A week passed quickly.
Every morning when he opened his eyes, Mr. Morgan’s proposal lingered in Lee Jun-hyuk’s mind.
The Cuba Sugarcane Plantation.
A 30% profit share.
At least one year of local residence.
Books borrowed from the Library were piled on his desk.
Introduction to Spanish Conversation
History and Culture of Cuba
Understanding Tropical Agriculture
He had studied everything he could for the past week.
Spanish was harder than he had imagined.
The pronunciation was completely different from English, and the verb conjugations… were incredibly complicated.
“Buenos días. Cómo está usted…?”
He practiced mumbling the phrases, but his tongue kept twisting awkwardly.
“Is this really going to work…?”
Yet, he couldn’t give up.
No, perhaps the decision had been made from the very beginning.
He just hadn’t had the confidence.
Knock knock.
The sound of someone knocking at the door came.
“Please come in.”
The door opened, and the Auntie Landlady stepped inside.
She held a few letters in her hand.
“Letters have arrived, student.”
“Thank you very much.”
He took the letters and checked them.
One was from the university.
Next semester’s tuition bill: $150.
“I have the money.”
Thanks to the $100 he had received, tuition wasn’t a worry for now.
But if he went to Cuba, he’d inevitably have to take a leave of absence.
The other letter was from an unfamiliar sender.
“Kim Young-soo.”
A Korean name.
He opened the letter.
<To Teacher Lee Jun-hyuk.
This is from Teacher Kim Bong-seok.
He told me you are a foreign student from our hometown.
I am Kim Young-soo, the eldest son of Teacher Kim Bong-seok.
My father told me to meet you once, so I am sending this letter.
I run a small trading store in Brooklyn.
Mainly, I import and sell Oriental Goods.
If you have time, please come visit.
Perhaps we can help each other, being from the same hometown.
The address is below.>
The son of Elder Kim Bong-seok.
He had become a merchant after his father became a doctor.
“A merchant, huh…”
Suddenly, a single image flashed through his mind.
If he produced sugar in Cuba, he would need to decide where to sell it.
Mr. Morgan had existing clients, but having an Oriental Network wouldn’t hurt.
The Auntie Landlady glanced around the room and spoke.
“But what have you been doing these days? You seem to be in your room all the time.”
“Oh, I’m studying.”
“Studying is good, but when you’re young, you should also get outside sometimes. Staying in your room all the time isn’t good for your health.”
Though it was nagging, there was a warm care beneath her words.
“Yes, I’ll be careful.”
After she left, silence returned to the room.
He looked out the window.
As December approached, the weather grew colder.
Frost sat thickly on the branches of the street trees.
“It’s about time to decide.”
Today marked exactly one week.
He couldn’t delay any longer.
He took out Mr. Morgan’s business card from the desk.
The address of the trading office supposedly operated by a man named Joka was written.
Broad Street.
Right next to Wall Street.
The heart of finance.
He placed a bet.
Yesterday, after drinking the herbal tonic that Elder Kim Bong-seok had brewed, his body felt noticeably lighter.
It was a herbal tonic mixed with ginseng and several medicinal ingredients, and it definitely seemed effective.
“Should I meet Kim Young-soo first?”
Brooklyn was closer than Manhattan.
Yes, follow the order.
Meet Kim Young-soo first, then go to Mr. Morgan’s office.
He took the streetcar toward Brooklyn.
Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge from Manhattan, the cold wind off the East River swept into the tram.
Passengers tightened their coat collars and hunched over.
Brooklyn had a different atmosphere from Manhattan.
Instead of towering buildings, rows of two- or three-story brick buildings lined the streets.
The streets were a bit quieter.
As a neighborhood with many immigrants, various signs in different languages were visible.
Kim Young-soo’s store was near Atlantic Avenue.
The sign was only in English, but the goods visible through the glass window were definitely Oriental.
Porcelain, silk cloth, and… ginseng?
He opened the door and entered.
Ding.
“Welcome.”
A man in his mid-thirties stood behind the counter.
He wore a neat suit and had an American-style haircut — an Oriental man.
“Are you Mr. Kim Young-soo?”
“Yes, that’s me. And you are?”
“I’m Lee Jun-hyuk. I came because of your letter.”
Kim Young-soo’s face brightened.
“Ah, Mr. Lee! Welcome. I’ve heard a lot about you from my father.”
They exchanged a firm handshake.
Kim Young-soo’s grip carried the strength unique to someone who had done business for a long time.
“Please come inside. Let me offer you some tea.”
He was led to a small office in the back of the store.
A map of the Korean Empire and a Taegukgi hung on the wall.
The longing for home was palpable.
“Please sit. Coffee, or tea?”
