Rebirth in Japan: The Heiress Who Conquered the World

January 7, 1991, Akasaka, Saionji Main Residence.

The last day of Matsunouchi.

The shimenawa decorations still hung on the gate, and the pine needles of the kadomatsu were slightly bowed under the morning’s light snow.

In the Japanese-style room at the end of the entrance hallway, the shoji screen was half-open, and through the gap, one could see the dry landscape garden covered in a thin layer of white snow.

Gondo Tokuhiro had arrived fifteen minutes earlier than the agreed time.

He wore a dark charcoal gray suit, his tie knotted neatly, his leather shoes carefully polished, and his cuff buttons specifically changed to plain silver.

This attire was common among executives at Saionji Construction, but today he was dressed more formally than usual, like a man attending an occasion where he was not sure if it was a banquet or a funeral.

Chizuru led him to the small study on the second floor.

”Please wait a moment.”

Gondo nodded.

He stood in the hallway, hands at his sides, slightly clenching and unclenching them.

He had repeated this action several times already.

Honestly, he had absolutely no idea what his fate would be.

According to the temper of that Eldest Miss he had heard about, although she would severely punish those who made mistakes, she could still be slightly lenient toward those who voluntarily confessed.

Had not that Saionji Yasuhide made a huge mistake and was still alive now?

But he, Gondo, was not a Saionji; he did not know if he could receive that kind of leniency.

Three minutes later, Chizuru reappeared at the end of the hallway.

”Please, come in.”

Gondo bowed slightly and walked into the study with a nervous heart.

The study was small.

A bookshelf on one wall, a walnut desk, and two guest chairs in front of the desk.

The curtains were half-open; the sky outside was gray-white, the snow had stopped, but the light was still thin.

Satsuki was sitting in the chair behind the desk.

She was not wearing formal attire, just a beige cashmere cardigan and a dark skirt, her hair loosely tucked behind her ears.

A celadon teacup sat at her hand, the black tea inside still steaming.

Eguchi Tokuhiro sat in the left guest chair.

Endo stood by the bookshelf, holding a dark blue folder.

Unlike the scene Gondo had imagined—with various recording devices set up, a lawyer standing sternly to one side, and a third-party recorder watching him coldly—this did not look like an interrogation room layout.

But when Gondo stepped into the room, the muscles in his back tightened for an instant.

”Executive Director Gondo.” Satsuki walked to her seat and sat down, her tone the same as when she called on people at any routine work meeting. ”Please, sit.”

”Yes, thank you for your hard work.”

Gondo bowed slightly and sat in the guest chair on the right.

The leather on the seat was very soft, but he sat very straight.

”Chizuru.”

Chizuru walked over silently from the side and placed an identical cup of black tea in front of Gondo.

The color of the tea was slightly lighter than Satsuki’s; it had just been brewed.

Gondo did not touch the teacup.

Satsuki casually picked up her teacup and took a sip, not looking directly at him.

”I have read the letter.” She said, ”You can say what you want to say now.”

Gondo’s breathing paused for half a beat.

He took a folded white envelope from his inner suit pocket, lowered his head, and handed it forward with both hands.

Endo reached out from the side, took it, and placed it on Satsuki’s desk.

”Eldest Miss, please listen.” His voice was steady, but the rhythm was half a beat slower than normal speech. ”The winter energy consumption model for Gokurakukan back then was made by the Cost Management Headquarters based on data from three months of trial operation.”

”The trial operation period was from late spring to early autumn. In those three months, the dome defrosting frequency was low, the constant temperature system load was light, and the heavy oil consumption was forty percent less than actual operations during the snow season.”

”Using this data as a base, we added a correction factor to estimate the stable operating consumption under full load in winter.”

Satsuki picked up her teacup.

”What was the correction factor?”

”One point three five.”

Satsuki took another sip of tea and put down the cup.

”What should it actually have been?”

Gondo’s lips moved.

”Back-calculating from this year’s December operational data... at least one point six.”

It was quiet in the study for a few seconds.

A crow flew past the treetops outside the window, its shadow flickering on the curtains.

Eguchi sat on the side without speaking, but his fingers curled slightly on his knees.

”So the actual winter energy consumption of Gokurakukan while in Seibu’s hands is twenty percent higher than what was written in the transfer information package.” Satsuki looked directly at Gondo this time. ”You knew about this discrepancy back then.”

