Golden Spoon Investment Portfolio - Chapter 91
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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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91. Is there truly no way to stop it?
Knock, knock, knock.
Kim Deuk-han, the head of the Social Affairs Department at Goryeo Daily News, straightened his posture at the sound of the knock while he was working at his desk.
“Come in.”
Yang Young-mo entered through the door, dressed in a summer suit without a tie.
“Chief, you called for me.”
“Yes, that’s right. Have a seat over there, Young-mo.”
Kim Deuk-han gave a slight nod and gestured with his chin toward the sofa in front of him.
Once Yang Young-mo settled onto the left sofa, Kim Deuk-han rose from his seat and walked toward the shelf by the window, asking as he went.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“I’d be grateful for that.”
Hearing the smooth reply befitting a seasoned reporter in his sixth year, Kim Deuk-han chuckled softly.
He pulled out instant coffee, placed it in a cup, and poured hot water from the coffee pot over it.
After stirring it casually with a teaspoon, Kim Deuk-han brought the mug over in both hands and set it down in front of Yang Young-mo.
“Thank you for the coffee.”
Yang Young-mo blew on the steaming coffee and took a sip, then gave a thumbs up.
“It tastes even better when you make it for me, Chief.”
“Bring me an exclusive story, and I’ll make you coffee every single day.”
Kim Deuk-han picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and spoke as he took his seat at the head of the table.
“That’s exactly why I brought it. This is my article draft, isn’t it?”
“You’ve got sharp instincts.”
“A reporter without instincts is a corpse.”
As Kim Deuk-han looked down at the article draft Yang Young-mo had submitted, his expression grew uncomfortable.
“You wrote that the Han River bridges are being poorly maintained and managed, creating accident risks.”
Yang Young-mo leaned forward and replied.
“As you’d see from the article, the Han River has many aging bridges, and they were built without anticipating such rapid increases in vehicle traffic. They’re experiencing accelerated fatigue and deterioration.”
“….”
“Take the Seongsu Bridge, for example. It was designed for a daily traffic volume of 80,000 vehicles, but actual traffic has long exceeded 160,000—double that.”
It was the closest entrance to the Gyeongbu Expressway, and at that time, the northern end of Seongsu Bridge still wasn’t connected to Gangbyeon North Road, so vehicles had no choice but to concentrate there.
Moreover, since Seongsu Bridge itself was only four lanes in both directions, traffic congestion was chronic.
“It’s not just Seongsu Bridge—Hannam Bridge has long been the subject of concern, with holes appearing dangerously in its deck. If we leave things as they are, a major accident is inevitable.”
Kim Deuk-han, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke, his expression reluctant.
“These bridges have all been completed for over 10 to 20 years, so deterioration is only natural.”
“But….”
Kim Deuk-han cut him off mid-rebuttal and continued.
“The traffic concentration problem on Seongsu Bridge will be resolved once Cheongdam Bridge is completed nearby. Besides, Seoul City isn’t completely neglecting maintenance and repairs of aging bridges either. Do we really need to step in and create unnecessary anxiety among citizens?”
Yang Young-mo stared directly at Kim Deuk-han, his face hardening.
“…You’re speaking just like a Seoul City official.”
Kim Deuk-han averted his gaze as if something was bothering him, then presented an argument that bordered on forced.
“We’re not some third-rate tabloid—we’re one of the five major newspapers. That means we have a responsibility not just to publish articles indiscriminately, but to take accountability for our content and guide public opinion. There’s no need to create unnecessary panic and commotion over this.”
Yang Young-mo responded in a subdued voice.
“Citizens have the right to know everything. A journalist’s duty is to pursue truth, report fairly, and contribute to the public good.”
It wasn’t wrong—in fact, it was something Kim Deuk-han habitually told junior reporters at drinking gatherings. For a moment, he was at a loss for words.
Kim Deuk-han’s face grew uncomfortable as he smacked his lips and inwardly cursed.
‘The bastard usually plays it smooth, but only gets stubborn at times like this.’
Noticing Yang Young-mo’s displeasure, he straightened his posture and asked seriously.
“There’s nothing particularly problematic about the article. Why are you doing this?”
“Sigh.”
