[The characters, places, organizations, events, and so on that appear in this work have no relation whatsoever to reality and are entirely fictional products of the author’s imagination.]
“Phew...”
‘This really is one hell of a family.’
Unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips, Henry skimmed through the documents. He let out a sigh, but his eyes were already greedily scanning the sheets, which seemed to be plastered with dollar signs. The list of inherited trust assets. And adorning that glorious first page was none other than real estate.
‘The world is wide, and there’s plenty of land to lease.’
Henry nodded in satisfaction as he compared the list with the map Bart had handed him that morning. As befitted a landowning family rooted in New York, land, mansions, and buildings came as standard options. But there was something else that made Henry’s heart pound the hardest.
Manhattan “Ground Leases.”
Henry was a commoner who had never bought so much as a pyeong of land off the coast of Incheon, let alone land in New York, but he knew this system very well. In the countless American chaebol novels he had devoured in his previous life, this was exactly what the protagonists used to rake in money—or what gave them endless headaches.
‘The landowner is separate, and the owner of the building on top of it is separate. This is the essence of New York-style landlocking.’
Hearing it like that, one might think, “What is this, the Chinese real estate market? Something like this exists in America?” But it did. In fact, Manhattan’s real estate market—the very heart of New York—ran on this bizarre system.
In Korea, they said building owners stood above even the Creator, but here in New York, “landowners” reigned above those building owners. The building had one owner, and the land beneath it had another. The essence of capitalism.
‘This is the final boss of getting paid for doing nothing.’
You never sell the land. Instead, you allow someone else to put up a building on top of it and collect rent for ninety-nine years. When the contract expires? A building worth tens of millions of dollars falls straight into the landowner’s hands. It wasn’t merely picking your nose while sitting down; it was a structure where, if you simply sat still, buildings came rolling in by the vine.
But as Henry checked the addresses written on the paper against the map, his brows twitched faintly.
‘Wait a minute. What the hell was wrong with my ancestors’ eye for property?’
There were a staggering forty-nine ground leases on the list. The number alone looked impressive, but the locations were the problem. As of 1979, these districts were, in a word, hopeless.
‘Twelve in Soho? Right now, that’s just an abandoned factory district where rats and poor artists wander around. Same with the Chelsea Hudson waterfront. Fifteen on the Upper West Side... Isn’t this basically a slum?’
The real spectacle was the ten markers stuck in Hell’s Kitchen. Just as the name suggested, it was a “kitchen of hell,” a high-crime area where you might have to stake your life just to go collect rent.
‘No, the three prime assets on Fifth Avenue and Park Avenue bring in five million dollars a year, but the other forty-six combined only make five hundred thousand?’
Some areas were even operating at a loss, with taxes exceeding revenue. It was the result of the previous family head clinging to them without selling, all in the name of honor.
‘Our ancestors must have been so merciful. They were practically philanthropists, weren’t they?’
Muttering to himself as he scratched the back of his head, Henry shifted his gaze. Since ground leases would turn into gold if left to mature, he decided to “keep” them for risk management purposes.
‘Ha, the buildings are stuck in Hell’s Kitchen? I’ll treat those as ghosts for now... Next up are the hotels.’
The hotel list he turned to with anticipation was even more of a spectacle. These weren’t businesses; they were herds of hippos devouring the family’s money.
“The Davenzer Ridge” at the entrance of Central Park was eating up all its profits with maintenance costs for its decrepit exterior, and “The Old Port Inn” in Lower Manhattan, said to be the family’s roots, was in even worse shape.
‘All they’ve got is dockworkers and retired soldiers drinking in the first-floor pub? They’ve been throwing away a hundred thousand dollars in cold hard cash every year just to preserve honor. Is this a hotel or a senior center?’
The highlight was “The Davenzer Astor” on Madison Avenue. A massive thousand-room hotel that occupied an entire block. But not even half the rooms were functioning properly. Last year alone, two million dollars had evaporated into maintenance and labor costs. There were several other buildings as well, but he couldn’t get a feel for them just from their locations, and above all, considering the current economic situation and the “hell” coming next year, the outlook was bleak.