“Tea would be great.”
While Kim Young-soo prepared the tea, Lee Jun-hyuk looked around the office.
Various documents were scattered on the desk, among them shipping papers from a shipping company.
“Here you go.”
Kim Young-soo brought over the tea.
It was green tea with a strong aroma.
“My father said you’re a fine young man. A student at Columbia University?”
“Yes, I’m studying economics.”
“That’s impressive. I only finished high school before I started business.”
Kim Young-soo smiled.
“At first, I helped my father with his pharmacy business, importing medicinal herbs. But as time went on, I started handling other goods. Now I run this small trading company.”
“Is business going well?”
“It’s comfortable enough to live on. Surprisingly, many Americans are interested in Oriental Goods, especially tea, porcelain, and silk. They’re quite popular.”
He took a sip and then carefully asked,
“So, what are your plans after graduation? Will you return to your hometown?”
Lee Jun-hyuk hesitated for a moment.
Could he speak frankly?
“Actually… I’ve received a business proposal.”
“Oh? What kind of business?”
“Operating a sugarcane plantation in Cuba. An American investor offered it.”
Kim Young-soo’s eyes sparkled.
“Sugar business… that’s a good time. Since the war ended, demand has exploded.”
As expected, he was a businessman.
He understood market trends.
“Do you have a guaranteed buyer?”
“The investor says there are existing clients, but I don’t know the details yet.”
Kim Young-soo thought for a moment, then opened a drawer and took out a business card.
“I might be able to help. I also deal in food products. Mostly Oriental food, but basic raw materials like sugar are needed too.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And I know other merchants as well. Sugar is always in demand.”
Hope rose in Lee Jun-hyuk.
An immigrant network.
This could be a source of strength.
“Thank you. It’s not confirmed yet, but…”
“Oh, don’t mention it. We have to help each other as people from the same hometown. And…”
Kim Young-soo lowered his voice.
“To be honest, for people like us Asians to succeed big in America, we have to help each other. Whites never see us as the same level.”
It was a bitter truth embedded deep in their bones.
“That’s why my father always says we should unite with our compatriots. Look at the Chinese—they made Chinatown and help each other. We have to do the same.”
The conversation with Kim Young-soo lasted over an hour.
Not just about business, but about hometown memories, the difficulties of life in America, and hope.
Meeting a compatriot in the same situation was comforting.
“By the way, Mr. Lee.”
Before parting, Kim Young-soo asked,
“If you go to Cuba, please contact me. I know a shipping company that can offer cheaper freight rates.”
“Thank you very much.”
“And this too…”
Kim Young-soo pulled out a small notebook from the drawer.
“There are quite a few Chinese in Cuba. Mostly Chinese, but since they’re Asians, it’s somewhat similar to us. The person listed here runs a general store in Havana. If you need help, please visit.”
Lee Jun-hyuk was moved.
Though they had just met, he was willing to help so much.
“I really don’t know how to thank you…”
“Ah, don’t mention it. If you succeed later, treat me to a meal then.”
Kim Young-soo laughed heartily.
He left the store and noticed it was past 2 p.m.
Now he had to head to Manhattan.
To the trading office run by Joka.
He crossed the Brooklyn Bridge again.
This time on foot.
Partly to save the tram fare, but also to clear his mind.
The Manhattan skyline seen from the bridge was spectacular.
Even in 1918, dozens of skyscrapers pierced the sky.
Among them, the Woolworth Building stood out.
Over 60 floors tall.
A splendid Gothic-style exterior.
“I wonder how it feels to work in a place like that.”
Most likely, it was mostly white elites.
But someday—
“I’ll own buildings like that too.”
Though it sounded absurd, to someone who knew the future… it wasn’t impossible.
It took thirty minutes to cross the bridge.
The December-like cold wind blew hard.
His nose turned red and numb.
But his mood wasn’t bad.
He arrived at Broad Street.
Finding number 25 was easy.
A ten-story red brick building.
A bank occupied the first floor, and above were offices.
He entered the lobby.
The marble floor gleamed.
The ceiling was high and luxurious.
Certainly a high-class building.
“What is your business here?”
A uniformed guard approached.
Perhaps it was suspicious for an Asian to enter such a building.
“I’m here to see Morgan & Associates.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I came introduced by James Morgan.”
He showed his business card.
The guard’s attitude softened slightly.
“Seventh floor. The elevator is that way.”
“Thank you.”
He took the elevator.
Though it was an old-fashioned cage elevator with iron bars, it was state-of-the-art for the time.
The operator pulled the lever, and the car clattered upward.
He reached the seventh floor.
Walking down the hallway, he saw—
Gold-lettered on the glass door.
