The day before, the fellow teachers at her school were gossiping in the faculty lounge about the latest batch of arrests. Jade usually stayed out of these conversations. The others were well-born women who had studied piano and ballet in England, France, and America. Jade knew that they sometimes mixed in foreign phrases so that she wouldn’t understand what they were saying.
“Five assemblymen, on charges of communism and espionage. One has even been accused of being sent by Kim Il-Sung to assassinate the president . . .” The piano teacher arched her eyebrows, folding the newspaper in half. Ever since a North Korean spy had crossed the border and made his way to the Blue House a few years back, even longtime politicians were being exposed as impostors and secret agents.
“But I doubt that it’s true. How many more people have to be arrested before this stops?” she finished under her breath.
“You shouldn’t say that,” the ballet teacher whispered, looking anxiously over her shoulder at Jade. “At any rate, one of them was definitely a member of the Communist Party back in the colonial period—this Nam JungHo fellow.”
“What did you say?” Jade blurted out loud from her corner, and the piano teacher passed her the newspaper.
“Anyone you know?” the ballet teacher asked, folding her arms below her chest and feigning kindness.
“No, not really,” Jade said. She merely glanced at the paper and put it down. But all the strength was drained out of her body, and she exerted the entire force of her will to appearing normal the rest of the day.
As soon as she got home, she undressed and lay under the covers. She hadn’t heard from JungHo since they had brought Lotus home together. She had thanked him warmly and asked him to come to dinner, and he had declined with cool politeness. After that, he never again showed up to check on her. It was clear that he no longer wanted anything to do with Jade. Yet, he had been her truest friend over the years. He’d saved her life more than once, and in more ways than one.
Jade only knew one way she could save JungHo now. She would have to ask help from the most powerful person still connected to her—she’d have to talk to him. As the sun warmed the frozen courtyard, she was remembering how she’d told him long ago that she believed in his success before anyone else. She hated herself for having been so naive and good-intentioned; she hated life for proving her right.
*
AROUND NOON, HANCHOL DROVE BACK to the office in Seoul and had a quick lunch. He asked his chief of staff about the itinerary of his upcoming business trips to Hong Kong, Bangkok, and London. Then it was time to look over bank documents. While he was cross-checking the statements to the bookkeeping, the chief of staff poked his head in and announced that the reporter had arrived.
HanChol raised his head from the files and was mildly surprised to see that the reporter was a woman. She had short, poofy hair and her small lips were painted a very pale beige. Below a tan turtleneck sweater, she was wearing red wide-legged trousers.
“Please, have a seat.” HanChol showed her to the sofa, and sank down on his own club chair across from a glass-topped coffee table. The reporter sat, crossed her legs, and laid her notepad on her lap.
“So, Chairman Kim, it’s an honor to meet you in person,” she said, blushing slightly across her rather pointy nose. “I studied your companies in my economics class in college.”
“That makes me feel old.” HanChol smiled.
“Oh no, that’s not what I meant.” The reporter opened her eyes wide. “I’m excited to hear about how you made this happen in such a short time. To rise out of the destruction of the Korean War and actually become even more successful . . . And creating the first-ever automobile manufacturing company in Korea. Have you always known that this is what you wanted to do?”
“Yes, I would say so.” HanChol cocked his head thoughtfully. “When I was in my teens, I worked as a rickshaw driver to pay my school fees. Then I moved on to working at a bike repair shop in my twenties. Even then, I knew I could figure out how cars work and how they’re put together. No one would have believed me then. But life has a way of working out if you just believe in yourself.”
“That’s incredible,” the reporter gushed. “So, it’s about vision, it’s about confidence.”
HanChol nodded, brushing his hair back from his forehead. He still had a full head of hair, only it was more white than black.
“My next question is, how can someone have confidence? It seems like some people are simply born with a stronger sense of self-esteem, doesn’t it? Were you always so sure of your own abilities?”