‘Prices are going crazy, oil is punching through the ceiling, and next year interest rates will soar to twenty percent. The spicy flavor of Brother Paul Volcker I used to read about in novels is about to begin! In a recession like this, who’s going to stay in hotels, and who’s going to buy houses? Real estate is a hold for now.’
Henry turned the page without regret. Next was the bond portfolio, said to be the pride of the family. It seemed to have been managed in an extremely conservative manner, but to Henry’s eyes, it was nothing more than a rotten lifeline.
Forty million dollars in thirty-year U.S. Treasury bonds purchased in the 1950s and 1960s.
Thirty million dollars in New York City fiscal crisis relief bonds.
Ten million dollars in blue-chip corporate bonds like GI (General Industry).
As Henry scanned the list, his gaze sharpened.
‘These can’t be converted into cash right away, can they?’
The lifeblood of bonds was liquidity. But in an age of high inflation, with market interest rates already surpassing twelve percent, old four-percent Treasuries were no better than scraps of paper. The moment he put them on the market, it was obvious he wouldn’t even recover half their face value. At least the “New York City relief bonds” with a 9.5% interest rate could fetch a proper price, but those posed an even bigger problem.
As the name suggested, they were bonds issued because New York City was going under and needed people to lend it money. Selling them would be interpreted and conveyed as a signal that said, “Whether New York City collapses or not isn’t my problem.”
‘The moment I sell these, it’ll be plastered across the front page of The New York Times. If I get branded as a traitor to New York, business in this town is over.’
For Henry, a safety-first man, social suicide was unthinkable. If anything, for the image of a prestigious family taking the lead, he ought to buy up even more bonds. New York wasn’t going to collapse anyway, and the bonds being issued now paid eleven percent interest, steadily every quarter. They were tax-exempt, high-yield products free from federal, state, and city taxes.
‘In the end, the only thing I can touch are the corporate bonds, and even those I’d have to sell at a twenty percent loss. Shit. I thought this was a diamond spoon, but there are rusty copper chopsticks mixed in.’
Henry rubbed his stiff neck. Wondering if the stocks would be the same, he flipped the page casually—only for his eyes to widen as if they were about to pop out. The stock list was only a single page, but its destructive power was greater than all the real estate that had come before it combined.
“What? The Time?! The Times?! No, I need an explanation for this.”
Henry immediately pressed the silver button on the desk to summon Bart. Then he fixed his gaze on the list that had shocked him.
[Shares Held]
69% stake in the American magazine The Time
6% in Konic Corporation
1.2% in Cheit Manhattan Bank
[Pending Acquisition]
100% stake in Britain’s The Times Group
‘This is insane. Three million dollars in bearer bonds among the trust assets was cute by comparison. The board was this big?’
Beyond mere wealth, he held in his hands the key to a media empire that could sway public opinion. The list that followed consisted of various positions and memberships. Permanent director of the Old Guard Club, lifetime member of the Liberty Society, director of the Saint Mark Hospital Foundation......
Every last one was either a place where only those at the pinnacle of New York high society could put their names, or a membership to some social circle. They were the sort of social events he felt he had heard of at least once even in his previous life. He knew these things were extremely important in America, but thinking that he had to do all of them also left him feeling overwhelmed. And so Henry’s calculator ran coldly.
‘They say new wine should be put into new wineskins. I’ll discuss it and cut away everything useless. Even if I only keep the important honorary positions, won’t the upkeep alone cost over ten million dollars a year? With things like volunteering and donating, donating again at auctions, donating to hospitals too. Donating while throwing parties. They’re just positions built entirely out of donations, aren’t they?’
Henry was safety-first, but he valued efficiency just as much. To him, honor without substance was nothing more than expensive trash. Just as he made up his mind to immediately sort out everything that did not help the family’s standing, a restrained knock sounded, and Bart appeared carrying a silver tray.
“I thought you might be looking for coffee, so I brought some. Do you require anything else?”
“Ah, thank you. Sit here for a moment, Bart. I was looking over the assets, and there are some parts I don’t understand. Since when did our family become a media giant?”
