Rebirth in Japan: The Heiress Who Conquered the World

Outside the window of the first conference room at Saionji Construction, the Tokyo sky remained a dull gray.

The window was left slightly ajar, and the mid-December cold air squeezed in through the gap, just enough to keep anyone sitting by the window from feeling drowsy.

The heating in the conference room was turned up high.

Several freshly copied documents lay in the center of the long table, and by the time the secretary brought in the coffee, everyone was already seated in their places.

Eguchi Tokuhiro sat at the head of the table.

In front of him lay only a fountain pen, a black folder, and a cooperation notice forwarded from the group headquarters.

Gondo sat in the third seat on the left.

His nameplate read ”Executive Director, Deputy General Manager of the Engineering and Technology Division, and Person in Charge of Special Facility Projects.”

This string of titles looked respectable, and his authority was substantial enough to allow him access to all the technical data for Niseko, Odaiba, the Chiba Bonded Warehouse, and several other large-scale commercial facilities.

But Gondo knew very well that the longer the title, the narrower the room for maneuver became.

In the past, all he had to do was nod within his own company, and a material substitution explanation could move from the procurement department to the finance department, with signatures then filled in by the construction site.

Now, every process had to enter the unified system of Saionji Construction; every payment, every acceptance, and every document retrieval would leave a timestamp and serial number on the headquarters’ server.

Eguchi cleared his throat, seeing that everyone had arrived.

”Everyone, time is tight, so I will get straight to the point.” He opened the file in front of him. ”The first batch of cooperation projects regarding Leningrad has been determined by the group: cold storage, medical supply turnover, thermal insulation renovation of old port warehouses, and temporary generator rooms.”

”Saionji Trading will be responsible for documents, letters of credit, customs clearance, and transportation interfaces. S.A. Logistics will handle equipment allocation, and we on the construction side will be responsible for the parameter tables and preliminary construction plans.”

He paused there and looked around.

”Saionji Trading has just completed its upgrade and its personnel are still expanding; they can handle the external documentation, but the engineering models cannot be handed over to them to piece together at the last minute.”

”Although the Leningrad project is temporarily under the banner of humanitarian cooperation, whether it can continue to advance depends heavily on the impression the first batch of data leaves on the Soviet side.”

Several division managers nodded in succession.

There was nothing controversial about these words.

Matters in the Soviet Union were too far from Tokyo.

At least in most people’s eyes, it was just a pilot project in the group’s overseas layout.

Cold chains, storage, medical supplies, and temporary generator rooms sounded mundane enough—mundane enough to be tucked into any technical cooperation memorandum.

Eguchi pushed the second file to the center of the table.

”Additionally, there is a special topic.”

”Recently, at the request of the Special Assignment Control Office, all parameters related to cold regions and cold storage must be reviewed before being called up for external use.”

”The Engineering and Technology Division must submit the document catalog to me by this afternoon. The Cost Management Department will coordinate with suppliers and payment records, and the Project Archives Center will open the corresponding serial numbers.”

”Executive Director Gondo, you will be responsible for leading the compilation of similar data for Niseko, Odaiba, and the Chiba cold storage.”

Gondo’s fingers, resting on his lap, tightened slightly.

No one in the conference room looked at him for too long.

Eguchi’s arrangement was normal in terms of procedure: the Engineering and Technology Division was responsible for parameters, the Project Archives Center was responsible for raw data, and the Cost Management Division had to connect supplier quotes, payment vouchers, and material substitution approvals.

Gondo was now in charge of cost management, so these documents could not bypass his signing authority.

Even if he had never personally designed the glass dome in Niseko, that did not prevent the names written in the purchase orders and payment records from eventually landing on his desk.

Gondo looked down at the document.

Notice on Data Retrieval for Pre-review of Cold Region Storage Modules and Low-temperature Engineering Parameters.

The first paragraph was about the Leningrad cooperation project.

The second paragraph was about parameter applicability.

The third paragraph was about preventing material adaptation errors, energy consumption model deviations, and maintenance cost misjudgments in cross-regional projects.

Gondo continued reading, his gaze slowly coming to a halt on the document list.

Niseko Gokurakukan dome composite insulation material procurement records.

Niseko Gokurakukan underground constant temperature system winter energy consumption model.

