Chapter 46: Greetings

9 p.m.

The office was empty.

All the noise and heat of the day had faded, leaving only a cold silence hovering in the space.

A faint mix of dust, cooled coffee, and the stale scent of old paper lingered in the air.

Lee Jun-hyuk sat alone within the circle of light cast by the desk lamp, sorting through the last of his paperwork.

It was the order form, bearing the blood and sweat of the day.

He picked up the thin sheet and traced the numbers with his finger once more.

Making a mistake with numbers was an error he could never allow—not in his past life, nor in this one.

Heungseong Store, 50 cans.

Taeguk Store, 100 cans.

Other small stores, 230 cans.

A total of 380 cans.

His lips moved silently.

‘Three hundred eighty.’ Compared to the multimillion- or tens-of-millions-dollar contracts he used to handle in his past life, it was a mere speck of a number.

But strangely, the number 380 now felt heavier and far more real.

It pressed on his heart with a pleasant weight.

Then it happened.

Trrrring.

The sharp ring of the telephone cut through the office’s quiet like a blade.

Lee Jun-hyuk’s shoulders jumped involuntarily.

Who could it be at this hour?

Did something happen at the factory?

A chill of foreboding ran down his spine.

He swallowed dryly and slowly reached out his hand.

The cold, solid feel of the Bakelite receiver transferred to his palm.

“Hello?”

“Lee Jun-hyuk. This is George Howard.”

Vice President of Standard Oil. Director of American Sugar Trading Company.

“H-Hello, Mr. Howard. Good evening.”

“Sorry to call at such a late hour. Are you busy?”

Even through the phone, George’s voice carried its characteristic gentleness and authority.

Like a well-aged whiskey, yet there was steel hidden beneath the softness.

“No, sir. I was just finishing up.”

“Good, good.”

Though George’s voice carried a faint hint of laughter, Lee Jun-hyuk did not miss the serious undercurrent behind it.

This wasn’t a simple call to say hello.

“I heard La Choy had its first production run?”

As expected. The information flows fast.

The board members were connected by invisible threads.

“Yes. We produced 500 cans yesterday.”

“How were sales today?”

“We received orders for 380 cans.”

“Oh-ho, that’s impressive for the first day!”

George sounded genuinely impressed.

“William passed along the news. Said you ran all over Chinatown from morning to night until your feet were sore.”

William Vanderbilt.

His mouth was as quick as New York’s social circles.

“I worked hard today.”

“That’s business. You have to hustle.”

George let out a low chuckle.

“Is the Radio Station proceeding smoothly?”

“Yes. We’ll launch a new schedule starting April 1st.”

“21,000 Dollars… That was a bold investment.”

It was. When he’d said in the emergency board meeting that he’d pour that much money into a deficit-running station, everyone had been shocked.

“But you know, Lee Jun-hyuk…”

George’s tone subtly shifted.

It was a signal—a transition from public to private conversation.

“Do you know of any good investment opportunities? Didn’t we agree to share good tips if we found any in the board?”

That’s right.

They’d made that promise.

“Of course. I remember.”

Lee Jun-hyuk paused to think. March 1920. Stocks were rising nonstop, real estate was hot. Everyone dreamed of getting rich. But to someone who knew how it all would end…

“To be honest, it’s a bit of a tricky time right now.”

“Tricky?”

“Yes. The market is being reorganized after the war. There’s a lot of bubble.”

George sounded interested.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Tangible assets seem to be the answer. Especially in new industries.”

“New industries?”

“Radio has already started. Automobiles, electricity, and…”

He intentionally trailed off.

“And?”

“Aviation is also worth watching.”

“Aviation? Isn’t that a bit too early?”

“In ten years, it’ll explode. Of course, that’s just my personal opinion.”

“Interesting perspective.”

George fell silent for a moment.

Over the phone, there was a faint scratching sound—his fountain pen marking paper.

“By the way…”

George spoke again.

“Lately, I’ve had some strange investment proposals from Boston…”

Lee Jun-hyuk’s ears perked up. Boston? No way.