Kim Deuk-han exhaled in frustration, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his inner pocket, lit one, and placed it between his lips.
He inhaled the white smoke deeply, exhaled it slowly, and seeing Yang Young-mo waiting patiently for a response, he finally spoke as if he had no choice.
“Everything’s fine, but buildings and bridges constructed in the seventies and eighties were likely built poorly to shorten construction periods and cut costs. Why did you have to include that bit about needing comprehensive inspections?”
Yang Young-mo met his gaze and responded confidently.
“Because it’s the truth. Even during the previous administration, when they were pushing the construction of a million housing units and developing new cities, there were rumors that when aggregate for construction ran short, they recklessly used sand dredged from the sea without even properly removing the salt content. Wasn’t that common knowledge?”
Kim Deuk-han frowned and raised his voice with irritation.
“That kind of thing creates unnecessary panic! Has even a single apartment building collapsed because of it?”
“Even as a joke, such a thing shouldn’t happen.”
“Ahem.”
Realizing he’d misspoken, Kim Deuk-han cleared his throat awkwardly and looked at Yang Young-mo, who sat with rigid posture.
Then he exhaled a thin sigh and roughly stubbed out the half-burned cigarette in the crystal ashtray.
“From the start of this administration, incidents and accidents have occurred one after another, and we’re already being mocked as the ‘accident republic.’ If we publish an article like this, what will the government think?”
“That’s exactly why we should take preventive measures so such tragedies don’t happen again.”
At Yang Young-mo’s rebuttal, Kim Deuk-han’s expression darkened.
“Do you really think Seoul City or the government will move because of one measly article? And why do you keep harping on about shoddy construction and targeting legitimate builders?”
“….”
Kim Deuk-han looked at Yang Young-mo, who kept his mouth shut, and slammed his palm against the armrest of the sofa.
“Do you have any idea how much advertising revenue construction companies bring to our newspaper? And you want to publish garbage like this!”
When Kim Deuk-han revealed his true intentions, Yang Young-mo finally understood the reason and his expression showed disappointment.
“You’re doing this just for advertising revenue?”
“Just? Where do you think your salary comes from?”
Kim Deuk-han spoke firmly to Yang Young-mo, whose face was etched with discontent.
“In any case, this article isn’t running. Make note of that.”
“Director!”
“There’s no point arguing further. Give it up.”
Kim Deuk-han, still seated on the sofa, abruptly turned his head away as if he refused to even look at Yang Young-mo.
“Isn’t this going too far, sir?”
“What’s wrong with you? With your experience, you should understand how the world works by now.”
Kim Deuk-han straightened his gaze and waved his hand dismissively, making it clear he had nothing more to say.
“I don’t want to hear another word. Now get out.”
“Director, are you really going to do this?”
“I said get out. Now.”
Yang Young-mo opened his mouth to protest, but sensing the futility of the situation, he pressed his lips together firmly.
“Understood.”
The moment Yang Young-mo shot up from the sofa and left the director’s office, the reporters from the Social Affairs Department, who had been holding their breath with ears perked, all turned to look at him in unison.
A colleague he was close with quietly approached and studied his expression before asking.
“What happened? Did you fight with the director?”
“It’s nothing.”
Yang Young-mo scratched his head vigorously, his expression irritated.
“I’m going out for a smoke. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Yeah. Cool off a little while you’re at it.”
His colleague nodded, watching him with a concerned expression.
Ignoring the stares boring into his back, Yang Young-mo left the office and climbed to the building’s rooftop, where employees went to smoke.
“Damn it.”
Standing before the railing, Yang Young-mo roughly pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket.
“Every time we have a company dinner, he launches into some grand speech about journalistic integrity, and it turns out to be nothing but hot air.”
Yang Young-mo pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lit it with his lighter, his eyes narrowing with irritation.
“Well, what can you do.”
Though I had criticized my boss, he too was not some righteous, passionate journalist who refused to compromise his principles when pressured from above, so the taste of the cigarette felt all the more bitter.
“But I’ve been in this industry too long to just walk away like that.”
Yang Young-mo muttered quietly, exhaling cigarette smoke and releasing a heavy, suffocated breath.
“I drank on his dime and received a favor after so long—I feel bad toward Choi now.”
