My Calling Is Profiler [EN]: Chapter 200

‘I think I’m starting to like this,’ I mused.

The reconstruction was projected to take a staggering 10 years. While such projects are known for their lengthy timelines, this seemed excessively long.

“But, Senior, will Jindo Group really back out of this? I don’t know much about regional development, but this seems like a guaranteed money-maker, right?” Lee Yeon-jung asked, concern etched on her face.

“Usually, they don’t give up. In fact, they can’t afford to,” I replied, a thoughtful expression on my face.

That was the crux of the problem. Jindo Group *would* inevitably pull out of the project, but I couldn’t quite recall the reason why.

“That’s why I called you. If it’s a problem significant enough to make a company withdraw, a lawyer would likely be in the know.”

Given the scale of the project, Jindo Group wouldn’t pull out over a minor issue.

It wasn’t a new city development, and it was obvious that any construction in the heart of Incheon would sell like hotcakes, especially a large-scale project involving two buildings.

“Um, first off, the most common reason is bribery, right?” Lee Yeon-jung suggested.

“I don’t think bribery alone would be enough. Frankly, there’s no way bribery *isn’t* involved in something like this,” I countered.

“That’s true.”

In the construction industry, bribery was practically common knowledge, a given. The reason construction often began as soon as support measures were announced was precisely because of that.

For example, if a K-pop promotion policy was introduced, where did the money go? Mostly into building so-called concert halls or related facilities.

In fact, one such concert hall was built as part of a future promotion policy, but it remained largely empty.

Of course.

Truly global-level idols would lose money performing there, and even less famous idols found the rental fees too expensive.

What was even more absurd was that there was more than one such venue.

There was one in Seoul, one in Bundang [a wealthy district in Seongnam], one in Gyeonggi Province, and even in the provinces. Concert halls dotted the country, but Park Do-joon had clearly seen them standing empty, devoid of actual performances.

Later, they might host other events, but even those were mostly short-term.

It wasn’t that the higher-ups were unaware of this. But constructing something made it easy to embezzle funds and showcase achievements for self-aggrandizement.

For example, a city in a province built a massive library to impress its citizens and tout it as an accomplishment, only for it to be declared unusable after just three years.

The reason? Libraries needed to be built much more sturdily to withstand the immense weight of the books, but they had skimped so much on materials that the building was at risk of collapsing after only three years.

If the deterioration accelerated so rapidly in just three years that it became unusable, it was safe to assume that more than half of the building’s construction cost had been embezzled.

‘And there’s no way the company would pocket that money alone.’

In other words, bribery was a passive factor, not a serious enough issue to warrant pulling out of the project.

“It’s not bribery. It’s something else.”

“Shoddy construction… that wouldn’t work either.”

“It wouldn’t.”

If they were going to make an issue of that, it would happen after the construction was somewhat complete. And for a company like Jindo Group, concealing shoddy construction was child’s play.

Jindo Group had the power to cover it up unless the building collapsed within a few years, crushing hundreds of people inside.

In fact, there were companies in Korea that had received national projects even after their buildings had collapsed and people had died.

“Well, other than that, they could cause a huge accident somewhere else, but even if they did, it would be hard to change things. Especially since it’s Jindo Group.”

Lee Yeon-jung nodded in agreement.

“No matter how I think about it, I don’t think they’ll leave voluntarily, will they?”

“Yeah. They will.”

They wouldn’t leave voluntarily. But they’d have no choice but to leave.

‘A 10-year reconstruction period, huh.’

I didn’t remember the exact incident, but the other memories were quite vivid. Exactly five years from now, Jindo Group would be stripped of its construction rights.

If Park Do-joon’s memory served him correctly, it was a lawsuit that went all the way to the third trial [the final appeal in the Korean legal system]. If I inferred the timing of the lawsuit, the problem occurred very early on, around now.

“Not bribery… then what else could it be…”

Park Do-joon scratched his head, seemingly stumped. At that moment, a commotion erupted in the distance.

“What’s going on?”

A crowd of people had gathered, some raising their voices.

“Cancel the reconstruction!”

“What are you canceling, you bastards!”

“Are you trying to kill us all!”

“No, what do you mean kill? How much will the land value increase if we rebuild here!”

“Land value? Land value? Are you kidding me? Where are we supposed to go then!”

Two groups were shouting at each other, glaring and pointing fingers.

“What is it?” Lee Yeon-jung asked, her brow furrowed.

“Well, looks like they’re fighting over the reconstruction issue.”

“Huh? Why? Isn’t it beneficial?”

“It’s not beneficial to everyone.”

Park Do-joon scratched his head.

“Everything has two sides.”

Park Do-joon took Lee Yeon-jung and moved away from the shouting crowd. Then, while sipping coffee at a small cafe, he roughly explained the situation.

“People living in poor neighborhoods can be divided into two categories: outsiders looking for reconstruction profits and long-term residents who can’t afford to leave.”

Extremely run-down neighborhoods would eventually have to be redeveloped.

