stonecrandall Chapter 340 Unexpected Footprints
Chapter 340 Unexpected Footprints
The room became quiet.
Yasui's pupils dilated slightly. He understood.
Every step they took couldn't be considered "withdrawing the loan," it just slowed down the money.
But it can still play its corresponding role.
"If anyone asks—" Urakami continued, "the answer is: 'After the aggregate regulations, banks are obligated to re-examine all risk exposures.'"
"The people of the Ministry of Finance have all said this; we are just putting it into practice."
Mei Chang said in a low voice, "Understood."
Looking towards Hanoi from Pujiang.
"The debt with Ito Man needs to be settled."
Hanoi nodded. He had been waiting to hear those words.
"Hanwa Metals also has a subsidiary that trades aluminum materials. It is registered in Sakai City."
His voice was very low, and only those around him could hear it.
"I will arrange for this subsidiary to return 160 million yen to Ito Man under the guise of 'overseas buyer's payment of the final payment.' It will be done in three installments, each four days apart."
"Ito Man's finance department included these three receipts in the trade receivables for the fourth quarter of 1989. The corresponding contracts were reissued, and the dates were updated back to October 1989."
"Regarding the warehouse receipt—" He paused for a moment. "It can be explained as 'transshipment goods.' The goods remain within the bonded zone and never actually enter mainland Japan, so there is no warehouse receipt."
"This makes sense in trade practice."
Urakami narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Who will sign?"
"Mitamura from the Trade Management Department," Kawachi said. "He was originally the person in charge on the surface. Signing it again makes perfect sense."
"Can Mitamura be trusted?"
"He's reliable," Hanoi replied quickly. "He's been on this line for three years. The sunk costs are high enough that he won't capsize."
Urakami did not ask any further questions.
He turned to Yasui.
"Those three shell companies—Hanwa Metal, Paowa Real Estate, and Osaka Commercial Building Materials."
Yasui continued, "Paowa Real Estate has already been deregistered. Osaka Commercial Building Materials—I suggest letting it undergo natural liquidation before the end of the year."
"Don't be too sudden."
"No. If it owes two tax installments, the tax office will issue a notice of demand. If no one responds within three months, it will automatically enter the deregistration process."
Urakami nodded.
"Where's Hanwa Metal?"
Yasui remained silent for two seconds.
"Hanwa Metal is in a bit of a mess. It also has a transfer record for that piece of industrial land in Higashi-Osaka. A difference of 700 million yen."
"If the audit team finds this—"
"They can't find it for now," Yasui said. "The land transfer went through Sumitomo Trust, and the trust company's records aren't in Ito Man's ledger."
"Unless they transfer to Yuxin Trust."
Urakami's fingers started tapping again.
Will Endo go and make the transfer?
Yasui thought for a moment.
"If he's smart enough, he will."
"Or rather, he definitely will. That young lady will definitely 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 were squeezed out from the bottom of his chest.
"One last thing."
He looked toward Hanoi.
"If it really comes to that—Ito Man won't be able to handle it."
Hanoi's hand rested on his knee.
"Prepare a mat."
Hanoi remained silent.
Urakami's voice sounded like he was chanting a sutra, each word falling out one by one.
"Find a shell company in the Kansai region that is already insolvent. Blame all the irregular guarantees, loans, and sources of repayment on that company."
"Let it go bankrupt, and make its president sign off on it."
Hanoi's Adam's apple bobbed.
"What happens after you acknowledge the debt?"
Urakami did not answer the question.
Everyone understood. Then it was time for the dogs they had been raising to come in handy.
He picked up the cup of tea, which had gone completely cold, and took the last sip.
The green tea sloshed around in his throat and he swallowed it.
"These things—the accounts can be patched up, the shell can be broken."
He put the empty cup back on the table.
"But there is a red line."
His gaze swept over each person present in turn.
"Don't let the Tokyo District Public Prosecutors Office Special Investigation Department get a clue."
"Especially avoid crossing the line into political donations."
No one in the room made a sound.
The young secretary's pen stopped on the paper. The last few lines were written quickly, the strokes a bit more hastily than before.
"What we discussed tonight—" Urakami stood up. "These are all directions. As for the specific operations, Yasui and Kawachi will go back and draft a detailed plan."
Show it to me within three days.
Yasui and Umeba bowed simultaneously.
"Yes."
Urakami had already reached the sliding door. He placed his hand on the door frame and paused for a moment.
"There's one more thing."
He didn't turn around.
"That Mr. Endo—"
"How long did he stand by the window yesterday?"
Umeba paused for a moment. "...About fifteen minutes."
"What is he looking at?"
"The blinds are half open, and across from there is... the Osaka main store."
Urakami tapped his finger lightly on the door frame.
