The room went quiet.
Yasui's pupils dilated slightly. He understood.
Every step they took could not be called "withdrawing loans," but it would merely slow down the flow of money.
Yet it could achieve the same effect.
"If anyone asks," Urakami continued, "the answer is: 'After the total volume regulation, banks have an obligation to re-examine all risk exposures.'"
"The officials from the Ministry of Finance have used that language before. We are simply following their precedent."
Deputy General Manager Ueba said in a low voice, "Understood."
Urakami looked at Kawachi.
"The accounts at Itoman must be fixed."
Kawachi nodded. He had been waiting for those words.
"Hanwa Metal has a subsidiary under its name that deals in aluminum trading. It is registered in Sakai City."
His voice was very low, barely audible to anyone except those seated beside him.
"I will arrange for this subsidiary to remit 160 million yen to Itoman under the pretext of an 'overseas buyer paying the balance.' The transfer will be done in three installments, four days apart."
"The Itoman finance department will record these three entries as trade payments for the fourth quarter of 1989. The corresponding contracts will be re-issued, with the dates backdated to October 1989."
"As for the warehouse receipts," he paused for a beat, "we will explain them as 're-exported goods.' The goods remained in the bonded zone throughout and never actually entered Japan, so there are no warehouse entry slips."
"This explanation holds up in standard trade practice."
Urakami narrowed his eyes.
"Who will sign?"
"Mitamura from the Trade Management Department," Kawachi said. "He was the person in charge on paper anyway. Having him sign again makes the logic self-consistent."
"Is Mitamura reliable?"
"Reliable," Kawachi answered quickly. "He has been handling this line for three years. His sunk cost is high enough. He cannot afford to capsize the boat now."
Urakami did not press further.
He turned to Yasui.
"Those three shells. Hanwa Metal, Hoho Real Estate, and Osaka Commercial Building Materials."
Yasui continued. "Hoho Real Estate has already been liquidated. For Osaka Commercial Building Materials, I suggest we let it undergo voluntary liquidation before the end of the year."
"Don't make it too sudden."
"It won't be. Let it miss two tax payments. The tax office will issue a notice, and if no one responds within three months, it will automatically enter the liquidation process."
Urakami nodded.
"What about Hanwa Metal?"
Yasui was silent for two seconds.
"Hanwa Metal is more troublesome. It still holds the transfer record for that industrial land in East Osaka under its name. The price difference on that deal was 700 million yen."
"If the audit team finds this—"
"They won't find it for now," Yasui said. "The land transfer went through the Sumitomo Trust channel. The trust company's records are not in Itoman's general ledger."
"Unless they go to check Sumitomo Trust."
Urakami's fingers began to tap again.
"Will Endo go to check?"
Yasui thought for a moment.
"If he is smart enough, he will."
"In fact, he definitely will. That Eldest Miss will certainly think of it."
The room was silent for three seconds.
Urakami took a deep breath. When he exhaled, the breath was long, as if it had been drawn from the very bottom of his chest.
"One last thing."
He looked at Kawachi.
"If it really gets to that point, and Itoman can no longer hold it—"
Kawachi's hands stopped on his knees.
"Prepare a cushion."
Kawachi did not speak.
Urakami's voice dropped, word by word, like he was chanting.
"Find a Kansai shell company that is already insolvent. Shift all abnormal guarantees, loans, and sources of repayment, everything, onto that company."
"Let it go bankrupt, and make its president sign to admit the debt."
Kawachi's Adam's apple moved.
"What happens after admitting the debt?"
Urakami did not answer the question.
Everyone understood. That would be the time for the dogs they were keeping to play their part.
He picked up the cup of tea that had gone completely cold and drank the last sip.
The green tea rolled in his throat and was swallowed.
"These things, the accounts can be fixed and the shells can be broken."
He put the empty cup back on the table.
"But there is one red line."
His gaze swept over everyone present.
"Do not let the Tokyo District Public Prosecutors Office Special Investigation Department catch a whiff of this."
"Especially do not touch the political donation line."
No one in the room made a sound.
The young secretary's pen tip stopped on the paper. The last few lines were written quickly, the strokes more scribbled than before.
"Everything said tonight," Urakami stood up, "is just direction. For specific operations, Yasui and Kawachi, go back and draft detailed plans."
"Show me within three days."
Yasui and Deputy General Manager Ueba bowed simultaneously.
"Yes."
Urakami had already walked to the sliding door. His hand rested on the door frame, and he paused for a beat.
"One more thing."
He did not turn back.
"That Mr. Endo."
"How long did he stand by the window yesterday?"
Deputy General Manager Ueba was stunned for a moment. "...About fifteen minutes."
"What was he looking at?"
"The blinds were half-open. Opposite is... the Osaka main branch."
Urakami's fingers tapped lightly on the door frame.