Gondo closed his eyes for a moment.

”I knew.”

”Did you report it?”

”... No.”

Satsuki moved her gaze from Gondo’s face to the bare branches outside the window.

”Why?”

Gondo was silent for three seconds.

”At that time... Gokurakukan had a monthly turnover of fifty billion, and the take from the underground casino and auction commissions covered the energy consumption gap ten times over. Everyone knew winter maintenance was expensive, but as long as the profits covered it, no one would put on the brakes for a coefficient.”

His voice dropped half a degree.

”Throughout the bubble era, from design institutes to banks to contractors, the cost models for every project were overly optimistic.”

”This was not just my habit, nor was it a problem unique to Saionji Construction. This was... the rule everyone defaulted to.”

Satsuki did not respond to this statement.

She withdrew her fingers from the edge of the teacup and rested them on the desktop.

”You mean to say that you did not falsify anything, you were just... slightly optimistic, is that right?”

”Yes.”

”Did you discuss the narrative with the Hamano material supplier?”

”No. The material batches and acceptance records on Hamano’s side are all real.”

”The specifications of the dome insulation materials were not downgraded, and there was no corner-cutting in construction.”

”The problem was only in the model.”

”Only in the model.”

Satsuki tilted her head slightly and looked at Endo.

Endo opened the dark blue folder in his hand, pulled out two pages, and handed them to the desktop.

”An inquiry sent by Seibu at the end of December.” He said, ”The nominal reason is an annual audit review. But the issue points to the discrepancy between the winter energy consumption estimate in the transfer information package and the actual figures.”

Satsuki lowered her head and scanned through it.

”What is Seibu’s current demand?”

”It has not reached the level of a demand yet.” Endo said, ”They are looking for a reason. If Hamano’s technical summary can give them a line saying ’the model was overly optimistic,’ they will have a stepping stone.”

”A stepping stone?”

”Step down, and they can demand a renegotiation of the transaction terms for Gokurakukan. Step up, and they can question how many other old projects have similar problems within Saionji Construction after the merger.”

Satsuki put the paper back on the desk.

She turned her head and looked at Gondo again.

”Gondo.” Satsuki’s voice was very soft. ”From an engineering perspective, was the one point three five coefficient you made fraudulent?”

Gondo’s shoulders tightened.

”... It had a basis. The data from the first three weeks of the snow season did support one point three five. It is just that subsequent actual operations proved that this assumption was too optimistic.”

”Can Hamano provide counter-evidence that you falsified it?”

”No. The materials are real, the construction is real, the acceptance is real. At most, Hamano can only say the model assumption was overly optimistic; they will not say the data was forged.”

Satsuki nodded.

”That is good.”

She stood up.

The chair slid half an inch on the floor.

Gondo immediately stood up following her, his movements faster than hers, his posture kept very low.

”Gondo.” Satsuki walked around the desk and stood in front of him.

Her height only reached Gondo’s chest, but Gondo’s back was bent like a pine tree growing on the edge of a cliff.

”Yes.”

”You are going to do three things next.”

”First, cooperate with any document reviews from the process. Whoever asks for what, give it to them. Submit the original records exactly as they were written.”

”Second, do not offer unsolicited explanations. Do not add footnotes to any document. Tell the Engineering Technology Headquarters to be careful; do not issue any spontaneous analysis reports without authorization.”

”Third—” Satsuki’s voice paused for half a second, ”Do not clean up after anyone.”

Gondo’s body stiffened.

”Including your own.” Satsuki added the last sentence.

Gondo lowered his head deeply.

”Understood.”

Satsuki returned behind the desk and sat down.

”Go back.”

Gondo took a step back, bowed, turned around, and walked toward the door.

The door closed behind him.

Footsteps faded down the hallway.

There were a few sounds on the stairs, and the door to the entrance on the first floor opened and closed, the sound very light.

Eguchi let out a breath.

”Eldest Miss, that coefficient of his—”

”That is not the point.” Satsuki picked up her teacup, found it had already gone cold, and put it down again. ”The point is what Seibu can get now.”

Endo walked over from beside the bookshelf. ”Hamano’s summary only wrote ’the model was overly optimistic.’ This cannot be used as evidence to accuse any one person.”

