Seibu Group Headquarters Building, top-floor chairman's office.
Cold autumn rain washed heavily against the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
Thick clouds pressed down on the light outside, and the dense curtain of water hid the distant city skyline.Only crisscrossing trails of water were left on the glass.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi sat behind his wide black walnut desk.His expression was somber.
Spread out before him was the latest quarterly "Gokurakukan Financial Income and Expenditure Report."
Secretary Shimada stood in front of the desk with his hands folded over his abdomen.
"Chairman," Shimada's voice was tight.
"The deficit numbers for each item have been recalculated."
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi took the cigar from his fingers and set it on the edge of a crystal ashtray.
"Read it."
"Since the Middle East War started, international crude oil prices have risen several times over," Shimada said as he looked at his memo.
"To keep the tropical rainforest inside at twenty-eight degrees Celsius, Gokurakukan's 'Central Ecological Dome System' runs its heavy boilers nonstop in the underground infrastructure.
Combined with the snow-melting system on the outer layer and the industrial energy used by the indoor artificial wave units, our daily cost for specialized heavy oil is now near the Finance Department's maximum budget limit."
Shimada turned a page.
"At the same time, the economic slowdown caused by the Ministry of Finance's 'total volume regulation' is showing up in consumer spending.
The book assets of the new rich have shrunk a lot, and that has directly caused a sharp drop in high-end visitors to Gokurakukan.
Right now, the daily chip exchanges in the ground-floor casino and the money moving through the top-floor auction house have both fallen off a cliff."
"The occupancy rate for regular guest rooms has hit a record low, and many rooms are empty. Even though bookings for the special invitation-only villas have not dropped much, overall housing revenue is still going down."
"Also, several pieces of art priced over ten million yen have failed to sell at the top-floor auctions recently. Those auctions were supposed to be one of our main sources of income."
"The gap between high operating costs and falling revenue is constantly draining the group's cash flow, which was already tight because the banks cut off our loans."
The office fell silent for a moment.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi stared at the bright red deficit figures at the bottom of the report.
His jaw muscles twitched slightly.
He reached out, picked up the cigar that had not gone out, and took a deep drag.
Shutting down Gokurakukan's temperature control system would stop this huge cash drain right away.
However, once the heating stopped, Hokkaido's minus-twenty-degree blizzards would freeze the glass dome within hours. All the tropical plants transplanted from the equator at great cost would die. The entire Gokurakukan would become a pile of lifeless glass ruins.
More importantly, it would tell all of Japan that he, the "Emperor of Seibu," had failed after taking over the project.
He would look worse than a girl from the Saionji Family.
It would be a public admission that he, the "Emperor of Seibu" who could control the business world, was stuck in a financial crisis.
That would be a devastating blow to his pride and reputation.
Right now the whole industry was nervous, and any sign of weakness about Seibu Group's cash flow would panic the banks. The banks, already pressured by the Ministry of Finance, would rush in like wolves that smelled blood and demand early repayment of every bridge loan.
He could not show weakness now.
The consequences of showing weakness would be even worse than the weakness itself.
But if he kept holding on, the heavy oil costs burned every day were dragging down his other core businesses.
He was trapped.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's fingers tightened around his cigar.
Just then, Shimada stepped forward and took an envelope from the briefcase under his arm.
"Chairman. This is an invitation delivered by a special messenger from the Saionji main family this morning."
Shimada placed the envelope flat on the marble desk with both hands and pushed it over.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi looked down at it.
The envelope was made of top-grade Echizen washi paper. The surface had an elegant shine. There were no decorations except the Saionji Family's left-facing triple-tomoe crest printed in the bottom right corner.
He reached out, opened the envelope, and pulled out the invitation inside.
The writing was neat and beautiful. It was signed by Saionji Satsuki.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's eyes moved quickly across the page.
Greetings
Amid the cold rain of late autumn, I wish Your Excellency Yoshiaki Tsutsumi good health and the Seibu Group everlasting prosperity.
As a titan of the Japanese financial world, your long-standing dedication to business ethics and social responsibility has always been admired and remembered by the younger generation.
At present, macroeconomic fluctuations have left many small and medium-sized enterprises struggling, with many employees displaced.
As a humble member of the financial world, the Saionji Family has arranged a "Charity Dinner for Relief of Unemployed Workers of Bankrupt Enterprises" at the S-Palace Hotel in Minato Ward this evening, hoping to contribute our modest efforts.
If we could have the honor of Your Excellency's presence to offer your guidance for this charitable endeavor, it would be a great honor for both the Saionji Family and those in distress.
We sincerely request that Your Excellency take the time to attend.
Respectfully,
Saionji Satsuki
The letter was very respectful.
Every sentence placed him on the highest pedestal in the business world.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi looked at the honorifics.
"Heh."
