Golden Spoon Investment Portfolio - Chapter 8

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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8. The transaction closed at $1.4800 per share.

Mapo-gu, Seoul.
A black Mercedes sedan glided smoothly to a halt before the towering twenty-story headquarters of the Daeheung Group, which stood prominently along one side of Mapo-daero.
As Gil Seong-ho, the secretary-general who had been waiting, quickly opened the rear door with both hands, Park Tae-hong, the chairman, stepped out of the vehicle.
The executives lined up on either side immediately bowed in greeting.

“Welcome, Chairman.”

It resembled the procession of a monarch, and truthfully, that comparison was not without merit.
Chairman Park Tae-hong, who commanded a massive conglomerate ranked thirtieth in the nation’s business hierarchy and wielded absolute influence, was nothing short of a sovereign within the Daeheung Group.
With an expressionless face, Chairman Park Tae-hong strode purposefully through the assembled executives, his presence radiating charisma.
While everyone held their breath and cast their eyes downward, I entered the building and crossed the marble-floored lobby with my entourage before boarding the elevator that the security guard had already secured.
Shortly after descending on the top floor, I proceeded through the carpeted corridor and entered my office.
The secretarial staff who had been working at their desks immediately rose and bowed respectfully.
I acknowledged their greeting with a slight nod, then entered the inner chamber and asked Gil Seong-ho, who followed behind me.

“What is my schedule for today?”
“You have an executive meeting this morning and a Federation of Korean Industries chairman luncheon scheduled.”

I removed my suit jacket and handed it to my female secretary.

“Will Chairman Jo from the Seho Group be attending?”
“Yes, sir.”

I settled into the chair before my expansive mahogany desk with a displeased expression.

“Must I endure that man’s face again? I fear the sight of him may upset my stomach.”

Chairman Jo Myung-se of the Seho Group, which specialized in fertilizer and food businesses, was notorious in business circles for his poor relations with me.

“Have an antacid prepared for me.”
“Understood, sir.”

The female secretary carefully folded my suit jacket without creasing it, hung it on the coat rack, and quietly exited with a respectful bow.
Once the door closed, Gil Seong-ho, my secretary-general, cautiously observed my mood from the corner of his eye before carefully speaking.

“We received a call from Son Dong-sung, the branch director in the United States.”

Park Tae-hong leaned back in his chair and looked at Gil Seong-ho, his executive secretary.

“I was curious about the news anyway. So how did he say it was handled?”

Gil Seong-ho’s expression grew slightly troubled.

“Well… there’s been a slight problem.”

Park Tae-hong’s brow furrowed at this unexpected response.

“A problem?”

His piercing gaze demanded an immediate explanation, and Gil Seong-ho sighed inwardly before speaking.

“He did meet with the young master, but apparently the prize money had already been invested elsewhere.”
“He already spent the money?”
“Not merely spent—he invested it, according to the report.”

The correction fell on deaf ears.

“Where exactly did he throw the money away? Invested? Don’t tell me some con artists got their hooks into him in the meantime?”

Park Tae-hong’s eyebrows shot up sharply. He straightened from his reclined position and raised his voice.

“In British pounds, sir.”
“Explain it so I can understand!”

Gil Seong-ho answered carefully, feeling like a criminal despite his innocence in the matter.

“He sold pound futures and spot currency, apparently.”
“What?”

Park Tae-hong’s mouth fell open in disbelief for a moment before he slammed his palm hard against the desk.

“You’re telling me Seok-won engaged in currency speculation!”
“No, sir. Not speculation—he conducted legitimate investment in the foreign exchange market.”

Gil Seong-ho, the secretary-general, rushed to shield Seok-won, but it proved largely ineffective.

“That’s not the same thing at all!”

As Park Tae-hong, the chairman, bellowed with a furious expression, Gil Seong-ho attempted to offer further excuses before simply clamping his mouth shut.
There was indeed a difference, but standing before an already enraged Park Tae-hong, uttering another word would only fan the flames of his anger.
And truthfully, Gil Seong-ho understood why Park Tae-hong was so incensed.
Seok-won had always been Park Tae-hong’s pride—a model student who excelled academically enough to attend a prestigious American university, possessed striking features, and had never caused trouble or given anyone reason to worry.
Especially during gatherings like today’s Federation of Korean Industries meeting, Park Tae-hong would boast about him to other chairmen, drawing their envy.
Moreover, the son of the rival Seho Group was notorious for being a reckless fool, so whenever the topic of children arose, Park Tae-hong took particular pleasure in needling others with remarks like, “My son is so accomplished, yet your boy keeps getting drunk and causing scandals.”
But now, out of nowhere, his second son—someone who seemed incapable of such a thing—had committed this blunder, and the disappointment was understandably immense.

‘If it were my son, I’d have beaten him senseless on the spot.’

Beyond that, there was also the worry that his second son might suffer significant losses from hasty investments.
As Gil Seong-ho was lost in these thoughts, Park Tae-hong, having barely managed to calm himself somewhat, spoke again, and he quickly cleared his mind.

“So how much money did he pour into the pound?”

