Rebirth in Japan: The Heiress Who Conquered the World

November 7, 1990. Wednesday.

Osaka, Sumitomo Bank Osaka Main Branch. Financing Department.

Deputy General Manager Ueba discovered an abnormality at 9:18 AM.

The method of discovery was primitive—he made a phone call.

As the deputy manager, he would call each processing window in the department between 9:00 and 9:30 AM to confirm the list of letters of credit in transit that needed review this week.

This habit had continued since the day he was promoted to deputy manager, and the clerks at each window were familiar with this timing—around 9:15, Deputy General Manager Ueba’s extension would ring.

Today, when the call reached the fourth window, the voice of the clerk handling the Sumitomo Chemical account hesitated for a second.

”The Sumitomo Chemical case... No. CT-90118, the technical review rejection notice from last Friday has already been sent out.”

”What about the supplementary documents?”

”...None received.”

Deputy General Manager Ueba’s hand tightened on the receiver.

”What do you mean, none received?”

”The other party did not call to ask about the supplementary document requirements.” The clerk’s voice held a hint of confusion. ”Every time there was a rejection before, Ms. Fujiwara would call the next day to confirm. This time... it has been a week, and there has been no movement.”

Deputy General Manager Ueba hung up the phone.

He sat in his chair, staring at the calendar on his desk for about fifteen seconds.

The desk calendar was turned to the first week of November, with the small characters ”Frost Moon” printed in the top right corner.

Then he stood up and walked to the window.

The Financing Department of the Osaka Main Branch was on the sixth floor.

The window faced south, offering a view of the canopy line of Nakanoshima.

The sycamores in November had almost lost all their leaves; the branches were sparse, looking like cracks drawn casually with charcoal on a gray-white sky.

No supplementary documents.

What did this mean?

If they were abandoning this transaction, Murata would have sent a formal cancellation letter through official channels.

That was the procedure; the Business Planning Section of Sumitomo Chemical could not possibly not understand that.

But there were neither supplementary documents nor a cancellation.

That meant they did not intend to go down this path anymore.

Deputy General Manager Ueba felt a chill on the back of his neck.

He turned, walked to the filing cabinet, opened the second drawer, and pulled out the thin folder labeled ”Saionji Trading · Osaka.”

Inside were only two pages—a summary Yasui had delivered personally in mid-October, containing the address, the person in charge’s name, and registration information.

He picked up the receiver again and dialed another number.

The person who answered was silent for a long time.

Deputy General Manager Ueba could hear the sound of the other person’s fingers tapping on the desk, very light and very rhythmic.

”Confirm it.” Yasui’s voice was very low. ”On the Sumitomo Chemical side, has Murata had any contact with other issuing banks recently?”

”I have already sent someone to investigate.” Deputy General Manager Ueba said.

”Do not investigate.” Yasui said. ”Ask. Ask the counterpart supervisor at Sumitomo Chemical’s Business Planning Section directly if they have had any document exchanges with financial institutions in Tokyo recently.”

Deputy General Manager Ueba hesitated for a moment.

”What if they deny it?”

Yasui did not answer.

After nearly twenty seconds of silence, Yasui said, ”You ask first. After you ask, no matter how they answer, tell the result to Mr. Uragami.”

The phone was hung up.

Deputy General Manager Ueba stood at the window, clutching the receiver.

A leaf fell from the sycamore outside the window, spinning, very slowly, as if hesitating where to land.

He did not dial out immediately.

Because he had already guessed the answer.

2:40 PM.

When Deputy General Manager Ueba walked out of the Sumitomo Chemical Osaka Headquarters, his expression was exactly the same as when he went in.

But his pace was faster.

The counterpart supervisor at Sumitomo Chemical’s Business Planning Section was a middle-aged man wearing silver-rimmed glasses.

He had just spent four full minutes explaining to him that ”all overseas settlements are currently proceeding through normal procedures.”

In four minutes of talk, three minutes were spent using honorifics, without a single useful word.

What was useful was the man’s gaze while explaining.

His eyes remained fixed near Deputy General Manager Ueba’s tie knot, never moving up even half an inch from beginning to end.

People with a guilty conscience dare not look into your eyes.

When Deputy General Manager Ueba walked to the parking lot, he saw a white Toyota minivan parked next to his car.

The body was very clean, and the rear windows were covered with dark sun film, making it impossible to see inside.

He took an extra look—the license plate was in the Shinagawa series.

Shinagawa, Tokyo.

He got in the car, started the engine, and drove from Sakai-suji toward Kitashinchi.

The car’s air conditioning vent was blowing toward his face, but he no longer felt cold.

His mind was turning to another matter.

SWIFT.

If Saionji Trading had already sent a letter of credit message to DBS Singapore through a cooperating issuing bank, then this transaction would leave a trace in the banking system.

Although SWIFT messages were not something Sumitomo Bank could directly access, the banking industry never operated solely on official permissions.