A short, cold laugh escaped his throat.
He tossed the high-quality paper onto the desk.
A charity dinner?
That girl had clearly calculated that Gokurakukan's heavy oil costs were draining Seibu's accounts.
This invitation was a trap.
By calling him a "leader of the financial world" with all the Japanese media watching, he could not refuse. The major banks were already demanding debt payments, and the Saionji Family was publicly doing charity.
If he, the richest man, claimed to be sick or donated too little for his status, then tomorrow morning the newspapers would say Seibu's cash flow was broken. The banks would come to collect loans immediately.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi gritted his teeth.
The muscles in his jaw bulged.
Even though he knew it was a trap meant to drain him, he had to walk into it.
For some reason, he felt like he was being led around by that girl, even though he had no proof.
"Arrange the motorcade."
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
He looked out over the rainy Tokyo streets.
"I will attend the banquet myself."
Shimada was stunned for a moment.
"Chairman, our current cash accounts…" Shimada hesitated.
"If we donate a large sum of cash at the dinner, several other projects might be affected…"
"Scrape it together."
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi cut him off.
His voice was heavy.
"We have to donate, and we have to donate more than anyone else."
He stared at the winding water marks on the bulletproof glass.
"I want to use this money to stop the rumors. As long as I stand there smiling and donate in front of the media, Seibu will still be the ruler of this city."
…
Yomiuri Shimbun newspaper office, editorial department. Editor-in-Chief Sato stood before the layout table with his hands on the desk.
He stared at the proof for the front-page headline.
The bold headline took up a huge amount of space: "A Glimmer of Light in Winter: Saionji Group Establishes Unemployment Relief Fund."
Reporter Tanaka burst into the office holding several freshly developed photos.
He had just taken off his raincoat, and his shirt was wet in several places, but he did not care. He slapped the photos onto the proof in front of Sato.
"Editor-in-Chief, we confirmed the banquet address on the invitation," Tanaka said firmly as he pointed at a photo.
Sato frowned and looked at the picture.
It showed a high-rise hotel in Minato Ward. The hotel had just put up a glowing sign that said "S-Palace Hotel."
The building's exterior mixed simple design with Japanese wabi-sabi style. The dark volcanic rock walls and warm charcoal-black wooden slats looked expensive and restrained in the rain.
"What's wrong with this building?" Sato looked up at Tanaka.
"I remember that after Matsuura jumped off the building, this tower was seized by Chiba Bank," Sato said as he stared at the photo. "In the Legal Affairs Bureau's records, wasn't the buyer an offshore fund from the Cayman Islands?"
"That's why we couldn't connect the clues until this invitation came out today," Tanaka said, pointing hard at the address on the invitation.
"The real owner of that foreign fund is the Saionji Family. They secretly bought this bad debt and finished the interior just before today."
Tanaka straightened up and clenched his fist.
Sato looked back at the dark building in the photo.
"Holding a huge unemployment relief banquet in the same building that pushed their rival to death…" Tanaka clenched his fists. His tone was angry.
"Chief Editor, this is clearly for show. The Saionji Family is using the ruins of a bankrupt company to make themselves look good!"
"Are we really going to help promote a fake company? They are clearly taking advantage of a disaster!"
Sato did not speak.
He picked up the photograph, studied it for a moment, and set it back on the table.
"Tanaka."
Sato turned and pointed to the empty street outside the window.
"Look outside. The Ministry of Finance and the banks are all demanding debt payments. Small and medium companies go bankrupt every day, and unemployed workers don't know where tomorrow's meal will come from."
Sato looked directly into Tanaka's eyes.
His voice was serious.
"Have you forgotten the Saionji Group's large-scale disaster relief? The bankrupt people starving in Ueno Park got hot meals delivered for free by Saionji Logistics trucks. When the government could not help, the Saionji Family used real money to feed the people at the bottom."
Sato tapped the proof on the desk.
"To the public today, the Saionji Family is the only conscience left in this cold winter. People don't care what the building used to be called, and they don't care how Matsuura died. In their hearts, they already see the Saionji Family as their savior."
"If the newspaper wants to sell, we have to follow public opinion. Since the people want relief, we will help build this image even higher."
"A building that changed owners cannot stop the people's need for help. Not a single word of tonight's headline will be changed."
…
The autumn rain continued.
Yamada, a former low-level foreman for Matsuura Construction, huddled under the eaves across the street from the S-Palace Hotel.
His coarse work clothes were soaked by the rain. The cold fabric clung to his skin. His stomach cramped from hunger, and acid burned his throat.
He hugged his arms, trying to keep warm.
Yamada stared at the building across the road.
Hundreds of security staff in black blocked it off.