In truth, the article my boss had just torn apart wasn’t something I had investigated myself; I had received the source from Choi Ho-geun, a senior from my university club.
Of course, just because I was asked didn’t mean I was corrupt enough to write anything carelessly—I had done my own research.
And when I confirmed that the condition of the Han River bridges was indeed dangerously severe, I pursued the story properly and wrote the article with real substance.
But the result, as I had just witnessed, was the trash bin.
“That bastard of a boss. He’s been interested in politics for years. Now he’s already lining up for a nomination in the general election two years from now.”
Grumbling in frustration, Yang Young-mo suddenly gazed toward the distant direction where the Han River lay.
“Surely nothing will actually happen, right?”
The quiet murmur that escaped my lips was soon scattered meaninglessly by the wind.
* * *
Seok-won, dressed casually in a light shirt without a tie, sat in the spacious first-class seat, listening to Landon Shore across from him.
“We have completed the final contract with Chase Bank to acquire the One New York Plaza Building for 300 million dollars.”
“The terms are as we discussed last time, correct?”
“Yes. We will pay 100 million dollars upfront, with the remaining balance to be paid in full in February of next year, five months from now.”
“Thank you for your hard work.”
Landon Shore then offered his congratulations with a smile.
“Congratulations on acquiring a high-rise building in Manhattan, the most expensive real estate in the world.”
Seok-won tilted the rocks glass in his hand with a slight upturn of his lips, sipping the whiskey.
“And I’ve deposited thirty million dollars as an advance to Gulfstream.”
Seok-won set down the rocks glass, the ice clinking softly, and asked as if confirming.
“We’ve nailed down the delivery of the business jet ordered for early next year, haven’t we?”
“If they miss the promised deadline, I’ve included a special clause stipulating a hundred thousand dollars per day in delay compensation, so there’s no need to worry.”
Seok-won smiled with satisfaction at how meticulously the lawyer had handled the arrangements.
“They’ll do their best to meet the deadline because of the penalty.”
“That’s right. The new aircraft is scheduled for delivery in twenty-four months.”
Seok-won calculated the date in his head and nodded slightly.
“Since it’s a gift, make sure they build it carefully.”
“Understood.”
Landon Shore answered briefly and began gathering the documents he’d laid out on the table for the report.
“Then I’ll be taking my leave.”
“Of course.”
“Take care on your way.”
As Landon Shore rose and offered his farewell, he smiled and spoke.
“While I’m away, please continue to handle things here as you have been.”
“Yes. Don’t worry about it.”
Landon Shore answered reassuringly and walked down from the business jet.
Soon a slender blonde stewardess approached and asked in a soft voice.
“May we depart now?”
“Yes.”
“Then please fasten your seatbelt.”
With those words, the Stewardess headed toward the cockpit up front.
After draining the remaining whisky from the rocks glass, just as I was about to fasten my seatbelt, my phone rang from where it sat on the table.
I reached for the phone and answered—Choi Ho-geun’s voice from Korea came through the receiver.
[Director, it’s Choi Ho-geun.]
“What’s the matter?”
[I’m calling regarding the task you instructed me to handle before you left for the United States.]
Seok-won, recalling what it was, adjusted his grip on the phone and asked.
“How did it go?”
Choi Ho-geun hesitated before responding.
[Well… the desk says the article got cut.]
Seok-won’s brow furrowed at news that differed from his expectations.
“What’s the reason?”
[It seems the editorial department is on edge because of the consecutive major incidents. And since the article criticizes the construction companies that provide advertising, they’re concerned about that too.]
“I see.”
[Instead, if we smooth out the problematic parts and soften the tone a bit, we should be able to get the article published somehow. Should we do that?]
I doubted whether an article stripped of substance and left with only its shell could actually move Seoul’s administration, so my expression grew skeptical.
But thinking that doing something was better than doing nothing, Seok-won nodded.
“Go ahead with that.”
[Understood.]
“I’m heading back to Korea now, so we’ll discuss the rest when we meet.”
[Yes.]
After ending the call, Seok-won sank deeper into his seat, murmuring with a face full of concern.
“In the end, there’s no way to prevent the accident from happening.”
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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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