Golden Print [EN]: Chapter 120

ECC. Those three letters stood for ‘Emergency Committee,’ or sometimes, ‘Emergency Countermeasures Committee.’ Sounds important, doesn’t it? Like they’re there to help in a disaster. But in projects like this – tearing down old buildings to build new ones – ECC meant something else entirely. They were the ones who wanted to stop everything.

Why? Well, people had all sorts of reasons. Shop owners worried about losing customers when everyone moved out. Some people didn’t want to pay more money right now, even if their apartments might be worth more later. Others just hated change, the trouble of packing up and moving.

But the ones who fought the hardest in the ECC? They were usually the ones who stood to lose a lot of money if the project went ahead. It’s easy to judge them, but everyone cares about what they might gain or lose.

Still, some ECCs were truly bad. The Cheongdam Seonyeong ECC was one of those. It didn’t start that way. At first, they just wanted fair compensation, to figure out what was best for them. But then, with so much money involved in this project – billions of won – things changed. They became greedy.

This Cheongdam Seonyeong ECC was relentless. They turned down fair offers again and again. They complained about every little thing, finding fault with every plan, slowing everything down. Their only goal was to squeeze as much money as they could out of the project. They were the reason Kwak Hong-sik, the association president, looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, his shoulders slumped with worry.

So when Woo-jin said he would “clean up the ECC,” it sounded too good to be true. But Hong-sik couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

“You said… clean up the ECC?” Hong-sik’s voice was softer now, more respectful. Woo-jin didn’t answer with words. Instead, he pushed a thick yellow envelope across the polished table.

“What’s this?” Hong-sik asked, his eyes fixed on the envelope.

Woo-jin’s voice was calm, steady. “Think of it as… a taste. Half of what we can offer.”

Hong-sik’s eyebrows shot up. “Half?”

“Neither of us trusts the other completely yet, right?” Woo-jin continued. “You don’t know if we can really deliver. We don’t know if you’re truly serious about a clean deal.”

Hong-sik nodded slowly. “That’s… fair.”

“So, we’re showing you half our hand first. Just enough to prove we’re not bluffing.”

“This… this is about the ECC’s weaknesses?” Hong-sik’s fingers twitched towards the envelope.

“Something like that.” Woo-jin leaned back slightly. “Once you’ve checked this, and you see it’s real, contact me again.”

“Contact you…” Hong-sik repeated, his gaze still glued to the envelope.

“Then, I’ll show you the rest. The cards that will really blow the ECC away.”

A storm of emotions crossed Hong-sik’s face – disbelief, hope, suspicion. He hadn’t expected anything like this. Woo-jin’s confidence was unsettling, yet… tempting.

Woo-jin spoke again, his voice low and serious. “But before you call, you need to promise a clean contract. No more hidden deals. Then we’ll know we can trust you, and we’ll show you everything.”

Hong-sik finally picked up the yellow envelope, its weight surprising him. “Depends on what’s inside,” he said, his voice still a little shaky.

Woo-jin just smiled, a small, knowing smile. “Of course.”

He paused, letting the silence hang in the air. “Call me when you’re ready to be rid of the ECC for good. Like I said, I know how to clean them up.”

After the meeting, Woo-jin and Kyung-wan went back to WJ Studio. The meeting had finished quicker than expected, and Kyung-wan was buzzing with questions. Woo-jin suggested coffee.

WJ Studio’s lobby wasn’t just any lobby. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed off a stunning city view, and the air smelled rich with coffee beans – a perk from Seok-jung, who kept the place stocked with Cafe Fresco’s best. It was better coffee than you’d find in most fancy cafes.

Kyung-wan blew on his steaming cup. “When do you think he’ll call?”

Woo-jin didn’t even need to ask who ‘he’ was. “Give it three days.”

“Three days?” Kyung-wan frowned. “Seems long.”

“Too long, actually. He’ll check it in a day, tops. That old man’s got no patience.”

“Impatient, huh?” Kyung-wan chuckled. “Didn’t notice.”