The warm lights at the base of the building lit up the dark volcanic rock and raw wood, making it look quiet and luxurious in the rainy night. Luxury cars drove into the entrance one by one, and wealthy guests in evening clothes walked into the bright hall under umbrellas.
Yamada recognized the imported stone on the building's walls.
He had led his workers on safety ropes under the hot sun to install each piece by hand.
The project was finished, but the wages were never paid. The old president, Matsuura, had jumped from the roof of the Keio Plaza Hotel. The workers at the bottom were abandoned.
Looking at the huge "Relief for Unemployed Employees" banner on the building, Yamada shivered in the cold wind.
"Did you hear? Tonight those company bosses are going to donate tens of billions in cash."
"Will they really give it to us? My family can barely afford food…"
Several other bankrupt people sheltering from the rain talked quietly. Their voices held a desperate hope.
Yamada clenched his teeth.
He had lined up in Ueno Park before and gotten hot beef rice given out for free by Saionji Logistics trucks. He knew that while the government and major banks ignored them, this company had spent real money to keep them alive.
But he still felt angry and suspicious.
He stared at the brightly lit building across the road. It was built from the hard work of him and his coworkers, who had hung on safety ropes to install the stone.
The bank had forced loan repayments, driving President Matsuura to his death and leaving all their wages unpaid, then sold the building for cheap.
Now these important people were using the unpaid labor of workers to host a noble charity dinner in the same building.
Tens of billions in cash. If he could just get a little, he could send money to his wife and buy medicine for his sick child.
A bowl of beef rice had filled his stomach, but this grand show involving billions made him uneasy. From his experience at the bottom of society, he knew that charity from bankers and rich leaders often hid deeper business deals.
He wanted to see for himself. Would those powerful capitalists really bring out cash to help people like him, or were they just dividing profits in this blood-stained building?
Yamada pulled up his soaked collar to cover half his face.
He turned away from the bright main entrance and the security guards and headed toward the dark alley at the side of the building.
As the original contractor, he remembered every detail on the blueprints. At the end of the underground construction passage, there was a blind spot caused by a design change. The ventilation grate there was loose and led straight to the hotel's logistics corridor.
He stepped through the puddles and disappeared into the dark alley.
…
A high-end black sedan drove toward Minato Ward.
In the back seat, Vice President Kagawa, a senior credit executive at Fuji Bank, held the gold-stamped invitation.
The air conditioning was set to a comfortable temperature, but cold sweat kept forming on Kagawa's forehead. He took out a white handkerchief and wiped his brow.
The assistant beside him looked at the rainy scene outside and turned his head.
"Vice President," the assistant said quietly, sounding hesitant. "The bank's bad debts are about to be exposed. We can't afford extra cash for this 'charity fund' right now. Why don't we say you're sick and skip the banquet?"
Kagawa shook his head with a bitter smile.
He folded the handkerchief, put it in his pocket, and tossed the gold-stamped invitation onto the leather seat.
"Skip?" Kagawa's voice was full of helplessness.
"All the media in Japan are watching this banquet. The public is still furious about how the banks called in loans and refused to help. They are looking for someone to blame."
Kagawa looked at his assistant.
"Believe me, if we claim to be sick and don't show up tonight, every major newspaper tomorrow will run the headline 'Fuji Bank Refuses to Provide Relief.' We'll be labeled as greedy. Angry people will smash the windows of every branch with bricks."
The assistant hesitated and looked at the address on the invitation.
"But the location is the S-Palace… I checked the Legal Affairs Bureau records after we got the invitation. That building was Matsuura Construction's collateral last month, and Chiba Bank had just listed it. The Saionji Family chose a failed project from a rival they helped ruin. This is a public insult to our banking industry."
Hearing this, Kagawa's bitter smile deepened.
As a credit executive who had forced countless real estate developers into bankruptcy, Kagawa was used to seeing companies buy assets cheaply after rivals failed. People went bankrupt every day. He did not care what the building used to be called.
What really bothered him was how much cash the Saionji Family had right now.
After the Ministry of Finance's total volume regulation, all major banks had huge holes in their books. Everyone knew the others were hiding bad debts and barely surviving.
Yet the Saionji Family not only had spare cash to buy billions in bad debt from Chiba Bank and finish the interior decoration quickly, but they could also afford to donate cash for charity now.
The Saionji Family was using this event to show all the guests their massive financial power.
In this battle of cash flow, the banks had been completely beaten.
Even though he knew this was a trap of moral pressure, he still had to spend his dried-up cash and go to the event with a smile.
The car turned the corner, and the dark volcanic rock exterior of the S-Palace Hotel appeared in the rain. The warm lights at the base shone on the black stone and wooden slats, making it look peaceful.
The car slowed down and entered the hotel's dim underground garage.
Kagawa took a deep breath and straightened his suit collar with both hands.
He closed his eyes, getting ready to face whatever came next.