Seoul to look for work, a twist of fate occurred.
Someone approached Kwon Jung-jung with a new job offer.
He was asked to establish a consulting firm to investigate and collect information on Kia and other conglomerates.
Having spent years in the corporate world, Kwon Jung-jung quickly realized that this was essentially corporate espionage.
However, recalling the government's inaction during Kia's collapse and the ruthless infighting among Hyundai, Samsung, and other conglomerates that had cost over 100,000 people their jobs, Kwon Jung-jung overcame his moral qualms. After all, what did he have left to lose?
Moreover, the offer came with an annual salary of 100 million won, 30% higher than what he had earned at Kia.
This was exactly what he needed.
Thus, to keep this job, to support his family, and perhaps out of a sense of lingering resentment, Kwon Jung-jung threw himself into his new role. Over the past few months, he had worked tirelessly, often resorting to unscrupulous methods to gather and deliver vast amounts of information.
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