Lady Joker, Volume 1 by Kaoru Takamura (lightest ebook reader .txt) 📕

payment, the institution would typically resort to seizing collateral property, but now that collateral value had depreciated due to the fall of land prices, instead of settling accounts the institution would switch the loan over to their affiliated non-bank. In this way, over a hundred million yen the loaner-borrower relationship would be diversified or bypassed again and again without anyone chalking it up as a loss and it would continue to circulate until eventually someone took the fall.

A financial institution could not make money unless it loaned money. When times were flush, city banks funded credit unions and others with a few hundred billion yen, and in the case of Kowa Credit Union, where Koh worked, even now 40 percent of their deposits were tied in some way to city banks. In return, credit unions gave loans to corporations that were introduced to them by city banks, so that the city banks that made the original deposit were sure to profit through interest. Meanwhile the credit unions built up their figures by increasing the number of loans made with deposits from the city banks. In this way, from the outside it would seem that the calculations for credits and debits matched up in all the account books, but according to Koh it was only the numbers that matched up.

As Koh talked about all this, he seemed somehow removed from any sense of guilt—rather than seeming negligent, Monoi was once again reminded of Koh’s pervasive and utter indifference to society. This indifference coated all of Koh’s words like a tasteless and odorless poison, and Monoi suspected that the shadowy aura that Koh exhibited every Sunday also stemmed, in large part, from this cold-blooded indifference.

At any rate, Koh had said flatly that he wasn’t surprised by Monoi’s plan, but neither was Monoi surprised by his reaction. If Koh were the kind of person who tormented himself over the deceitfulness of financial institutions, Monoi would never have approached him with such an idea.

“Anyway, how’s your Kowa Credit Union doing these days?” Monoi asked.

“The city banks are starting to withdraw their deposits.”

“Oh?”

“So in order to fill those gaps, we are trying to round up large fixed deposits from the general public. We’re now offering four point two percent interest for a year-long fixed deposit of ten million yen or more. Double the interest of the city banks. That’s what yesterday’s meeting was about, too. Scatter the four point two percent bait, they said.”

“Four point two is pretty amazing.”

“After adding the acquisition cost to the official discount rate, we just barely make a profit at two point five. If we set the interest above that limit, we only go deeper in the red the more deposits we acquire. But they still want us to do it.”

After explaining all this, Koh handed Yo-chan two thousand-yen notes and asked him to go get some more beer, then slipped a Dunhill cigarette in his mouth. Since the first time Monoi met him, Koh’s brand of choice had always been Dunhill. His lighter was Cartier. Monoi knew the names of these foreign brands because of the wristwatches and handbags that his daughter Mitsuko wore. At first he had thought the name Cartier sounded like the Japanese for “minor wisdom,” which made him tilt his head quizzically, and then when he heard how much they cost he could only sigh. Despite Koh’s cloak of indifference, he clearly earned a comfortable salary. Monoi could only surmise—from the side of Koh that he was seeing tonight—that the man’s sense of guilt toward his clients and distaste for the kind of work he did were reaching a sort of haphazard accumulation.

“Anyway, about what I said on the phone yesterday . . .” Monoi started.

“I said I wasn’t surprised, but I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“This isn’t really the reason, but yesterday, my elder brother, who was about to turn seventy-nine, died at his nursing home.”

Monoi gave an equally concise and ambiguous explanation of his relationship with Seiji Okamura; how Seiji used to work for Hinode Beer; how he was forced to resign during the turbulent postwar years; and how after drifting from job to job, he finally died of dementia. All it amounted to, he said, was the story of a single, unfortunate life—nothing more.

Koh fiddled with the empty beer can on the desk to pass the time while he listened to Monoi, but spoke up as soon as he had finished. “The more determined the corporation, the greater the number of people they cast away, used up and discarded, in order to survive—that’s for sure,” he said. “That’s how they have so much capital saved up,” he added. “But Monoi-san, it’s not like you’re in need of money. Why would you want to extort a corporation?” he asked.

“All I can say is that my sixty-nine years’ worth of life has led me to this point,” Monoi replied, choosing his words. “The reason I approached you is because I wanted to hear the opinion of someone who is well versed in the financial affairs of a corporation. If you say it’s impossible, I’ll just have to reconsider.”

“When attacked on a matter that concerns their reputation and credibility—unless it’s an exorbitant amount—a company will generally pay up. I wouldn’t say it’s impossible.”

“How about Hinode Beer?”

“Hinode, hmm . . .” Koh said, and he stared for a little while at the smoke rising from the cigarette between his fingers. His expression looked as if he were calculating something in his mind. Then, he replied simply, “It’s not bad,” and tossed another handful of rice crackers into his mouth.

“What do you mean by not bad?” Monoi asked.

“The stock price of food and beverage companies fluctuates comparatively easily. Unlike the machinery or the metal industries, their business is directly connected to the consumer, so a threat packs an extra punch for them.”

Monoi tried to listen carefully, though he had a hard time imagining where Koh was coming from, and what he was talking about.