“What sort of investment?”

“Something called Securities Exchange Company. They say they use international postal coupons.”

His heart plummeted to the floor.

Charles Ponzi.

A name he’d only seen in dead type in history books now struck him in the living world.

All the blood in his body felt like it had turned to ice.

“They claim to guarantee 50% profit in 45 days.”

George’s voice was full of skepticism.

“What do you think?”

Lee Jun-hyuk drew a deep breath.

How should he answer this?

If he opposed too strongly, George might suspect how he knew.

“That one?”

He deliberately hesitated.

“If it looks too good to be true, it’s usually a trap, isn’t it?”

“Ha ha!!”

George laughed heartily.

“I thought so, too. I knew you’d say that.”

A wave of relief washed over him.

“Fifty percent in 45 days—if that were possible, why would any of us work so hard?”

“Exactly. It doesn’t make sense.”

“But you know…”

George’s voice dropped.

“Apparently there are people who have actually received money. That’s why it’s tempting.”

“Ah…”

Lee Jun-hyuk spoke carefully.

“For early investors, they probably do pay as promised. They need to build trust.”

“And then?”

“Isn’t it likely they use new investors’ money to pay the earlier ones? In the end, it’s bound to collapse.”

“Hmm… That’s a precise analysis. I suspected as much, too. The problem is when it’ll fall apart.”

George was right.

It was all about timing.

Right now, Ponzi was the hottest name in Boston.

Money was pouring in like clouds.

But by the end of this year at the latest, it would burst.

“You should be careful.”

Lee Jun-hyuk advised cautiously.

“I’ve already decided. I’ll turn it down. Hearing your opinion makes me even more certain.”

George said firmly.

“A wise decision.”

“Frank’s against it, too. He said, ‘The idea that money makes more money is a fantasy.’”

Frank Gould. As always, his animal-like sense for the scent of money was razor-sharp.

“Are any of the other board members interested?”

“Fortunately, no. They all thought it sounded suspicious.”

Thank goodness.

If any of them invested with Ponzi and lost money, the trouble might end up on his own doorstep.

“Oh, and… you should be careful, too. There are lots of shady investment offers going around lately. Especially as an Oriental, you might run into scammers who try to take you lightly.”

There was no perfunctory formality in his concern. It felt genuine.

“Thank you. I’ll be careful.”

“Good. And…”

George paused for a moment.

“Frank often talks about you.”

Frank does?

That was unexpected.

He’d been the most difficult person in the board to please.

“Yes. ‘That Oriental youth is different,’ he said. Frank rarely acknowledges people like that.”

Lee Jun-hyuk didn’t know how to respond, so he just stayed silent.

“You’re too modest.”

“It’s not modesty. You’re recognized because you’re capable.”

George paused, then added,

“You said you’re twenty-seven?”

“Yes.”

“Amazing, at your age. At that age, I was still working for my father.”

So even George Howard had humble beginnings. Every giant had to start somewhere.

“Your father must have taught you well.”

“He did. He was a strict man.”

There was a distant hint of reminiscence in George’s voice.

“What kind of person is your father?”

It was a sudden question, but it didn’t feel rude. If anything, it felt like a sign their relationship was deepening.

“He’s a farmer in Pyongyang.”

“Farming… That’s a good profession. Honest work.”

“Yes. He sold five cows to pay for my school fees.”

“Oh…”

George let out a low sigh.

“That must have been a big decision. For a farmer, a cow is everything.”

“That’s why I have to work even harder.”

“Right. You must never forget your parents’ sacrifice.”

A brief silence followed.

But it wasn’t awkward.

If anything, it was comfortable.

The quiet that flows between people who understand each other.

“Anyway… I enjoyed our call tonight. I got to hear your thoughts.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Let’s keep sharing good information with each other.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I won’t keep you. Sorry to bother you so late.”

“Not at all. Call me anytime.”

Click. The call ended.

Lee Jun-hyuk slowly set the receiver down.

He let out a long sigh.

He must have been tense.

A call with George Howard.

He still felt a bit of pressure when dealing with him.

