Rebirth in Japan: The Heiress Who Conquered the World

October 31st, Marunouchi.

The main building of Fuji Bank.

This was the third day since the bank run broke out, and it was also the most cruel day in the entire Japanese business society—the end-of-month note centralized settlement day.

If the bank run over the past two days was merely the spread of panic among ordinary depositors, then today, the notes and checks issued by tens of thousands of enterprises throughout Tokyo had to be sent together to the clearinghouse for settlement.

On the fourteenth-floor corridor of the main branch, the atmosphere was completely out of control.

Department managers jogged back and forth in the corridor with folders in their arms, and telephone rings rose and fell one after another; one office’s phone had not yet stopped ringing before the neighboring one started up again.

“The Osaka Branch is running short on liquidity! Forty-two billion was withdrawn from the Kansai region in the last two hours!”

“Tell the Treasury Department to hold the line! Go to the call market to borrow overnight funds!”

“We can’t borrow! Sanwa and Sumitomo have refused to lend to us in the call market since early this morning; no matter how high the interest rate is, it’s useless!”

In the smoking room at the corner of the corridor, an executive director was tightly gripping the receiver, his face ashen as he lowered his voice to speak: “…Tashiro-kun, given our camaraderie from joining in the same year back then, can Mitsubishi lend us fifty billion first? As long as we can last through this afternoon… Hello? Hello?!”

The other end of the line had already hung up. The executive director slammed the receiver back onto the landline, leaning his whole body against the wall. The cigarette between his fingers burned down to the end, and he didn’t even notice the ash falling onto the carpet.

In the president’s office deep inside the main branch, however, it was eerily quiet.

The councilor of the Banking Bureau of the Ministry of Finance sat on a single-arm sofa, a cup of long-cooled coffee placed in front of him, which he hadn’t touched from beginning to end.

President Okabe sat behind the large desk.

He hadn’t closed his eyes properly for two days, and even his shirt was the same one from the day before yesterday.

His collar was terribly wrinkled, his eye sockets were deeply sunken, and his hands rested on the tabletop, motionless for a long time.

“President Okabe-kun.”

The councilor finally spoke.

“The intentions of the Minister and the Vice-Minister were already conveyed by me last night.”

He raised his eyes, first looking at President Okabe, and then turning to look at Kagawa standing aside.

“Today is the end-of-month settlement. If Fuji Bank’s counters put up a suspension of business sign today due to insufficient liquidity, the credit of the entire city bank system will be implicated along with it.”

“The Ministry of Finance will coordinate with the Bank of Japan to provide you with funds, but there is a prerequisite.”

President Okabe lifted his eyelids with difficulty, his voice so hoarse that he could barely make a sound.

“Please speak…”

“Someone must immediately suppress the panic outside and take full charge of the Countermeasures Headquarters.”

The councilor tapped his index finger on the armrest.

“Moreover, this person must be completely cleared of any ties to the Akasaka Branch affair. The Ministry of Finance cannot place its bets on someone who might be called in for questioning by the Special Investigation Department at any time.”

There was a dead silence in the office.

Completely cleared?

Right now, in the entire building, Executive Managing Director Tanimoto had been invited into the small meeting room by the Inspection Office early this morning, and a subpoena from the Tokyo District Public Prosecutors Office Special Investigation Department could arrive at any moment; the several executive directors who usually walked closely with Tanimoto didn’t even dare to step out of their office doors these past two days.

Hundreds of middle and senior managers throughout the bank held complete investigation records of the past fourteen months, held memorandums stamped with confirmed date seals by the notary office, were clean on paper, and had even been secretly investigating Akasaka all along—

Only Vice President Kagawa alone.

President Okabe looked at Kagawa.

On the 28th, when Kagawa placed that stack of investigation records right in the middle of the table at the board meeting, he should have thought that today would come.

Fourteen months, Kagawa had investigated for fourteen months, without mentioning a single word of it to him, the president.

However, could there really be such a coincidence?

The Risk Management Department had just issued a notice last week requiring that enterprises on the watch list must report any large abnormal transactions as soon as they occurred, and immediately after that, Akasaka’s certificate of deposit was taken to the counter by someone; the certificate of deposit was originally held by Sankyo, and after being held for over a year without any incidents, it was transferred out just a few days before maturity.