"From now on, all curtains above the third floor of that Itoman building must be drawn shut."
He opened the door and walked out.
...
Nine thirty-eight.
The meeting adjourned.
The five people left from different exits.
Urakami's car drove away first, a black Century with an Osaka license plate.
The taillights flashed in the narrow alley of Kitashinchi and then disappeared behind the corner.
Yasui took the side door. His driver backed the car into the alley, and when the door closed, it stirred up a cold breeze.
Kawachi stood at the entrance of the restaurant for thirty seconds and lit a cigarette. The smoke dissipated quickly in the late October Osaka night wind.
He took two puffs, stubbed out the cigarette, and climbed into a silver Toyota Crown.
Deputy General Manager Ueba walked the fastest. His pace was almost a trot. Tomorrow at nine in the morning, he had to return to that conference room on the third floor of Itoman to face Endo and his team.
The last to come out was the young secretary.
He came out from the main entrance, carrying a black briefcase. Clipped to the outside of the briefcase was a plain publication, the Hakusuikai Industrial Liaison Monthly, October issue.
The meeting minutes inside were folded into three and pressed under the monthly report.
He stood under the porch for two seconds and adjusted his coat collar. Then he turned left and walked along the stone path of Kitashinchi towards the Dojima River.
His steps were not fast, but they were steady.
When he passed the first intersection, a dark Toyota Crown was parked on the side of the road opposite him.
The car window was half-lowered.
The lights inside the car were not on.
The young secretary did not notice the car. His gaze was fixed on the puddles on the sidewalk ahead, left over from the afternoon's rain. His soles made a slight splashing sound when he stepped through them.
Inside the Toyota Crown, a person sat in the back seat.
He held a camera with a telephoto lens in his hand.
The sound of the shutter was muffled by sound-dampening cotton.
Three shots.
The secretary's profile as he walked.
The black briefcase at his side.
The fine spray kicked up when his sole stepped through a puddle.
Then the license plate. When the secretary walked to the intersection and hailed a taxi, the camera was aimed at the taxi's rear license plate.
The "Naniwa" plate was clear in the lens, and the last four digits, 337, were unmistakable.
The door closed. The taxi's taillights flashed at the bridgehead of the Dojima River and merged into the night traffic.
The person in the Toyota Crown put down the camera.
"Follow him?" A low voice came from the driver's seat.
"No need to follow," the person in the back seat replied. "Knowing where he lives is enough."
...
October 30th.
Wednesday.
Saionji Trading Osaka temporary office.
10:04 PM.
Endo's desk was spread with the day's work briefing.
Tadokoro's handwriting was very neat, written in a blue ballpoint pen. The last line of the briefing read: "Original contracts still not provided. The other party cites 'departmental hierarchical filing system' as an excuse, requiring individual applications for each item."
Endo closed the briefing and rubbed his brow.
On the other end of the desk sat a kraft paper envelope.
He opened the envelope.
Inside were four photos.
First photo: At the entrance of a restaurant in Kitashinchi, a young man stood sideways under the porch. He wore thin-rimmed glasses and a gray suit. The reflection of a metal badge could be vaguely seen on his chest.
Second photo: The same person. He was carrying a black briefcase, with some kind of printed material clipped to the outside.
Third photo: License plate. Taxi. The "Naniwa" plate was clear, and the number 337 was unmistakable.
Fourth photo: Side door of the restaurant. A silver Toyota Crown. The window was half-open, and inside sat a middle-aged man. The flame of his cigarette had just been lit, and it illuminated half his face, revealing sharp cheekbones and thin lips behind a veil of smoke.
Endo's fingers paused at the edge of the first photo.
He recognized that badge.
Sumitomo Bank.
He pushed the first photo across the desk.
The SIS Osaka liaison officer sat in the opposite chair and caught it.
"This person," Endo said.
The liaison officer lowered his head to look.
"Check his entry and exit records."
The liaison officer looked up. "Check Hakusuikai?"
Endo shook his head.
"Check Itoman."
His fingers tapped lightly on the desk.
"Especially between three and five PM on Friday. See whether he has entered the Itoman building."
The liaison officer put the photo into his inner pocket and nodded.
"Understood."
Endo leaned back in his chair.
The fluorescent lights in the office hummed. Outside the window, the night was deep, and the headlights on the Metropolitan Expressway were already sparser than they had been before ten o'clock.
He looked at the remaining three photos on the desk.
That face in the silver Toyota Crown lingered in his mind. The man had sharp cheekbones and thin lips, and the glow of his cigarette had traced his profile through the smoke.
Kawachi.
Endo tapped his fingernail on the name of the Planning Office Chief.
"People who sit in tea rooms and talk usually don't carry documents out themselves."
He put the photos back into the envelope.
"The person running errands for them is the one who will truly leave footprints."