”Correct.” Satsuki crossed her hands on the desk. ”Seibu only has the phrasing of a third party in their hands right now—they have no conclusive evidence at all.”

”This knife cannot cut through the skin of Saionji Construction.”

”But it can scratch it a little.”

Endo looked at her.

The corners of Satsuki’s mouth lifted slightly, as if she had seen something interesting.

”Gondo is not a liability,” she said.

Eguchi and Endo looked at her simultaneously.

”On the contrary, he can serve as bait.”

Endo’s brow twitched.

”Seibu wants to use Gondo as a crowbar, and Hakusuikai wants to use Gokurakukan as ammunition.” Satsuki tapped her fingers gently on the tabletop twice. ”Then let them come and take it.”

”Gondo will sit there obediently, answering whatever is asked, not saying a word more, nor handing over a page less.”

”Once they think this lead is useful and start pulling at it with all their might—”

She did not finish her sentence.

Endo already understood.

”...The only thing they will pull out is the word ’optimistic.’”

Satsuki pushed her cooled teacup to the edge of the table. ”This will only prove that throughout the bubble era, everyone’s projects were equally optimistic.”

”Including the projects Seibu itself undertook.”

Eguchi finally unclenched his fist, which he had been gripping for a long time.

”Chizuru.” Satsuki raised her voice.

A soft response echoed from outside the shoji screen.

”Bring a fresh pot of hot tea.”

At 3:00 PM that same day, Minato Ward, the seventeenth floor of the Seibu headquarters.

The blinds in the conference room were drawn until only a narrow slit remained.

January sunlight sliced through the gap, carving a white line across the surface of the long table.

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki sat at the head of the table.

His suit today was deep navy blue, his shirt was so white it was almost luminous, and his cufflinks were platinum.

At sixty, his skin was maintained to look ten years younger than his actual age; only the lines at the corners of his eyes betrayed something—the pressure brought on by the financial figures of the last six months.

Shimada sat in the second seat to his right, with Sano, the head of the secretary’s office, in between.

Three documents lay on the table.

The one on top had a yellow label: Gokurakukan November to December 1990 Operating Cost Monthly Report.

The middle one had a green label: Saionji Construction Process Review Inquiry (Copy).

The bottom one had a white label: Hamano Material Industry Technical Summary.

Sano had already read through the contents.

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki did not flip through the documents.

He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped over his abdomen, thumbs slowly rubbing against each other.

The air in the conference room was tense.

”Optimistic bias.” Tsutsumi Yoshiaki finally spoke. His voice was not loud, but as he spoke, the breathing of the five people present became shallow.

”Yes,” Shimada said. ”The technical summary from Hamano Material Industry uses this rather vague term.”

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki’s thumbs paused for a moment.

”What can this term do?”

”On its own, it cannot do much,” Shimada said. ”Optimistic bias is not a legal concept, nor is it an audit conclusion. It has no teeth.”

”Then why is it here?”

Shimada pulled the white-labeled summary from the table and flipped to the second page.

”Because it can be used in conjunction with other things.”

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki glanced at him.

Shimada turned the page around and pointed to the final paragraph.

”The issue with Gokurakukan is not an isolated case. Saionji Construction was founded after the merger with Daito Construction.”

”Daito Construction’s old projects—Odaiba infrastructure, Hokkaido cold storage facilities, and several completed and handed-over hot spring inns—all used the same cost accounting system.”

”If the Gokurakukan model is optimistic, what about the other projects?”

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki’s eyes narrowed slightly.

”You mean, do not target Gokurakukan itself.”

”If we target Gokurakukan itself, Saionji only needs to prove that it was indeed profitable during the operation period, and the responsibility becomes a problem for us after we take over,” Shimada had done his research long ago, so he spoke unhurriedly.

”But if the issue is escalated to ’whether there is a systematic accounting bias in Saionji Construction’s internal management’—”

He stopped there.

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki’s thumbs began to move again.

”Sumitomo is in the process of handing over overseas letters of credit to Saionji,” Sano interjected softly from the side.

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki did not look at him.

”What does Sumitomo’s business have to do with us?”

Shimada took over. ”No direct relationship. But Sumitomo Manufacturing entrusted the settlement rights to Saionji, and the ostensible reason is ’based on a judgment of the overall reputation of Saionji Group.’”