No matter how meticulously Kagawa investigated, he could only check the accounts within the bank; as for who Sankyo’s claims were sold to and when they were sold, as a vice president, he had no control over it at all.

Unless the party taking the certificate of deposit to the counter was in cahoots with him in the first place.

Saionji.

Come to think of it, this entire matter truly had Saionji’s style of doing things—before anyone even knew what had happened, the situation suddenly became precarious.

That was how they dealt with various small and medium-sized enterprises before, and back then they fell batch after batch… They just didn’t expect that this time it would be their turn.

But when did Saionji and Kagawa come together?

President Okabe’s fingers curled up on the tabletop.

At that charity banquet last autumn, the first to step forward to pledge donations and throw out ten billion right at the start was Saionji House.

Kagawa’s ultra vires promise of seven billion five hundred million was also made on that same night.

Afterwards, the entire board of directors was waiting to see how he would clean up the mess, and some people were already discussing his successor in private; as a result, a few days later, Kagawa returned to the bank with a note, patching up the hole tightly and securely.

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief at that time, and no one pursued where that money came from, including himself.

For a family that could cough up ten billion in a single night, what was it to help someone make up seven billion five hundred million?

That note… could it also be from Saionji House?

President Okabe had no evidence. A banquet, a note, a name, pieced together, were just his guesses sitting right here.

He raised his head, his gaze colliding with Kagawa’s.

Kagawa didn’t dodge, nor did he intend to offer any explanation; he just stood there calmly, waiting for him to speak.

“Kagawa-kun.”

President Okabe’s voice was very hoarse and he spoke very slowly.

“That note from last autumn, I have never asked you where it came from.”

The councilor’s hand holding the coffee paused for a moment and glanced at President Okabe, evidently not understanding what this sentence had to do with the matter at hand.

Kagawa lowered his eyes slightly.

“You didn’t ask at the time, and now, you don’t need to ask anymore.”

His tone was as respectful as usual when reporting to the president, and not a single change could be heard.

“There are still people lining up outside.”

President Okabe stared at him for a long time, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he wanted to smile, but in the end, he just let out a long breath.

Yeah, even if it’s cleared up now, what of it?

Saying the three words Saionji in front of the Ministry of Finance? Doing that would mean Fuji couldn’t get through the end of this month today—and perhaps he himself couldn’t either.

He had stayed in this bank for forty years, and had been sitting in the president’s seat for six years. In the end, all he could do for Fuji was to hand over this letter of authorization.

President Okabe ultimately only slowly closed his eyes, pushing the letter of authorization for the Countermeasures Headquarters in front of him to the edge of the table.

“Kagawa-kun… I’m counting on you.”

Kagawa stepped forward, reaching out to press the letter of authorization beneath his palm, and bowed deeply toward President Okabe.

“I understand. Fuji will not fall today.”

Immediately afterwards, he turned around and gave instructions to Manager Murase following behind him.

“Notify all branches nationwide immediately.”

“First, all business outlets are strictly forbidden to restrict withdrawals. Any depositor holding passbooks and certificates of deposit at the counter, regardless of the amount, shall be paid out in full.”

“Second, as soon as the Bank of Japan’s funds arrive, deliver them to each branch immediately. Do not put them in the vault; stack them all behind the counters in the business hall, neatly and high, so that every depositor lining up can see them the moment they walk in.”

“Next, the business hours of all branches will be extended uniformly. As long as there is still one person lining up outside, the rolling shutter is not allowed to be pulled down.”

Murase was slightly taken aback, then bowed and replied:

“Yes! I will communicate it down immediately!”

The councilor on the sofa picked up the long-cooled cup of coffee, took a sip, and revealed a trace of a satisfied look.

In front of a bank run, any literary explanations and any official promises were mere scraps of paper.

What could best shatter panic were only those bundles of visible and tangible cash stacked behind the counter.

Viewed this way, at least this person knew how to keep the situation under control.

…

Half past four in the afternoon.

Fuji Bank main branch, first-floor grand conference hall.