Right now, old apartments in Seoul were worth billions of won [hundreds of thousands of US dollars] because of the expectation of reconstruction.

“This area is even more so. In fact, there’s been talk of reconstruction for a long time.”

Considering Incheon’s lack of housing and the increasingly dilapidated state of this area, reconstruction was inevitable, but the space available for it was limited.

“Still, it’s not hard to pinpoint the most likely areas.”

First of all, there aren’t many high-rise buildings, and the building value shouldn’t be recognized due to dilapidation, which makes reconstruction easier.

In particular, businesses are the most avoided areas because developers have to compensate for operating losses.

“But this place is exactly like that.”

A neighborhood with old houses and mostly four-story villas, except for a few buildings. Moreover, the printing alley had suffered damage from the last incident, and most of the businesses had already left.

“It’s no secret that outsiders come in and buy houses in places like this, hoping to profit from redevelopment.”

“I see what you mean. Money isn’t the same for everyone.”

“That’s the problem.”

In Seoul, a house costs billions of won, but in places like this, you can easily get an old villa for 200 to 300 million won [approximately $150,000 to $230,000 USD]. But that 200 to 300 million won is enough for some to set aside for the future, while for others, it’s an amount they can barely grasp even if they save their whole lives.

“When reconstruction starts, there are only two options.”

Agree or disagree. And the biggest influence on that decision is, of course, money.

“People with money will agree.”

They’re not living there anyway; they bought it for investment purposes, so they’ll live elsewhere, and reconstruction is an opportunity for them to increase their wealth.

“But the term ‘poor neighborhood’ means that there are people who are at the bottom here.”

So, when reconstruction happens, the people living there have two choices.

One is to pay the contribution and move into the newly built apartment.

The other is to receive cash compensation and leave.

“But in most cases, the cash compensation is a bit stingy.”

To make money from reconstruction, you have to choose to move in. And that apartment occupancy right is called a ‘ticket’ [the right to purchase a unit in the new development at a preferential price].

The problem is that if you get that apartment occupancy right, the so-called ‘ticket,’ you don’t get any cash compensation.

“The people who lived there before end up in a situation where they can’t go anywhere.”

They have to vacate their homes, but they have no money and nowhere to go.

“But don’t they get a little money for that?”

“They do provide some loans.”

Usually, they lend about 40% to 60% of the land price.

“The problem is, it’s still a loan.”

It’s money that you have to pay back eventually. Furthermore, even if you move in, you have to pay the contribution at that time. I don’t know how much that contribution will be, but it will be at least hundreds of millions of won.

“Poor people can’t afford the contribution, even if they somehow manage the loan.”

In the end, they can’t leave even if they want to.

“Can’t they sell that, what was it, that ticket?”

“Yes, they can sell it.”

To be precise, they can sell the house with a premium on the occupancy right.

“But it’ll be hard to move with that money. When reconstruction starts in an area, the market price around it skyrockets.”

“Because of the expectation that those surrounding areas might be redeveloped too?”

“No, because of the housing problem.”

Incheon already has a shortage of residential areas. But if two buildings are being redeveloped there, the people who lived there have to find homes nearby.

“It’s a kind of optical illusion. I told you before, right? Profiling needs to be included in policies.”

“You did.”

“This is like that. Because they don’t understand the psychology of the residents, they only come up with short-term policies.”

When they start reconstruction because there’s a shortage of houses, the surrounding real estate prices skyrocket. And the government makes a fuss to catch it. Then they say they’re going to build more houses like crazy.

“It’s a kind of illusion. No matter how many houses they build, it won’t be enough.”

But the moment it’s completed, the atmosphere changes. When occupancy begins and existing tenants start to leave, houses flood the market. People who lived in monthly rentals move in, and people who bought houses put them up for sale.

“And naturally, an unsold crisis breaks out.”

They don’t think about understanding that crowd psychology and just make a fuss that there’s a shortage of houses in the short term, so they build apartments recklessly, and of course, an unsold crisis breaks out in big cities.

“Of course, it’ll be resolved someday since it’s a big city.”

“I see what you mean.”

But often, it doesn’t get resolved.

“Anyway, people who have nowhere to go are against it.”

“Yeah. That’s a problem everywhere.”

Park Do-joon shrugged. Reconstruction without opposition? That was impossible.

“But at least they shouldn’t hurt people.”

At that moment, an old man spoke while bringing the ordered coffee. Because it was a small local coffee shop, it was run by an elderly person rather than a part-timer.

And the characteristic of these elderly people is that they are sociable.

“Excuse me?” I asked, surprised by his comment.

But at the words that people shouldn’t be hurt, Park Do-joon couldn’t help but look at the old man.

“Was someone hurt?”

“There’s a rumor.”

“A rumor?”

“There’s a student who used to come here often, but they moved.”

“And?”

“But her dad suddenly said he was moving to the countryside, sold everything, and moved.”

“To the countryside?”

“Yes, he quit his job too. But surprisingly, there are quite a few people like that.”

At those words, Park Do-joon’s eyes lit up. Because he had caught a clue in an unexpected place.