CH24 : Blue House

"Stop right there."

"Move aside, I'm the president here."

"Uh... well..."

"I said, move!"

I pushed past the police officer blocking the entrance to the factory. They were all familiar neighbourhood policemen, so why were they barricading my factory?

Inside, the second-floor office was in chaos, with my employees lined up, kneeling.

"Boss!!!"

"Please, boss, save us."

The foremen tried to stand up when they saw me but were stopped, and the female workers, led by Miss Kim, stretched out their arms and wailed upon seeing me.

What was going on? They had all been handcuffed.

Why were they handcuffed like criminals?

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

I asked the man in a black suit who was rummaging through the office.

With his arrogant expression and slicked-back hair, he didn't look like a thug.

"Gasp! Sir!"

"Ugh... Manager Lee... the factory... the factory..."

In one corner, Mr. Hwang had collapsed. Blood was streaming from his head, likely from a baton strike. They had even handcuffed his wrists.

Sam-bok hurriedly ran to Mr. Hwang.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I was livid.

How could they treat young female workers and an elderly man like this, even in the 60s, this was too much.

The man scoffed at my protest, and the police avoided my gaze.

"Are you the president here? How much did you embezzle? Speak truthfully. If you cooperate, we'll consider it in your sentencing."

What nonsense was this?

"What are you talking about? Embezzle what?"

"This isn't getting through to you. Cuff him."

"That... uh..."

The police officer was at a loss.

A familiar officer gave me a look that said, 'spill it.' Spill what?

"Prosecutor... there's no need for cuffs..."

"Why so much chatter? Arrest him immediately!"

Prosecutor? Why were prosecutors here?

And in such numbers.

I couldn't understand the situation.

In the 60s, the police had investigative authority.

It was a time when the police didn't hesitate to use torture to get confessions.

The prosecutors, their superior organization, mostly handled major financial or political crimes.

So why was a prosecutor raiding this small factory?

"Arrest? What crime have I committed?"

I shoved the approaching police officer and faced the prosecutor.

If I lost this confrontation, it was clear I'd be dragged away without any resistance.

"Unbelievable. Embezzling dollars by posing as an export company is a serious crime."

"What embezzling dollars? I exported it legitimately. Do you even have a search warrant?"

I was furious but maintained superhuman composure. How dare they ransack my factory?

The office was in shambles.

Documents were scattered, and the floor was covered in footprints.

"Talking about a search warrant, you embezzler? Do you think I don't know you're laundering money by paying high prices for imported trash?"

What nonsense was this?

What trash had I imported?

"I imported petrochemical raw materials. We spin the yarn and make clothes. Get your facts straight before you speak."

"Shut up. We got a tip from a place a hundred times more reliable than you. The Korean Textile Association!"

The prosecutor threw a pile of tips in front of me.

At the mention of the Korean Textile Association, my face twisted involuntarily.

Wasn't the Korean Textile Association one of the three major cartel leaders of the 50s and 60s?

The so-called Three White Industries cartel of flour milling, sugar refining, and textile weaving.

The Korea Flour Mills Industry Association, Korea Sugar Refiners Association, and Korea Textile Association were notorious cancerous entities in the history of Korean industry.

These associations were all light industry cartels that simply processed raw materials, imported them cheaply by clinging to power, and sold them at high prices in the domestic market to amass wealth.

They sucked the money out of the common people, yet did nothing to improve national competitiveness through technological development or infrastructure investment. They monopolized the market, causing inflation.

In short, they were low-grade conglomerates that didn't contribute to national development or improve the lives of the people.

"Unbelievable. The Korean Textile Association sent a tip? Those who used to weave cotton now want to take over my company because they see money in nylon. Trying to frame me for embezzlement?"

I couldn't believe I was experiencing corporate raiding, a staple of the 60s, firsthand. Those bastards had waited for the time when Sam-bok and I would be out of the Seongsu-dong factory.

It was easy for them to plant evidence of embezzlement by torturing the accounting female staff with a prosecutor.

"Framing? The evidence is clear! Where is the president who spends nearly a million dollars importing trash? Who pays female workers a measly 15,000 won?"

"Stop spewing nonsense. Plants are money pits. It takes a million dollars or more to keep a plant running. And don't insult my employees! They're the best in the area! I paid them what they earned. There's no embezzlement."

I protested, but the prosecutor didn't even listen.

"I'm not asking you! Listen, accountant! Don't side with your boss and end up in jail, spill it. Where's the double ledger?"

"What double ledger? That's the only book."

"You expect me to believe that? Where's the stash of dollars? Just tell me where you hid the money! Then we'll confiscate it and release you."

"Where would I hide dollars? It's all I can do to deposit it into the letter of credit accounts."

"This bitch! How dare you glare at me."

Whack! Whack! Whack!

"Aaah!"

The prosecutor struck Miss Kim on the head with the ledger.

"Stop it, you lunatic!"

Damn, bastard. Now I understood.

He came to embezzle a large sum under the pretext of confiscating dollars for the state treasury.

Just like cops raiding a gambling den to pocket the money.

"You dare grab a prosecutor's arm? Do you think you'll get away with this?"

"Damn, public servant. Do you think you can threaten a taxpayer? Do you think you'll get away with this?"

"You sneaky bastard. You must have hidden it well, huh? Fine, I'll trace the letters of credit!"

The prosecutor, unable to scare me, grabbed the bundle of letters of credit. These documents were vital to an export company.

"Damn bastard, did the Textile Association tell you to get my customer list?"

It was obvious the Textile Association wanted the letters of credit.

They wanted to imprison me and use the customer list to do business in my place.

They must have offered tens of thousands of won per letter.

"You..."