Meeting the chairman’s piercing gaze, Gil Seong-ho hesitated before answering.

“Well… he invested the entire lottery winnings, sir…”

Park Tae-hong’s face contorted, and his voice rose again.

“All of it? He dumped the entire fortune into it?”
“Yes, sir.”

The anger that had barely subsided surged forth anew, and Park Tae-hong, his face flushed crimson, erupted in fury.

“This fool! What in the world was he thinking, pulling such a stunt!”

As Park Tae-hong vented his rage, he could no longer contain himself and cried out.

“Tell him to withdraw the money immediately!”
“That may be difficult, sir.”
“What? Why can’t he withdraw it!”

Gil Seong-ho broke into a cold sweat, his expression deeply troubled.

“If the contract is terminated early, we’ll have to pay a substantial penalty.”
“Just how much is this penalty?”

At the pressing question, Gil Seong-ho, the secretary-general, swallowed hard.

“It’s said to be 20% of the investment amount.”
“So we’d have to pay over 20 million dollars.”
“…Yes.”
“Unbelievable.”

Park Tae-hong, the chairman, let out a series of hollow laughs as if dumbfounded, then his face hardened into a rigid mask.

“A quiet cat jumps on the stove first—that’s exactly what happened here. What on earth were you thinking doing something like this!”
“I should have moved faster. I apologize.”
“Never mind. You said he was already gone from the school when Director Son visited. But what could you have done to stop him anyway.”

Park Tae-hong waved his hand dismissively and sighed.
Frustrated, he pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. Gil Seong-ho quickly flicked his lighter and lit it for him.

“Damn this bastard.”

Park Tae-hong exhaled white smoke and twisted his face in displeasure. Gil Seong-ho, reading the atmosphere carefully, opened his mouth cautiously.
Gil Seong-ho, the secretary-general, carefully opened his mouth to speak after gauging the atmosphere.

“At least you invested in pounds sterling. That’s fortunate.”
“What do you mean?”

Park Tae-hong looked at him, cigarette held between his fingers.

“Because Britain has adopted the European Exchange Rate Mechanism, so pound sterling fluctuations are minimal.”
“Is that really true?”
“Yes. They’ve adopted a quasi-fixed exchange rate system where member nations’ exchange rates move only within a certain range, based on the Deutsche Mark as the anchor currency.”
“What’s the fluctuation range?”

Gil Seong-ho, who had researched the pound sterling in detail after receiving contact from the United States, answered immediately.

“It’s 2.25% above and below the base exchange rate.”
“….”
“Among the member nations, Britain and Italy are permitted fluctuation ranges of up to 6% in consideration of their special circumstances.”
“So even in the worst-case scenario, losses won’t exceed 6%.”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”

Park Tae-hong sat in his chair with arms crossed, deliberating for a long while.
Then he stubbed out his half-burned cigarette in the crystal ashtray and spoke again.

“Six percent isn’t a trivial sum, but if this experience teaches him that the world isn’t as simple as he thought, then perhaps it’s not entirely without merit.”
“Then….”

Park Tae-hong spoke with a reluctant expression.

“It’s better than paying a 20% penalty, so just leave it as is.”
“Understood.”
“Tsk. I thought he was clever for getting into Harvard, but it turns out he’s just a fool with a fancy education.”

Park Tae-hong clicked his tongue, his expression heavy with disappointment.

“When the contract expires, make sure to confiscate all his money so he can’t pull another ridiculous stunt like this.”
“Yes.”

Park Tae-hong let out a sigh and waved his hand, dismissing him.

“Now get out.”

Park Tae-hong’s blood pressure had spiked several times, but at least it had ended at this level.
As Gil Seong-ho bowed and left the room, Park Tae-hong, now alone, pressed his hand to his forehead.

“They say raising children is harder than anything else. I never imagined he’d cause such trouble.”

Though Seok-won had deliberately withheld certain information, neither Park Tae-hong nor Gil Seong-ho had any idea he’d used leverage ten times over.
Had they known such a fact, Park Tae-hong would have flown to America himself and paid the penalty to terminate the contract immediately.

* * *

Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Seok-won, seated in the center of the spacious lecture hall, listened intently to the Old Professor’s lecture from the front of the classroom.
Though difficult circumstances had prevented me from attending university earlier, my hunger for knowledge had been so fierce that I’d seized every spare moment to read while shining shoes—and now, experiencing campus life belatedly, I found it utterly joyful and exhilarating.

“Now, an interesting perspective emerges here… Ah, seeing how you’re all suffering, it seems we’re nearing the end of class.”

The Old Professor, who had been lecturing with great passion, checked the time on the watch at his wrist.

“Then let’s conclude today’s class here. And since you’ll be submitting your graduation thesis by the end of the spring semester, don’t scramble later—prepare from now on.”

Sighs escaped from various corners of the lecture hall.
Smiling at the half-wilted expressions of the students, the Old Professor gathered his books and materials from the lectern and left the classroom.

“Hey, what’s your thesis about?”
“No idea. Haven’t even decided on a topic yet.”
“Want to hit up the cafeteria?”
“Sure.”