Odaiba waterfront work area caisson and foundation construction parameters.

Chiba Bonded Warehouse cold storage renovation data.

Construction subsidy approval records for cold regions over the past three years.

Supplier quotes, acceptance forms, payment vouchers, and substitute material explanations for similar materials.

SIS site photo serial number correspondence table.

The heating in the conference room suddenly felt a bit stifling.

Gondo looked at those lines of document names, his heart sinking bit by bit.

Viewed individually, none of these things looked like anything fatal.

In large-scale projects, substituting a batch of materials when they arrive late, choosing a more stable range for test reports, suppliers readjusting quotes due to delivery times and exchange rates, or the site stuffing certain expenses into construction subsidies to rush the work—all of these could find explanations that sounded reasonable enough.

As long as there were no safety accidents in the buildings and the projects could still be delivered on time, such matters had previously been, at most, gray areas in cost management.

But the Special Assignment Control Office did not want just any single invoice.

It wanted to look at the materials, payments, energy consumption, acceptance records, and the final set of models given to the external recipient all together.

Gondo’s first reaction was that the Control Office had already set its sights on him.

As soon as this thought emerged, he forced himself to suppress it.

If Saionji Maki had already grasped something, she should not have started with such a document retrieval notice, and she certainly should not have cast the net so wide.

Yet he dared not rule out this possibility entirely; only God knows what those people at SIS could dig up.

Gondo knew he could not move.

He also knew that he could not remain completely still.

Once these things were truly strung together, the problem would take on a different form.

Gokurakukan was currently causing Seibu to bleed constantly, which could originally be explained by rising oil prices, insufficient passenger flow, and operational pressure after the bubble burst; but if someone proved that the insulation materials used at the time were below the reported specifications, and that winter energy consumption had long exceeded the model’s limits, then Seibu’s losses would no longer be just an operational failure.

It would become a problem with the engineering data provided by Saionji Construction.

Once it reached that point, Tsutsumi Yoshiaki would have a reason to renegotiate, the banks would have a new narrative, and those outside waiting to see Saionji Group make a mistake would use this as a breach to attack the credibility of Saionji Construction.

Gondo had previously thought he was just leaving a little extra room in the costs, but that room would now become evidence.

The evidence might not be enough to crush the Saionji family, but it would be enough to create a handle for others to seize in Satsuki’s previously clean situation.

And that hand would most likely come from Seibu.

Eguchi closed the file.

”This review is not about holding any specific project accountable, at least not for now. The group wants parameters that can be used by the Leningrad side, and we cannot let the lack of review on old data affect the progress of the overseas cooperation project. Executive Director Gondo, give me the first batch of the catalog within thirty-six hours.”

”Understood.” Gondo raised his head, trying to make his voice sound as normal as possible. ”I will have the Engineering and Technology Division organize the available data first; the models related to the Niseko and Chiba cold storage will be in the first batch.”

Eguchi glanced at him.

”Do not make the data look too polished for now. The Special Assignment Control Office wants to see the original chain; the cleaner the catalog, the more trouble there will be later.”

This was said very plainly, but everyone at the conference table understood the meaning behind it.

Gondo nodded.

”I know.”

After the meeting ended, everyone left one after another.

The corridor was covered with thick carpet, and the sound of footsteps was muffled.

Gondo walked toward his office with the retrieval notice.

As he passed the entrance of the Project Archives Center, the staff inside were moving several archive boxes onto a long table.

The outside of the boxes had uniform serial numbers, and the black text was neatly labeled: ”Special Facility Projects—Niseko,” ”Waterfront Infrastructure Projects—Odaiba,” ”Low-temperature Storage Renovation—Chiba.”

Those serial numbers looked very clean.

So clean that it seemed as if, as long as the documents were placed in the correct cabinets, everything inappropriate from the past would be organized into a part of the group’s process.

Gondo did not stop for long.

He was not the technical person in charge of the Niseko project, nor did he understand how a glass dome should withstand wind pressure on a snowfield.

Those projects in Hokkaido only truly unfolded after the integration of Saionji Construction, and he did not even get to intervene in many of the details on the construction site.

But this did not put him at ease.