But tonight felt different.

They’d talked about more than just business—even personal matters. Even about his father.

“Are we building a real relationship?”

It felt like something more human was growing, beyond just an investor and a 060.

He checked the time.

9:30 p.m.

It really was time to go.

He finished sorting the papers on his desk.

The order forms went into the heavy safe, the Pyongyang Letter into the deep inside pocket of his coat.

He glanced around the office.

In the daytime, it was bustling with employees, but now it was silent and empty. Only ownerless desks stood in the dark.

“Tomorrow will be even busier.”

He had to deliver 380 cans, prepare for more production, and develop new clients.

There was a mountain of work ahead.

Lee Jun-hyuk stood and reached for the light switch.

Click.

Darkness settled over the room.

He locked the door and stepped into the hallway.

The hallway was pitch black.

His shoes echoed especially loudly in the empty space.

When you’re alone, every sound seems bigger.

He stood by the elevator and pressed the old brass button.

From upstairs, he heard the elevator coming down.

Creak, groooan.

The wires screeched like they were in pain.

“I need to mention this to the landlord.”

That kind of noise could be a warning sign.

Thunk.

With a dull sound, the door opened.

He pushed aside the latticework iron gate and stepped in. The musty scent of oil wafted over him.

When he pressed the button for the first floor, the elevator rattled and slowly began its descent.

Fourth floor, third, second—the dim hallways on each level flashed by through the little window.

First floor.

The door opened, and he stepped into the lobby.

The night watchman was dozing in a rattan chair.

His head slumped forward, chest rising and falling steadily.

“Should I wake him, or not…”

After a brief thought, he decided to slip out quietly.

He must’ve had a hard day. Lee Jun-hyuk muted his footsteps as he headed for the entrance.

At that moment—

“Mmm…”

The guard stirred and opened his eyes.

“Ah, Mr. Lee!”

He jolted upright in surprise.

“Sorry, I must have dozed off for a moment.”

“It’s all right. It’s late, after all.”

Lee Jun-hyuk smiled.

“Heading home now? It’s already half past nine. You worked late again tonight.”

“There was a lot to do.”

“You should, when you’re young. Work hard, earn hard. Be careful out there. I hear the streets are dangerous these days.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Especially be cautious around Chinatown. They say another war has started over there.”

The Ting War.

Chinatown gangs, locked in a bloody turf war.

“I understand. I’ll be careful.”

He stepped outside the building.

Late March in New York. It was fully spring by day, but at night winter still lingered at the edges.

A chill wind slapped his face.

The tip of his nose stung.

As he breathed out, a cloud of white formed.

Lee Jun-hyuk raised the collar of his coat.

A scarf would’ve been nice.

“Oh, right.”

He’d lent it to Catherine last Friday.

It had been a rainy day. She’d looked cold, so without thinking, he’d taken off his scarf and handed it over.

“If you do this, you’ll be cold, Jun-hyuk.”

“It’s fine. My heart’s warm.”

What a sappy thing to say.

Thinking about it now made his face burn.

But she had laughed.

“You’re clever, aren’t you?”

“?

“If you want your scarf back, you’ll have to see me again.”

Then it hit him.

Ah, that’s what she meant.

She’d given him an excuse to see her again.

A smile crept across his lips.

He was already looking forward to next Friday.

He stepped out onto the street.

9:30 p.m. on Fifth Avenue.

The energy of the day had faded, and night’s calm was settling in. Still, the streets weren’t fully asleep.

Couples coming out from late dinners,

Drunks stumbling out of bars.

“Prohibition’s meaningless here.”

The smell of alcohol was everywhere.

Speakeasies were thriving.

The police, the citizens, the politicians—everyone knew, everyone pretended not to.

He looked for a carriage but saw none.

At this hour, finding an empty carriage was like picking stars from the sky.

“Guess I’ll walk.”

Twenty minutes to the hotel.

It would be good exercise.

He started walking.

Tap, tap, tap. The sound of his shoes on the pavement set a rhythm.

As he walked, his body warmed up.