"From now on, all the curtains on the third floor and above of Ito Man's building must be drawn tightly."
He opened the door and went out.
……
9:38.
The meeting ended.
The five people left through different exits.
The car from Urakami drove away first—a black car with an Osaka license plate.
The taillights flashed briefly in the narrow alleys of Beixindi before disappearing around the corner.
Yasui entered through the side gate. His driver backed the car into the alley, and a gust of cold wind blew as the door closed.
Kawachi stood at the entrance of the ryotei (traditional Japanese restaurant) for thirty seconds and lit a cigarette. The smoke dissipated quickly in the night breeze of Osaka at the end of October.
He took two puffs, stubbed out his cigarette, and got into a silver Crown.
Umeba walked the fastest. His pace was almost a jog—he had to return to the conference room on the third floor of Ito Mansan's building at nine o'clock the next morning to face Endo and his team.
The last one to come out was the young secretary.
He emerged from the main entrance, carrying a black briefcase. Tucked inside the briefcase was an ordinary printed publication—the October issue of the White Water Association Industry Liaison Monthly.
The meeting minutes inside were folded into three sections and placed under the monthly report.
He stood on the porch for two seconds, adjusting his coat collar. Then he turned left and walked along the cobblestone path of Kitashinchi toward Dojimagawa.
The steps were slow, and the rhythm was steady.
As he crossed the first intersection, a dark-colored Toyota Crown was parked on the opposite side of the road.
The car window was half-rolled down.
The lights inside the car were not on.
The young secretary didn't notice the car. His gaze was fixed on the puddles on the sidewalk ahead—left by the afternoon's rain. His shoes made a slight sloshing sound as they stepped on them.
Inside the Crown, a person was sitting in the back seat.
He was holding a camera with a telephoto lens in his hand.
The shutter sound was muffled by the sound-absorbing cotton.
Three.
The secretary's profile.
Black briefcase.
The fine dust splashed up when the soles of shoes step through puddles.
Then came the license plate. As the secretary hailed a taxi at the intersection, the camera focused on the taxi's rear license plate.
The number plate reads "Naniwa". The last four digits of 337 are clearly visible in the shot.
The car door closed. The taxi's taillights flashed briefly at the Dojima River Bridge before merging into the nighttime traffic.
The people in the Crown car put down their cameras.
"Shall we go?" a deep voice came from the driver's seat.
"No," the person in the back seat replied. "Knowing where he lives is enough."
……
October 30th.
Wednesday.
Saionji Trading Co., Ltd. Osaka Temporary Office.
10:04 PM.
Endo's desk was covered with the day's work report.
Tadokoro's handwriting was neat, written with a blue ballpoint pen. The last line of the briefing read: "The original contract has still not been provided. The other party is requesting that each item be submitted separately, citing a 'departmental hierarchical filing system'."
Endo closed the briefing and rubbed his temples.
On the other end of the table was a brown paper envelope.
He opened the envelope.
There are four photos inside.
First image: At the entrance of a ryokan (traditional Japanese restaurant) in Beixindi, a young man stands sideways under the porch. He wears thin-rimmed glasses and a gray suit. The reflection of a metal badge can be faintly seen on his chest.
Second photo: The same person. He's carrying a black briefcase with some kind of printed material tucked inside.
The third one: a license plate. A taxi. The license plate number is "naniwa" (なにわ), which means 337.
Fourth image: The side entrance of the restaurant. A silver Crown. The window is half open, and inside sits a middle-aged man with high cheekbones—a cigarette has just been lit, the flame illuminating half his face.
Endo's finger stopped at the edge of the first photo.
He recognized the badge.
Sumitomo Bank.
He pushed the first photo off the desktop.
The SIS Osaka liaison officer, sitting in the chair opposite, accepted the call.
"This person," Endo said.
The liaison officer glanced down.
"Check his entry and exit records."
The liaison officer looked up. "The Cha Baishui Association?"
Endo shook his head.
"Cha Itō Man".
His fingers tapped lightly on the table.
"Especially between 3 pm and 5 pm on Fridays. Did you go into Ito Man's building?"
The liaison officer put the photo into his inner pocket and nodded.
"clear."
Endo leaned back in his chair.
The office fluorescent lights hummed. Outside the window, the Tokyo night was deep, and the headlights on the Metropolitan Expressway were already sparser than before ten o'clock.
He looked at the three remaining photos on the table.
That profile in the silver crown—cheekbones, thin lips, fireworks.
Hanoi.
Endo tapped his fingernail on the name of the head of the planning department.
"People who sit and talk in the tea room usually don't take their own documents with them when they go out."
He put the photo back into the envelope.
"The one who runs errands for them is the one who truly leaves a footprint."