Technical data belonged to the Engineering and Technology Division, site records belonged to the Project Archives Center, but when it came to actually turning those things into a set of numerical explanations that could be shown to banks, potential buyers, and the group’s board of directors, the Cost Management Division could not bypass his signing authority.

This was the most troublesome part.

Gondo returned to his office and closed the door.

On the desk lay two supplementary documents transferred internally, one from the Engineering and Technology Department and one from the Cost Management Department.

The Engineering and Technology Department had only listed a catalog of parameters; the document from the Cost Management Department was thinner, containing several sets of maintenance cost estimates, summaries of material expenditures, and the cost criteria used during the initial public explanation.

Gondo opened the second one first.

His finger stopped at the line: ”Niseko Gokurakukan Winter Maintenance Cost Estimate Table.”

At that time, Seibu had already begun contacting the Niseko project, and Odaiba was also consuming more and more funds.

Gokurakukan had to be packaged as an expensive asset that still held operational potential; it could not appear to be a monster that would continuously swallow cash flow as soon as it was delivered.

The Engineering and Technology Department had provided a set of raw energy consumption data, in which several months did not look good; the project operations department had also warned that heavy oil consumption during the snow season would push maintenance costs very high.

What was finally sent into the transfer information package was a reorganized version.

What that set of data really did was simply categorize the worst-looking winter period as a trial run, explain some material replacements as on-site optimizations, and write the maintenance costs as: ”Initially high due to debugging, declining after stable operations.”

These terms were justifiable at the time; the banks could accept them, and the acquiring party also had reasons to accept them.

When the bubble had not yet completely cooled, no one was willing to give up a resort asset that had been touted by the media as a spectacle of the snowfields just because of a few unsightly energy consumption figures.

But now it was different.

Oil prices had risen, passenger flow had worsened, banks were beginning to withdraw, and Seibu had been dragged down more and more by Odaiba and Niseko.

If Gokurakukan were merely expensive, heavy, and fuel-consuming, that could still be explained as operational pressure following cyclical changes.

No matter how unwilling Tsutsumi Yoshiaki was, he could only swallow this debt on his own cash flow statement.

But if the Special Task Force put the Engineering and Technology Department’s raw energy consumption data, the Cost Management Department’s maintenance estimates, and the transfer information package submitted to Seibu together, things would turn into a different story.

That would prove that before Gokurakukan was handed over, there was already an issue of underestimated maintenance costs.

The losses after Seibu took over could no longer simply be written off as a failure of market judgment.

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki could say that the information he received initially was incomplete; the banks could also say that Seibu’s credit judgment for the project was based on a flawed engineering cost model; and those outside waiting to see the Saionji Group make a mistake would treat this matter as a breach to attack the credit of Saionji Construction.

What Gondo was truly afraid of was this step.

In the past, he thought he was just polishing the numbers to make an asset easier for the market to accept.

But in the eyes of the Special Task Force, those embellished numbers would not stop at the level of being ”pretty.”

They would be dismantled, cross-referenced one by one with materials, payments, energy consumption, and on-site records, and then turn into a more glaring problem.

Who let the group go out with this model?

Gondo picked up the retrieval notice and flipped to the last page; Saionji Maki’s signature was printed at the bottom of the paper.

Gondo had seen her once, only outside the glass door at the end of the corridor.

Very cold.

That was the only impression Gondo had of her.

This Saionji Maki, privately known within the group as ”Miss Satsuki’s mad dog,” was known for showing no mercy.

And the ”Saionji” in her name, along with her backing from Satsuki, gave her the power to disregard any sentiment.

Gondo did not know if she had already set her sights on him.

If she had already grasped something, this notice was too calm; if she knew nothing, the scope of the retrieval was too accurate.

Niseko, Odaiba, and the Chiba cold storage could all be explained as old samples needed for the Soviet cold chain project, but when these projects were put together, they happened to be able to string together the engineering parameters, maintenance costs, asset transfers, and public disclosures.

Thinking of this, Gondo’s palms began to sweat.

At this moment, the office door was knocked.

Gondo was stunned, then immediately straightened his posture.

”Please come in.”

Secretary Aizawa pushed the door open and entered, holding an internal notice in her hand.

”Executive Director, the office of Auditor Fujita just confirmed that at 2:00 PM, two data security personnel and one SIS system staff member will arrive at the Project Archives Center.”