Kyung-wan had started the meeting, but Woo-jin had taken over, leading President Kwak Hong-sik exactly where he wanted him to go. Kyung-wan watched Woo-jin sip his coffee, calm as anything, and shook his head in amazement.

How does he do it? Kyung-wan wondered. He’s only twenty-two. It’s like he was born to… to control people. He was glad, very glad, that this ‘monster’ was on their side.

“This coffee’s strong,” Kyung-wan said, making a face. “Bitter.”

“Bitter?” Woo-jin took another sip, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s got depth. You just need to appreciate it.”

“Depth or not, I need milk.” Kyung-wan stood up. “Vending machine milk for me.”

“Suit yourself,” Woo-jin said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Some people just don’t have sophisticated tastes.”

They talked a little longer, had a quick lunch at the studio, and then Kyung-wan left.

The next day, Friday, just as Woo-jin predicted, Kwak Hong-sik called.

The bidding war for the Cheongdam Seonyeong project was heating up. Construction companies plastered banners all over the apartment complex, showing off shiny brochures with dream homes and perfect views. Everyone wanted this project.

But the real battle hadn’t started yet. Not until mid-November did the serious lobbying begin. It was like waiting for the right moment to strike – too early, and the money wouldn’t have its full impact.

At Myungseong Construction, Director Yoon Young-woon was leading the charge. “Team Leader Lee, budget secured?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“Yes, Director,” came the reply. “Management Support approved everything. Half the funds are ready.” (‘Ready’ in a way that wouldn’t raise too many questions, Yoon Young-woon knew.)

Yoon Young-woon was Managing Director Kim Jin-myung’s right-hand man, and bidding wars were his specialty. “Good. Scale?”

“About three times what we spent on the Seodaemun project.”

“Hmm. Enough?”

“More than enough. No one else will spend like Jeun. Don’t worry.”

“Alright.” Yoon Young-woon leaned back in his chair. Maybe even too much, he thought. But this project…

This wasn’t just another job. Cheongdam-dong. The first reconstruction there in a decade. The best location in the city. Winning this was about more than just profit; it was about prestige.

Imagine, Yoon Young-woon thought, our ‘Soo-kyung’ brand shining on top of those new apartments, overlooking the Han River. It would be seen by everyone in Seoul, a symbol of Myungseong’s success. And for Yoon Young-woon himself? This could be his ticket to the top.

“When do we start?” Team Leader Lee asked.

Yoon Young-woon glanced at the calendar. “Deadline first. December’s the month.”

“General meeting’s December 20th.”

“Perfect. Start… carefully… from the beginning of December.” ‘Start’ meant releasing the cash, of course. The carefully planned bribes to sway the residents. Yoon Young-woon knew the game inside and out. Don’t be too obvious. Make them feel like they deserve it. Make them feel… responsible.

He looked at the list of apartment owners – over a thousand names. Even with almost ten billion won, it felt like barely enough. Cheongdam-dong wasn’t cheap. Five million won per person? Some of these people won’t even blink at that. He needed to be smart. Target the ones who can be swayed. Hit them hard, with an offer they can’t refuse. That was Yoon Young-woon’s strategy: simple, but effective.

He’d spent all day planning, strategizing, barely stopping for breath. Then, just as he was about to leave for the night, his phone rang.

“Yes, Director?”

“Yes?! What did you say?” His voice rose sharply. “No lobbying? The Seonyeong Association?”

Apparently, the Association had sent out a notice: no lobbying, no sales pitches, nothing.

“But… President Kwak took our ‘expenses’ last week, didn’t he?!” Yoon Young-woon sputtered.

“He… returned it,” the voice on the phone said weakly.

Yoon Young-woon slammed the phone down. Panic flared. “Shit…”

Weeks of planning, sleepless nights, all based on the idea of… bribes. Completely useless now. Overturned.

“Clean contract?” he muttered, slamming his fist on the desk. “What the hell is a clean contract?!” This whole bidding war felt… twisted from the start.