He knocked and entered.
“Welcome.”
A young female secretary greeted him with a smile.
Blonde hair, blue eyes.
A typical American beauty.
“How can I help you?”
“I was introduced by James Morgan. My name is Lee Jun-hyuk.”
“Ah, Mr. Lee, we’ve been expecting you. One moment please.”
The secretary went into an inner office and soon returned.
“He says to come in.”
The inner office was even more luxurious.
Through the large windows, Wall Street stretched below.
Maps of the world and various charts hung on the walls.
And behind the desk…
“Welcome, Lee.”
A man in his early forties stood, extending his hand.
He bore a strong resemblance to James Morgan.
Same blue eyes, same brown hair.
But much younger and full of vitality.
“I’m Thomas Morgan. Your cousin spoke highly of you.”
Thomas Morgan’s handshake was firm.
“Please sit. Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Thomas asked the secretary to bring coffee and sat down.
“Your cousin praised you highly. He said you’re young but perceptive.”
“That’s too kind.”
“It’s not kindness. He has an excellent eye for people. He’s worked in trading for 40 years and claims he’s never misjudged anyone.”
The coffee arrived.
The rich aroma filled the office.
Lee Jun-hyuk carefully took a sip.
“I’ll be direct.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“Are you going to take on the Cuba plantation business?”
Lee Jun-hyuk took a deep breath.
This was the conclusion he had reached after a week of contemplation.
“Yes, I will.”
A smile spread across Thomas’s face.
“A good decision. Your cousin will be pleased.”
He took some documents from the drawer.
“Let’s talk specifics. The contract terms are as your cousin stated. Investment of $3,000, profit split 70 to 30.”
“Yes.”
“The plantation purchase will be handled through my agent. The price is expected to be negotiated around $1,500. You will depart for Cuba in early January.”
Early January.
Just over a month away.
“How about accommodation in Cuba…?”
“That’s arranged too. Our company has lodging in Havana. You’ll stay there for the first few months to acclimate.”
Thomas unfolded a map.
It was a map of Cuba.
The plantation’s location was marked with a red dot.
“This is the plantation. About 50 miles east of Havana. Around a two-hour train ride.”
“Is transportation convenient?”
“It’s a thirty-minute wagon ride to the nearest train station. From there, a direct train to Havana runs twice a day.”
Not bad.
“What about local staff?”
“There’s currently one manager and about ten laborers. Mostly Black workers. The manager speaks some English, so even if they don’t know Spanish well, you can communicate through him at first.”
Thomas flipped through the documents, continuing his explanation.
Equipment status, expected yield, sales routes.
“Our company will purchase 70% of production. You’re free to find buyers for the remaining 30%, whether locally or elsewhere.”
“How about pricing?”
“It will fluctuate with market rates, but we guarantee fair prices. We also need high-quality sugar.”
Reasonable terms.
“And here’s an additional proposal…”
Thomas continued.
“If the first year’s results are good, we’re considering purchasing more plantations. Of course, we want you involved then as well.”
Lee Jun-hyuk’s heart raced.
This wasn’t just a one-time deal.
It could be the start of a long-term partnership.
“Any questions?”
“Hmm… are there any Asians locally?”
Thomas paused thoughtfully.
“There are quite a few Chinese. Mostly contract laborers who settled. Havana has Chinatown. Why do you ask?”
“Having fellow Asians around might be helpful.”
“That could be. Oh, and…”
Thomas seemed to recall something.
“Local Spanish landowners might be somewhat xenophobic, especially toward Asians. But don’t worry too much. If you show strength through business, they will eventually accept you.”
Lee Jun-hyuk nodded.
He had already resolved himself to this path.
“The contract will be prepared next week. Before that, your cousin will want to see you again to discuss details.”
“Yes, understood.”
“Oh, and this…”
Thomas handed over an envelope.
“It’s some preparation money. $200 inside. Use it for travel expenses. You’ll probably need new clothes and more Spanish books.”
“This is too much…”
“Take it. You’ll soon be our business partner, so this is only natural.”
Lee Jun-hyuk gratefully accepted the envelope.
Now it really was beginning.
As he left the office, the sun was setting.
The buildings of Wall Street were bathed in red twilight.
He had over $300 in his pocket.
Just a month ago, this was unimaginable.
“I can do this.”
1919 and 1920.
The years when sugar prices would reach historic highs.
And this was just the beginning.
His steps toward home felt lighter.
Tomorrow, the real preparations would begin.
Studying Spanish, tropical agriculture, and—
“I must thank Elder Kim Bong-seok as well.”
There were many people to be grateful for.
In this strange land, in this unfamiliar era, yet he was not alone.
That was happiness.