Fujita’s people were all here.

Gondo suppressed his trembling hands as much as possible.

”What did President Eguchi say?”

”The President’s office requires all departments to cooperate according to regulations. The General Affairs Department asked if a small meeting room should be arranged.”

”Arrange it,” Gondo said. ”They are mainly looking at data access rights and retrieval records; there is no need to reserve too much time.”

Aizawa lowered her head and noted it down.

Gondo added: ”Tell Tsukamoto that the Engineering and Technology Department should only produce the catalog according to existing numbering; do not adjust the classification temporarily.”

”The same goes for the Cost Management Department; all data should be exported from the system, and supplier information should be confirmed only after the President’s office notifies us uniformly.”

Aizawa hesitated for a moment.

”What if the suppliers ask proactively?”

”Just say that the group is conducting a review of overseas project materials and does not currently need external supplements,” Gondo said, looking up at her. ”Do not explain or comment on other content, and do not let the other party feel that we are waiting for them to supplement anything.”

Aizawa nodded.

”I understand.”

She turned to leave, but Gondo called her back.

”Aizawa.”

”Yes.”

”From now on, all outgoing calls from here should be registered according to the normal procedures of the executive director’s office. The same goes for visitor appointments; do not skip any steps.”

Aizawa looked up at him, seemingly understanding something, but did not ask any more questions.

”I will handle it.”

After the door closed again, Gondo sat in his place, and it was a long time before he pulled open the drawer on his right.

Inside lay an old address book, a wallet, a few business cards he had not thrown away, and a stack of industry association notices.

The business card on top was from an executive director of an engineering management department at Seibu Group; it was something left over from the early coordination of the Odaiba project.

The paper was stiff, and the hot-stamped silver font had already dimmed somewhat.

Should he contact Seibu?

As soon as that business card was picked up, it would become an action.

Actions would leave traces, and traces would be put into the records.

Regardless of whether he had been targeted or not, as long as he did this, it would be enough for people to see that he was looking for an external way out.

He must not touch this line today.

The Special Task Force’s retrieval notice had just arrived, Fujita’s people would enter the Project Archives Center in the afternoon, and SIS system personnel would lock the data access rights and retrieval records.

Once someone tried to deviate from the normal process, it would immediately attract the attention of the entire system.

Gondo pushed the wallet back deep into the drawer, his fingers resting on the edge of the drawer for a while, the pads of his fingers aching from the wood grain.

His chest felt tight.

For a moment, he even suspected that Maki was already waiting for him to make a mistake.

The Leningrad project required low-temperature storage and maintenance cost parameters; naturally, Saionji Construction had to review old data, and Niseko, Odaiba, and the Chiba cold storage would naturally be included in the sample scope.

All steps were compliant with procedures, but things that were compliant with procedures were also the hardest to resist.

Perhaps they had not locked onto him yet.

Perhaps they were just casting a net.

This feeling of uncertainty made him feel even more uncomfortable.

Gondo’s gaze fell on another notice.

Japan Construction Materials Association Winter Technical Exchange Meeting.

The date was next Thursday, and the theme was energy-saving materials for large commercial facilities, composite insulation interlayers, and maintenance cost management.

The list of attendees included several insulation material suppliers, glass interlayer import agents, resort facility maintenance companies, and railway-affiliated hotel procurement agents.

Gondo scanned those names and soon saw a familiar company.

Hamano Material Industry.

This name made his gaze pause.

Hamano Keizo had done material maintenance for several resort facilities and also maintained contact with Seibu-affiliated hotel procurement agents.

This person belonged neither to Saionji nor to Seibu; he only belonged to those material suppliers who needed to maintain relationships with all parties simultaneously in the industry.

Perhaps he could contact Seibu through him.

Gondo gently pulled that association notice out of the pile of documents and tucked it into his planner.

The sky outside the window was darker than in the morning, and the glass of the high-rise buildings in the distance reflected gray-white clouds.

The sound of elevator doors opening came from the direction of the Project Archives Center, followed by the hushed conversation of several people.

People from Auditor Fujita’s office must have arrived.

Gondo got up and walked to the window, but did not pull the curtains open completely.

Now was not the time to speak to Seibu.

But he needed to find a way out for himself.