As long as the beneficiary bank, goods, amount, and approximate time were known, Deputy General Manager Ueba could piece together a contour close enough to the truth through old relationships in correspondent banks, insurance companies, shipping agents, and the foreign exchange clearing circle.

He did not need to see the message itself.

He only needed to confirm one thing: whether Citibank Tokyo had already issued an MT700 to DBS Singapore.

If it had already been issued, everything was too late.

If it had not yet—

His car stopped at a red light on Sakai-suji.

The traffic light at the intersection hung very high, and the red light shone on the back of his hand through the windshield.

He looked down at the clock on the dashboard.

2:53 PM.

Singapore was an hour behind Japan; it was 1:53 PM there now.

If the MT700 had not been issued yet, he still had a chance to apply pressure within Sumitomo Chemical and make them withdraw the application.

But if DBS had already received and completed the notification, this letter of credit would no longer be a document that Sumitomo Bank could hold back.

Two hours left.

Within two hours, he had to know whether that message had gone out or not.

The red light turned green, and he stepped on the gas.

4:10 PM.

When Deputy General Manager Ueba’s call reached Yasui’s office, Yasui was flipping through a weekly report from Itoman.

The weekly report was delivered by Kawachi, and there was no Itoman company logo printed on the cover—it was an internal version, circulating only in the Planning Office.

”Confirmed.” Deputy General Manager Ueba’s voice came through the receiver, sounding a bit dry. ”DBS Singapore’s confirmation letter has been received. The MT700 has been issued.”

Yasui’s fingers stopped on the weekly report.

”Which bank is the issuing bank?”

”Citibank Tokyo Branch.” Deputy General Manager Ueba said. ”But the applicant is Saionji Trading. Full USD margin, already deposited in advance.”

MT700.

Yasui’s fingertips froze on the paper.

MT700 was the standard message format for ”Issuing a Documentary Letter of Credit” in the SWIFT system.

As long as Citibank Tokyo Branch issued the message as the issuing bank, DBS Singapore received and completed the notification as the advising bank, and the letter of credit terms stated that it was irrevocable, Citibank Tokyo would legally assume the obligation to pay upon presentation of documents.

And what was even more fatal was that what really supported this letter of credit was not Sumitomo Bank’s credit line.

It was Saionji Trading’s US dollars.

Sumitomo Chemical’s first overseas settlement had already been drawn out from the blood vessels of Hakusuikai.

”Amount?”

”Two point eight million US dollars.”

The first one.

Yasui closed the report.

He looked at the blank space on the cover—that spot should have had the Itoman company logo printed on it, but now there was nothing, just like a vacant lot deliberately left by someone.

”One more thing.” Deputy General Manager Ueba’s voice lowered by half a degree. ”The place of issue for the bill of lading has also been changed. Originally it was Port Klang; now it has been changed to be issued by the shipping company’s Singapore agent.”

Yasui was silent.

The place of issue had changed.

This meant that the other party had not only bypassed Sumitomo Bank’s credit channel but also plugged the loophole in the legal jurisdiction of this transaction.

It was done very cleanly.

”Who changed it?”

”The shipper cooperated and changed it themselves.” Deputy General Manager Ueba replied. ”In the list of accompanying documents, it has already been replaced with a copy of the bill of lading issued by the shipping company’s Singapore agent.”

Yasui switched the receiver to his left hand, and his right hand went to open the cigarette case on the desk.

He pulled one out but did not light it.

”Organize these into a report and send it to Chikufu tonight.”

”Mr. Uragami?”

”Yes.”

Yasui hung up the phone.

He held the unlit cigarette in his mouth, sat in his chair, and stared at the ceiling for a long time.

The sky outside the window had begun to darken.

In Osaka in November, just past four in the afternoon, the skyline began to fade.

The outlines of the buildings in the direction of Nakanoshima blurred into a mass, with only the aviation warning lights on the top floors glowing red, flashing on and off.

Technical review, failed.

Rejection, delay, demanding real estate valuation—the premise of these methods was that Sumitomo Chemical’s overseas settlement could only go through Sumitomo Bank’s channel.

Now someone had chiseled a new path through the channel.

What made Yasui even more uneasy was not this 2.8 million.

It was Fujiwara.

A female clerk in the Business Planning Section who had only been with the company for two years.

She had honestly supplemented all three rejections, added the cross-page seals, changed the SWIFT codes, and even started preparing the real estate valuation report—and then suddenly stopped supplementing.

The reason she stopped was that someone had given her another path.

A path an ordinary employee could take, the managing director of Sumitomo Chemical could also take.

The path the managing director could take, the president of Sumitomo Metal could also take.

Sumitomo Metal could take it, and Sumitomo Electric could also take it.

Sumitomo Light Metal could also take it.

The 2.8 million USD trial order was testing a canal.

Once the canal was open, what followed would be a flood.

Yasui put the cigarette back into the case.

He suddenly did not want to smoke it.