"Do you think the Textile Association can satisfy my customers with cheap, poor-quality fabric? My clients won't even look at that trash, bastard!"

"Arrest them all! Arrest everyone!"

"Bring the arrest warrant!!"

"We're innocent. Arrest? For what?"

"Shut up, bitches!"

Hearing "arrest" was infuriating enough, but seeing the prosecutor stomp on the young female workers made me lose my temper.

"Shut up? Bastard!"

"Chansu!!"

Crash.

I launched myself and kicked the prosecutor stomping on Miss Kim in the face.

He seemed to be the leader among the prosecutors.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

"Gasp! Prosecutor, have you lost your mind, Mr. Woo?"

"Chansu, stop."

"Ugh."

I smashed my fist into the face of the fallen prosecutor with all my strength. If I got dragged away without resistance, I was doomed.

Whistles blew.

"Arrest them!"

"Arrest them all!"

The policemen blew their whistles and pulled out handcuffs from all directions.

"Back off! Arrest? We'll talk to the Blue House."

"Ugh."

I pinned the nose-bleeding prosecutor on the desk and pressed down on his throat.

At this point, it was all or nothing.

"The Blue House?"

At my words, not only the police but also the junior prosecutors flinched. I took the opportunity to grab the phone.

'01-0004'

I quickly dialed.

There was no time to hesitate.

I didn't know if this would be a shield or a sword, but I had to try.

If this call went through, at least I wouldn't be arrested without an investigation.

If I revealed a bit of the future to Van Flint, I could prove my worth.

It might be worth asking him to be my shield.

<Hello. U.S. Embassy hotline.>

Was this the U.S. Embassy number?

A flat greeting came from the other end.

They didn't ask anything, just called it a hotline.

"This is Woo Chansu. He asked for me. Come get me."

<Woo Chansu... It's difficult right now.>

"Help me. My safety is at risk. If you want to see me intact, it has to be now. Please convey that to him."

If it was Van Flint, he knew the situation in Korea and wouldn't ignore my plea for help.

Regardless, America was a country that prided itself on human rights.

<One moment... We'll be there immediately. Please wait.>

Click.

They didn't even ask where I was, but they were coming.

They knew I was at the Seongsu-dong factory.

"Okay. Sam-bok, take Mr. Hwang to the hospital."

"Chansu..."

"Look, release Mr. Hwang and the employees. It doesn't make sense to keep them. Right?"

"That... uh..."

"Look, gentlemen, you need to think carefully! Do you know who the Blue House will side with? If this elderly man dies, will you take responsibility?"

"... Release them."

The junior prosecutors exchanged glances and then moved the police. Sam-bok helped Mr. Hwang to the car, unable to take his eyes off me.

'Chansu...'

'It's okay, go.'

So, the junior prosecutors and I faced off across the desk for a while.

The bloodied head prosecutor had already fainted.

Damn bastard, I wouldn't let him off easily.

**

Rumble.

"Who's Woo Chansu here?"

"I'm Woo Chansu."

What? I expected someone from the U.S. Embassy, but why were Koreans here?

"You need to come with us."

Their omission of the subject made my mind race.

Could it really be the Blue House?

"I'm meeting a U.S. VIP."

"He's with us. Come along."

Damn, was Van Flint at the Blue House? Was he with the President?

Well, Van Flint wasn't in Korea for sightseeing.

'Damn...'

Everything had gotten messed up.

By threatening the prosecutors with the Blue House, I had brought this upon myself.

I had intended to call Van Flint to defuse the situation.

I knew I'd eventually meet the President, but not like this, unprepared.

I was the butterfly effect incarnate, but this was too soon.

"You... really from the Blue..."

"Shut up. That's enough."

"Mmph."

The black-suited men snapped their fingers, and the prosecutors turned pale.

"Let's go, Mr. Woo."

"I can't. They said they'd arrest me."

"We have orders to bring you."

"Didn't you hear? They're going to arrest me. If I leave, they'll ransack my factory."

"... Not our concern. We have orders..."

"Not your concern? Should I tell him you can't handle this? Is that what you want?"

"Gasp!"

When I left out the subject, the black-suited men flinched and began to understand.

"Sorry. Everyone, move! Arrest them all."

"Yes, sir!"

"Gasp, excuse me. I'm a prosecutor from the Seoul District Prosecutor's Office."

"Explain it at headquarters."

The black-suited men pushed the prosecutors and police out of the room.

"Civilians, return home. Do not speak of today's events."

The apparent leader turned to the employees and then linked arms with me.

"Boss... what about us?"

"Don't worry. Go home. Keep quiet about today."

"Yes, boss."

I reassured the employees and left the office.

A black government car was waiting in the front yard of the factory.

"Get in."

"Let's go."

The black sedan headed straight for the Blue House as expected.

"They're curious about your relationship with General Van Flint."

I pretended not to hear, and the man in the back seat with me subtly showed his ID.

It read Chief Secretary to the President.

Back then, the Chief Secretary could easily override a prosecutor.

"I'll explain when we meet."

My answer made the Chief Secretary's face harden.

How dare I not answer his questions? But I didn't care and continued my questioning.

"What were they discussing?"

"I can't tell you."

"The loan amount? The scale of the deployment? The schedule?"

"..."

The Chief Secretary's face showed signs of confusion.

So it was indeed a behind-the-scenes meeting between the Korean and U.S. heads of state.

I buried my head in the back seat.

There wasn't much time, but I had to think quickly.

How could I respond to avoid burning or freezing under a military regime?

How could I prove my worthwhile avoiding backlash?

What backlash could there be?

How could I avoid it?

My head ached.

"Stop! There's a checkpoint."

"We're on special duty."

"Proceed. Loyalty!"

"Good work!"

The black sedan passed through the Blue House gate.