Dozens of cameras crammed the back row of the venue, flashlights illuminated the podium into a snowy white, and the sound of shutters hardly stopped.

President Okabe led all the directors into the venue.

Walking up to the microphone, he faced the lenses below the stage, took off his glasses, bowed deeply, and did not straighten up for a long time.

“…Due to the serious regulatory violation incident of the Akasaka Branch, which caused massive distress to the vast number of depositors, investors, and the financial order, I feel deeply grieved and ashamed.”

“After fully cooperating with the investigation by the Ministry of Finance and judicial authorities, I will resign from the position of president to take responsibility.”

The questioning voices from the audience suddenly exploded.

President Okabe straightened up, his voice hoarse.

“Starting from today, all emergency countermeasures and daily operational management of this bank will be fully in charge of Vice President Kagawa.”

The flashes suddenly all turned toward Kagawa standing beside President Okabe.

Kagawa bowed along with all the directors. After rising, his expression was solemn, and his gaze calmly met that dazzling white light.

…

After the press conference, Murase waited for him in the corridor, holding three newly delivered reports in his hand.

The first was the withdrawal data of various branches. After one o’clock in the afternoon, the queue at the Akasaka Branch began to shorten, and after three o’clock, the outflow of the entire bank was lower than the same period of the previous day for the first time.

On the television at the end of the corridor, the evening news was already broadcasting the cash neatly stacked in the business hall of Akasaka, and a subtitle slid across the bottom of the screen: Tanimoto, executive managing director of Fuji Bank, was summoned this afternoon by the Tokyo District Public Prosecutors Office Special Investigation Department on suspicion of aggravated breach of trust.

The second was the report from the Treasury Department. At half past one in the afternoon, Sumitomo Bank proactively called to express its willingness to provide three hundred billion yen in short-term funds to Fuji, without any attached conditions, and the news was subsequently sent out through the news agency.

Once Sumitomo made its stance known, several banks in the call market suddenly relented in the afternoon as well; by the three o’clock settlement deadline, all notes today were cleared, without a single bounced check.

Kagawa stared at those few lines of text for a long time.

Sumitomo.

The first to cut off the call line in the morning was Sumitomo, and in the afternoon it suddenly proactively sent three hundred billion, without asking for any conditions.

Sumitomo and Fuji had been fighting in Kansai and between the Fuyo and Sumitomo major groups for decades. Not kicking a man while he was down at a time like this was already being polite; why on earth would it turn around to save Fuji?

All the Ministry of Finance promised was the Bank of Japan’s funds, and Councilor Tsuchiya never mentioned a single word about Sumitomo from beginning to end.

What was even more coincidental was the time. Half past one in the afternoon, which was right after he received the letter of authorization from President Okabe’s hands.

Being able to make Sumitomo change direction at this critical juncture, and being able to time it so precisely, Kagawa couldn’t think of a second family besides Saionji.

However, had even Sumitomo fallen as well?

Kagawa clenched that report tightly, instead heaving a sigh of relief in his heart.

Fortunately, he had stood on the right side back then.

He turned to the third page.

The third was today’s stock price. By closing, Fuji Bank’s shares had fallen to their lowest for the year, with trading volume more than four times usual; the buy orders were scattered across more than a dozen different securities firms, with not many in any single one.

Those who dumped Fuji’s stock these past few days were terrified retail investors and institutions rushing to stop losses, but the person taking them over was not in a hurry at all, buying only a little every day and never buying much from a single securities firm.

Presumably, the Main House over there had made a move.

When next year’s shareholders’ meeting arrived, every single one of these shares would stand on his side.

Kagawa stacked the three reports together and handed them back to Murase.

“Accept the funds from Sumitomo according to their conditions; don’t change a single word. Early tomorrow morning, I will personally go to Sumitomo to express my gratitude.”

Murase acknowledged with a sound, then hesitatingly asked another question.

“Vice President, the Securities Department says that the buy orders these past few days are scattered very strangely. Should we have them investigate who is buying?”

“No need to investigate.”

Kagawa tidied his cuffs and walked toward the elevator.

“It is a good thing for someone to be willing to buy Fuji’s stock at a time like this.”

Making Fuji Bank change its surname to Saionji as well was naturally a good thing.