With an expression that seemed to say, “You are only asking that now?” Bart calmly opened his mouth.
“You must have had no time to spare while devoting yourself to your studies. It was in ’67. After Henry Lucas passed away, acquiring The Time from the Lucas family, who had no will to continue operating it, was an event that shook America. Madam wished to create a dual-class voting structure, like the Selzberg family of The New York Time on her maternal side, and make it Davenzer’s eternal family business. Until recently, she had raised the stake to 69%, but the Fed’s interest rate hikes have temporarily halted the process.”
‘No... Why doesn’t this body have memories of this? He really was crazy.’
“I was too indifferent to the family. Then what about this British daily newspaper pending acquisition, The Times Group?”
“That, too, is part of Madam’s legacy. In exchange for obtaining the cooperation of the British government, she promised to assume its debts and the union’s retirement liabilities, then completed a verbal agreement with the Toms family to acquire it for the symbolic price of ‘one pound.’ The working-level staff is currently conducting due diligence, and the final signing must take place soon.”
Henry’s brow furrowed. One pound? There was no such thing as free in this world. Behind a price tag of one pound, a black swamp of debt was sure to be lying in wait. Deciding that he could not rely solely on this body’s fragmented memories, Henry squeezed his eyes shut and chose to score an “own goal.” The moment he said this, work documents would undoubtedly pile up like mad, but if he truly wanted to take control of the family, there was no helping it.
“The scale of the debt, the contents of the British government’s guarantees, even the union issues. I know nothing. Bart, prepare a report at once. I want to know everything, from the two magazines and the newspaper, down to the wages of our family’s household staff and every single tax notice. Ah, how much do we owe in loans?”
“I will prepare it before lunch. Fortunately, the former family head strictly limited borrowing in preparation for high interest rates, so there is no direct financial debt. However, if we acquire Britain’s The Times, we will assume their debts in exchange for receiving exceptionally low-interest loans from the British government.”
Henry nodded. For now, the fact that there was no “household debt,” the worst possible risk, earned a passing grade.
“Good. Let’s review the report and speak again. And starting tomorrow, I’ll begin interviews. Schedule them beginning with the family advisers, then internal personnel, and gradually moving outward to outside figures. Once the interviews are finished, I’ll hold a full family meeting, so prepare for that.”
“Understood.”
Only after Bart left did Henry take a sip of the coffee that had been prepared and catch his breath.
‘Whew, thankfully there’s no debt.’
He felt he finally understood why the previous family head had been so wary of interest rates, stopping hotel investments and obsessing over bonds. Though they were now decrepit headaches of hotels, Henry’s mind was already drawing up a splendid blueprint for their future.
‘Once I secure a funding source, I’ll tear them all down and rebuild them. Renovating them in a modern style and growing them into a global hotel chain will only be a matter of time. I’ll have Halton and Marriott lining up beneath me too. In about thirty years.’
But before that, he had mountains of homework to do. Now that he sat in the position of family head, he had to understand the people first. In his previous life, he had been nothing more than a low-level assistant manager, but he knew these basic principles to the bone. The numbers on paper and the voices on the ground were always different.
‘The owner has changed to me, so I need to meet everyone face-to-face and hear the secret stories that don’t appear in the reports. After that, I’ll change the family’s operating methods completely to suit my style. Since the internal personnel investigation I ordered Joshua to do is finished, I should look through that secret report first.’
Henry’s gaze returned to the pending acquisition documents on the desk. Even when he searched through the memories of his previous life, all he knew about The Times was fragmentary information from novels, that some magnate had acquired it and done well. But looking at the Davenzer family’s current portfolio, the answer was clear.
‘The Time in America, The Times in Britain. My maternal family is the landowning family of The New York Time...’
At this point, it was beyond heaven pushing him in the back and telling him to enter the media business. It had set the table for him outright. At this moment, with 1980 just ahead, taking hold of the public’s eyes and ears was the surest way to manage risk and stand at the peak.
‘The most explosive media in this era...’
Henry propped up his chin and spent the remaining scraps of time drawing up a plan for success in his head.