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During the Japanese occupation of Hong Kong in the early 1940s, control of almost all service and manufacturing industries within the territory were ceded to a small group of well-connected politicians and businessmen. The Japanese used these loyal Hong Kong citizens to maintain tight controls on the industrial activities within the conquered lands. All of the production and proceeds were siphoned through the newly formed conglomerate Keizaifukko, or the Institute of Economic Reconstruction, and into the Japanese war machine.
The surrender of the Japanese in 1945 and reassertion of British rule over Hong Kong left Keizaifukko unmolested. The conglomerate was given access to the opportunities of the free markets of the West and the radical ideas of capitalism.
Over the years, Keizaifukko faded into legal obscurity, ceasing to exist on paper. It operated as a board of trustees over an investment firm which had no name and held assets in industries and ventures across China, Asia and the globe. Steel mills, raw ore mines, airports, farms, retail, chemical refineries, bio-tech research firms, film and media, hospitals, solar panel manufacturers, it even owned a brand of hot sauce, a 3d printing manufacturer, and an eyeglass designer employing one man working out of his garage.
With the growth of Hong Kong was the growth of The Conglomerate. Its funds were bedrock for countless industries, and its will moved the tectonic plates of the world.
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His voice booms, “The Board is a lifetime appointment. You're here til you die. All of us knew it when we started out. With dreams of building an empire, crafting the tenor of the world like guiding a rapids to carve a ravine.
But this world isn't a rapids. And this Board didn't need starry eyed fools.
Pragmatists were what we lacked. All of them men of farsight, foresight without eyes enough to see the steps missing before them.
Each of them fell. Tripped on their foolish daydreams. Trapped by their blindness.”
His face is hidden in the ubiquitous cowl of darkness. The room's only light, a dim wash from 20 desk lamps before each member, barely draws his chest against the black.
“And with every vacancy, an opportunity to secure ourselves. An opportunity for pragmatists. Each wasted to placating a thousand wailing children, with a thousand wants, a thousand demands, a thousand mouths to take suck at our teats.”
His was the voice. The scarred and brutal voice of the final surviving member of the original Board. The voice of the Old Dragon.
“There is no choice but the wrong choice and you better choose well.”
A voice not often heard. Business was usually conducted by the sultry and sweet voice of his assistant, if she was his assistant. But his was the signature. Every issuance before the Board, every document used to carry out its authority, required his scrawl.
“Nothing is secure. Nothing is as it needs to be. Nothing will hold for tomorrow.”
Your heart. You can feel your heart. You can feel it in your temples; in your thumbs; in your chest.
“You think you've found the ceiling? You think you know the summit? You think you belong in the high heavens, and the high heavens belong to you?”
His rage. You can feel his rage. Anger that cuts through you, cuts through all of you.
“This is not the Kingdom of God, nor the Kingdom of Gold. This is the Kingdom of Dirt. Built from soot and sinew, from sweat and mud. Built on the bodies of dead slaves and dead executives all the same.”
You feel a familiar stiffness, the discipline of your spine. The same stiffness you hold even when you're almost alone. The stiffness that centers you in this dark room.
The acoustics of his voice lend volume to the room. You've never felt it so big before, the voice seeming to echo off mountains a half-mile away. To you it's just the chair at the table and the soft light which shows you your business. It's just the faintly glowing walkway that guides you from your private waiting room. It's just the elevator in the parking garage on the west side that only you use, and that only takes you here.
“You aren't ready. You all think you can swim. Swim in the rapids. Guide them to carve this world. You aren't fish. You're fools lacing up cement shoes.”
Before you is a form. You hadn't noticed it before, because it hadn't been there before. It's familiar, not the unintelligible body but the clean header and the foot which demands your signature.
“Before you is the last piece of business I bring before the Board. Authorization of my severance.”
It can't be what it is. The Board is a lifetime appointment. You're in until you die.
“A coalition of the Board has been plotting to see me dead for over two years now and I fear to say their plans are sound. Their hunger can not be sated and I no longer possess the strength to imbue our interests against the caprice of the world and find the will to beat back an insurrection.
And so it is clear, the era of the First Board is through. All will pass to this, the Second Board, once my retirement is approved.”
You had been tapped. It was offered as an opportunity but you knew it as a chance to broaden and cement your authority. If the Old Dragon died, the board would cease to be his empire and your decisions would cease need his approval. And likewise your voice would be heard across all issues before the Board.
Your eyes begin to make work of the nigh impregnable wall of words.
These terms are untenable, he would have a fire-sale of all assets with the overwhelming lion's share of profits going directly to him. This isn't possible. It isn't right.
A voice. “You would have us destroy our very enterprise? You've gone mad, old man.”
“I would have you peacefully see an end to what you would surely destroy!”
“A peaceful end. In this we agree.”
The flash is blinding, illuminating a queer sight for a heartbeat's heartbeat. The crack of compression tears into your ears. Through it all, the discipline in your back remains. As your eyes return to you, the light no longer hints at touching the Old Dragon.
A voice. “The Old Dragon is dead and with him the first Board.”
“No.” The voice. “You will sign the writ for the complete liquidation of our assets. I need only your signature or death certificate. I too have made plans. Among you are a not inconsiderate few who wish to share in the spoils of this severance deal and they will see it approved or they'll kill you in your dream-filled sleep.”
A sweet and sultry voice. “As with all motions before the Board, there will be a vote. If you approve of the motion, you may sign your name on the form before you. If you do not, do nothing. The motion requires unanimous consent.”
It's clear. Either you kill the Dragon's men or they kill you. You aren't signing.
“I have a second motion.” A voice. “We kill the Old Dragon and the Dragon's Men. One at a time. By majority's consent.”
The voice. “Ha hah. Seconded.”
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WW 2013 Edition: The Conglomerate
Originally Posted by Hoopy