As students murmured and gathered their belongings to leave, I twirled the pen in my hand, my expression clouded with contemplation.

“Hmm. A graduation thesis… What should I do?”

The original owner of this body had a topic already chosen, but it felt too mundane, and somehow it didn’t sit right with me.
Unlike other students who broke out in cold sweat at the mere mention of a graduation thesis, my mind was churning with curiosity and passion.
Then, like a flash of lightning, a thought struck me, and I smiled broadly.

“Yes. That’s perfect.”

What I’d conceived was the hedge funds’ imminent assault on the pound sterling.
It was an event that would shake the foundations of the global foreign exchange market, and more importantly, since I would directly participate in this war and understood intimately what would unfold both inside and out, there could be no better topic than this.
Just then, someone tapped my shoulder lightly.

“Seok-won.”

When I looked up, an Asian man wearing glasses was looking down at me.

“What were you thinking about so hard you didn’t hear me calling?”

The man was Je-gal Min, president of the Korean Student Association, and his distinctive surname had stuck in my memory.
Just as it is now, Harvard had many Korean international students, testament to Korea’s scholarly fervor, and because of this, a separate Korean Student Association had been established.

“We’re having a gathering with the new Korean freshmen this time. Want to come?”

At his overly friendly tone, I narrowed my eyes slightly.
He was probably planning to throw a drinking party with the freshmen, just like the habit back in Korea.
The reason he was inviting me, someone he wasn’t even close to, was likely because he wanted to hook onto me as a money source—being a third-generation chaebol heir and all.
My background was already common knowledge among Harvard’s international students.
With such a striking appearance that I stood out, and since I didn’t bother hiding it myself, it was only natural.

“I’m sorry, but I have other things to take care of.”
“Oh, I see.”

At my immediate refusal, Je-gal Min’s smile turned awkward.
If I were anyone else, he would have shown his displeasure openly, but knowing I was a third-generation chaebol heir, he couldn’t treat me as casually as others.

“Then let’s go together next time.”

Je-gal Min spoke with a forced smile, then hurried away as if trying to hide his embarrassment.
He’d definitely be talking behind my back later, saying I was an unpleasant guy, but what could I do about that?
Right now, I didn’t have the leisure to humor him and go along with the atmosphere.

“To make money, you have to be diligent.”

I slung my backpack, which held my books and notes, over my shoulder and left the lecture hall, heading toward a bookstore located a short distance from the academic building.

[Coop Harvard Bookstore]

Built with red brick and possessing a stately exterior, this bookstore was one of the oldest and largest university bookstores in America.
It wasn’t merely a place that sold books—it also carried salads, sandwiches, and various beverages, always bustling with hungry students and faculty members.
Of course, befitting its true purpose as a bookstore, it was a place where specialized texts and magazines from various fields that were difficult to find elsewhere arrived regularly, making it the most frequently visited location on the Harvard campus since my possession.

“Hey! You’re back again today.”
“Hello, Rafael.”
“We still have cranberry chicken sandwiches left. How about it? They’re popular, so the other kids will buy them all up soon.”
“Later.”

I waved to the bookstore clerk greeting me warmly, then approached the magazine stand with familiar ease.
The stand, occupying roughly half of one wall, displayed an impressive array of newspapers and magazines arranged neatly.
Among the various publications, I selected the Wall Street Journal.
As I opened to the international section, the article I’d been waiting for immediately caught my eye.

[European Community Finance Ministers’ Conference Derailed
On September 4-5, a meeting of European Community finance ministers and central bank governors was held over two days in Bath, England.
Though member nations attending pressed strongly for Germany to ease its monetary policy to combat the recession, Helmut Schlesinger, president of the Bundesbank, firmly stated: “We have no plans to lower interest rates, nor have we found reason to raise them. We simply fulfill our duties as Germany’s central bank, and we cannot tolerate any political pressure or interference from other nations.”
As a result, the possibility of Germany accepting inflation and lowering interest rates for the benefit of other member nations became slim.
With this statement from President Schlesinger….]

“The Bundesbank just sent a clear signal to those ravenous hedge funds about where their prey is.”

After paying for the newspaper at the counter and leaving the bookstore, I pulled my mobile phone from my backpack.
Unlike a smartphone with all its various functions, it could only make and receive calls, and it was bulky as a brick—yet it was cutting-edge technology for this era.
Its main selling points were the single-line red LED display capable of showing ten characters and numbers, and its lightweight design at just 200 grams.
I flipped open the phone, extended the plastic antenna fully, and deftly entered the phone number before pressing the call button.
After the dial tone continued for a moment, Cox, a trader at Salomon Brothers, answered.

[Hello.]
“It’s me.”

Cox immediately recognized my voice.

[Ah. Are you calling to place an order?]
“Yes.”
[Go ahead.]
“Sell an additional 100 million dollars each in pound spot and futures.”
[One moment, please.]

I heard the sound of keyboard typing on the other end as Cox entered the order.

[Transaction confirmed at 1.4800 dollars per pound.]

A deep smile spread across my face at those words.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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