”If talk of ’Saionji Construction’s old internal accounts’ appears on the market—even if it is just suspicion—those companies at Sumitomo that are still hesitating will have one more reason to pause.”

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki finally looked down at the documents on the table.

He only looked at the figures on the cover of the Gokurakukan monthly operating report, his gaze pausing for two seconds on the ”Heavy Oil Consumption” column before looking back up.

It does not hurt to look.

Although last December saw the start of a nationwide warm winter, and heavy oil consumption decreased slightly, the economic winter has not ended.

The simultaneous decline in foot traffic and average customer spending still created a very ugly hole in the accounts.

No matter how large Seibu’s scale is, or how profitable other enterprises are, facing the consumption of a world-class spectacle like Gokurakukan is still very painful.

”What is Uragami doing lately?”

This was the sentence Shimada had been waiting for.

”Hakusuikai’s public opinion offensive in Osaka at the end of last year was suppressed by Kyoto. Uragami Masaaki is currently retreating to the main body of Itoman, preparing to arrange for shell companies to cut their losses.”

”But his public relations firm is currently inquiring about the suppliers for Gokurakukan’s winter maintenance.”

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki’s hand stopped.

”He is also looking for this lead.”

”Yes.”

The conference room went quiet again.

Through the narrow slit in the blinds, the sky outside had turned from gray-white to leaden blue.

It was about to get dark.

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki stood up.

He walked to the window, used one finger to press the slats of the blinds down half an inch, and looked down at the street below through the gap.

The traffic in Akasaka was already thickening, and taillights dragged long streaks of red light across the wet road surface.

”Shimada.”

”Yes.”

”That review summary.” Tsutsumi Yoshiaki’s back was to everyone. ”The one from Hamano.”

”Yes.”

”Let Osaka know that we have this in our hands.”

Shimada did not make a sound.

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki released the slats of the blinds and turned around.

”Do not use our name; find an intermediary and just let the existence of the summary be known.”

”What about the phrasing?”

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki walked back to the table, stacked the three documents neatly, and patted them gently with his palm.

”Just say—Seibu has noticed the abnormality in Gokurakukan’s operating costs.”

”And is considering whether to include the relevant materials as supplementary notes to the annual audit.”

”If Kansai has similar concerns regarding Saionji Construction’s project accounting, both sides might be able to exchange some reference materials from public channels.”

Shimada went over this statement in his mind.

Every sentence stayed within the scope of ”considering,” ”might,” and ”reference.” Not a single word could be interpreted as an alliance, collusion, or a joint attack.

On the surface, it was just information exchange between the two companies while conducting their respective annual audits.

Under the table—

”Understood,” Shimada said.

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki took his coat from the back of the chair and draped it over his arm.

”One more thing.”

”Yes.”

”Do not touch Gondo for now.” Tsutsumi Yoshiaki walked toward the door, not stopping as he passed Sano. ”Saionji Satsuki has just returned; he will definitely go to see her first. Let him finish meeting her.”

”Wait until he comes out of the main residence, and we will see what his expression is like before deciding.”

The door opened.

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki walked out.

Two assistants from the secretary’s office were waiting in the hallway and disappeared behind him toward the elevators.

Only Shimada and Sano remained in the conference room.

Sano put the three documents into his briefcase, zipped it up, and looked up at Shimada.

”Who should we use in Osaka?”

Shimada thought for a moment.

”The Kansai Economic Federation has a New Year’s reception next month. Many people will be there; anything can be said at the dinner table.”

He stood up and pushed his chair back under the table.

”A summary can be passed from Tokyo to Osaka with just a single handshake.”

Sano tucked the briefcase under his arm.

”Understood.”

The sky outside was completely dark.

Through the slits in the blinds, only the lights from the building opposite and the headlights of cars on the road below remained.

The evening rush hour in Akasaka had begun, and the sound of horns traveled up from the seventeenth floor, as faint as mosquitoes.

Shimada took one last look at the empty tabletop.

Gokurakukan, Gondo, Hakusuikai, Sumitomo.

Four names, four leads.

None of them were sharp enough on their own.

But if they were seen at the same time—

Shimada turned off the lights and walked out of the conference room.

The elevator at the end of the hall was going up.

The numbers jumped from one to three, from three to seven, past seventeen, and continued upward.

There are always things that are also moving upward.