Most of the shops were closed, and only mannequins remained in the window displays under the streetlights.

He passed a jewelry store. Something sparkled in the display. A diamond necklace. The price tag read $3,500.

“That’s expensive.”

It was two years’ salary for an average worker.

But… he stopped walking.

He stood before the window.

A platinum chain with a teardrop diamond. Simple, yet elegant.

“Catherine would look good in that…”

He imagined it.

A sparkling diamond on her white neck. It would suit her.

Lee Jun-hyuk quickly shook his head.

“Am I crazy?”

They weren’t even at that stage yet. Giving her a necklace as a gift?

She’d definitely feel burdened.

But was it really too much?

They met every Friday, waited for each other, and she had said herself, “I’ll wait as long as it takes.” He put his hand in his pocket.

His fingers found the Pyongyang Letter.

“I should write to my family first.”

Reason returned.

The business was only just getting started, and he had to go to Pyongyang in December. Lee Jun-hyuk began walking again.

How many more blocks did he pass?

Delmonico’s Restaurant appeared.

His steps slowed on their own.

Red brick building, arched windows, gilded signboard.

Once, the very name had meant the best in New York.

He peered through the window.

It was empty. No—there was an elderly couple in one corner, a middle-aged man alone by the window.

That was it.

On the empty tables covered in white cloths, the silverware lay neatly arranged.

The old waiter, with nothing to do, stared blankly outside. His eyes met Lee Jun-hyuk’s.

The waiter gave a faint smile and a slight bow. Lee Jun-hyuk bowed back.

“He must know too.”

The fate of this restaurant. What’s the point of French cuisine without wine?

He noticed the menu board by the entrance.

Lobster Thermidor – $15

Filet Mignon – $12

Duck Confit – $10

Several times a typical worker’s weekly pay.

A price beyond the dreams of commoners.

“Even lowering the price wouldn’t help.”

The pride of Delmonico’s.

Eighty-six years of tradition. They’d insist on top quality till the end, then close their doors.

In 1923.

“Three years from now…”

He looked up at the building.

Five stories. The location was perfect, and the building looked sturdy.

“If I buy the restaurant then…”

No.

He shook his head.

Not something to think about now.

La Choy, the Radio Station—so much to do.

He hurried his steps.

Just then, his feet started to hurt.

The new shoes he’d bought last week.

– Italian handmade shoes. Finest leather.

The shop clerk had boasted.

Now, that finest leather was pinching his feet. Especially his right heel, which chafed with every step.

“Hang in there.”

Not much farther to the hotel.

He tried not to limp, but the pain was too much.

He felt something wet inside his sock.

“Am I bleeding?”

He worried, but he couldn’t take off his shoes in the street.

“Tomorrow, I’ll wear comfortable shoes.”

No—tomorrow was a factory day, so he could wear work boots. But he’d also be meeting new clients in the afternoon. First impressions mattered…

“Ugh, so complicated.”

Did running a business mean fussing over even things like this? In his previous life, he just did as he was told from above. Now, every little decision was his own.

Even for shoes, clothes—especially with the handicap of being Asian.

“Maybe I should just go barefoot…”

A memory from his previous life flashed by.

The East Sea, when the orphanage kids all went together. His first time seeing the ocean. He walked barefoot on the sand.

The cold waves crept between his toes.

He hadn’t needed shoes then.

“No, I was lonely then, too.”

Other children played in groups.

Lee Jun-hyuk just watched the waves alone. No parents to brag to when he got home, no family to take his picture.

This life is different.

He has family in Pyongyang.

People waiting for him.

His hand found the letter in his pocket again.

“Soo-yeon…”

A little sister he’s never even seen. Still, he missed her.

In the distance, the hotel came into view.

Plaza Hotel.

Its bright lights lit up the night.

The doorman opened the door for him.

“Good evening, Mr. Lee.”

“Thank you.”

He stepped into the lobby, and the warm air wrapped around him.

His feet hurt even more now.

Maybe it was just the tension letting go.

He took the elevator up to his room.

“I need to sleep.”

Tomorrow will be an even busier day.