Reborn in Tokyo: From Heiress to Global Tycoon

Chapter 14 The Ghost of the Plaza Hotel

May 22, 1985, New York.

Autumn arrives earlier in Manhattan than in Tokyo. The maple leaves in Central Park have already turned golden, casting dappled reflections on the shop windows along Fifth Avenue.

The Plaza Hotel.

This magnificent building, with its French Renaissance-style roof, stands on the south side of Central Park, like a graceful and elegant lady, looking down with a detached gaze at the bustling world below.

11:00 AM.

The hotel's "White and Gold Suite" was closed.

The corridor was filled with Secret Service agents in black suits and headsets, the air thick with a suffocating tension. The reporters, who were usually omnipresent, were nowhere to be seen; even the waiters were kept at least thirty meters away.

The atmosphere in the conference room was not as elegant as the hotel's name suggested.

On the long conference table, there were only a few water glasses and a few thin documents.

U.S. Treasury Secretary James Baker sat in the head seat. This confidant of President Reagan was unbuttoning his suit jacket, leaning forward, and scanning the representatives of the other four countries with an almost scrutinizing gaze.

His gaze eventually settled on the short, tired-looking Asian man on his left.

Japan’s Tibetan Minister, Noboru Takeshita.

"Gentlemen," Baker said, tapping his fingers lightly on the table, the sound particularly clear in the quiet room, "America's trade deficit has reached a dangerous point. Congress has given a firm order: if none of us here can come up with a 'satisfactory' solution, then next week, protectionist bills will flood the White House desks."

The simultaneous interpreter failed to convey the harshness in Beck's tone, but everyone present was shrewd and understood the underlying meaning.

Either devalue the dollar, or the US closes its markets.

pick one of two.

Takeshita Noboru remained silent. He picked up the water glass in front of him and took a sip.

He knew he had no choice. Japan's prosperity was built on exports; if the United States closed its markets, the Japanese economy would immediately suffocate. In contrast, while the appreciation of the yen was painful, it at least offered a glimmer of hope.

"Japan agrees."

Takeshita Noboru finally spoke, his voice a little hoarse.

"We will intervene in the market to guide the yen to appreciate in an orderly manner."

The finance ministers of Germany, Britain, and France exchanged glances and nodded in agreement. Since their largest creditor (Japan) had conceded, they were naturally pleased.

The document was pushed to the center of the table.

That was a Plaza Accord Joint Statement.

Takeshita Noboru pulled a black Montblanc pen from his pocket. He hovered it above the signature line for half a second.

He might have foreseen that signing this agreement would cause widespread devastation among Japanese exporters, but he could never have foreseen that this drop of ink would, over the next thirty years, create a shocking landscape of bubbles and ruins on this eastern island nation.

"rustle--"

The pen tip glides across the paper.

The gears of fate have meshed.

……

Tokyo. Monday, September 23, 1985.

Five o'clock in the morning.

The rain outside the window had stopped, but the sky remained a murky, bluish-gray. The extremely low air pressure after the typhoon made the pre-dawn darkness feel particularly thick and sticky.

The Western-style living room on the first floor of the Saionji main house.

The huge crystal chandelier was not turned on; only the floor lamp in the corner emitted a dim, yellowish glow.

Shuichi sat on the deep red velvet sofa, with a small mountain of cigarette butts piled up in the ashtray in front of him.

He didn't sleep all night.

Although today is the Autumn Equinox and the Tokyo Stock Exchange and Foreign Exchange are closed, global financial markets are interconnected. Any news from New York will immediately trigger a reaction in pre-market trading in Sydney and London.

More importantly, his heart could not withstand any more waiting.

"master."

The old butler, Fujita, appeared at the door like a ghost, holding a cup of freshly brewed black coffee.

"Why don't you go and get some sleep? The news won't be on until seven."

Shuichi didn't turn around, he just waved his hand. His eyes were fixed on the television set in front of him, which was not turned on, as if he could see the scene on the other side of the ocean through the black screen.

"I'm not sleepy." Shuichi's voice was dry. "Fujita, open the window. The room smells too much smoke."

Fujita put down his coffee, walked to the French windows, and drew back the heavy velvet curtains.

The cool, damp morning breeze blew in, carrying the scents of earth and vegetation.

Shuichi took a deep breath, and the cold wind jolted his muddled mind, clearing it somewhat.

Just then, soft footsteps came from the stairs.

Satsuki, dressed in neat pajamas and wearing a wool shawl, slowly walked down the street. Her long hair was casually tied back, and her face had a rosy blush from just waking up, making her look like an early-rising, playful little girl.

Good morning, Father.

She walked to the sofa, sat down naturally next to Shuichi, picked up the cup of coffee her father hadn't touched, and took a small sip.

"It's so bitter." She wrinkled her nose.

Although her soul had reached adulthood, her body didn't seem to be used to this taste.

"That's for adults." Shuichi looked at his daughter, his tense nerves relaxing slightly. "Why are you up so early too?"

"I had a nightmare." Satsuki put down her cup, but her eyes were calm. "I dreamt that lots and lots of gold coins fell from the sky and crushed the house."

Xiu paused for a moment, then smiled wryly: "If it's that kind of nightmare, I'd like to have a few more."

He raised his wrist and glanced at the Patek Philippe.

6:55.

"Turn it on." Shuichi pointed to the television.

Fujita stepped forward and pressed the switch.

With the buzzing sound of the picture tube warming up, the screen lit up. NHK's morning news was broadcasting a video about the folk customs of ancestor worship during the Autumn Equinox, with melodious and calm background music.

Shuichi leaned forward, his hands gripping his knees tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Satsuki leaned back on the sofa, playing with the tassels of her shawl in her hand, her gaze drifting to the pine tree outside the window, which was bent slightly by the typhoon.

It's exactly 7 o'clock.

The TV screen suddenly changed.

The gentle female announcer has disappeared, replaced by a serious-looking male anchor, and the background image has changed to a world map marked with the flags of five countries.

"A breaking international news segment."

The male anchor's voice was steady and powerful, carrying throughout the empty living room through the mono speaker.

"According to the latest report from our correspondent in New York, the finance ministers and central bank governors of the United States, Japan, West Germany, the United Kingdom, and France held a secret meeting at the Plaza Hotel yesterday morning New York time."

Shuichi's breathing stopped instantly.

There really is a meeting!

"The five countries reached a historic joint statement, the Plaza Accord. The statement pointed out that the current exchange rate of the US dollar was too high, leading to global trade imbalances. The five governments decided to take all necessary measures, including joint intervention in the foreign exchange market, to achieve an orderly appreciation of non-dollar currencies."

"Following the meeting, Finance Minister Takeshita stated that Japan will assume its corresponding international responsibilities..."

Shuichi could no longer hear what was said after that.

Only two words were echoing wildly in his mind.

"The dollar is too high."

"Orderly appreciation".

To the untrained eye, this was nothing more than dry diplomatic rhetoric. But to Shuichi, a gambler who had been lying in wait on the short-selling front for two months, it was more enticing than the gospel of God.

This is a declaration of war!

Five industrialized nations are joining forces to short the dollar! This is hardly "orderly appreciation"; it's clearly an attempt to crush the dollar!

Shuichi suddenly stood up, his movement so forceful that it overturned the coffee table in front of him.

The coffee cup shattered on the carpet, spilling brown liquid, but he didn't care.

He opened his mouth wide, wanting to laugh out loud, but found that his throat felt like it was blocked with cotton, and he couldn't make a sound.

The extreme ecstasy surged through his brain, making him feel dizzy. He staggered a couple of steps and grabbed the armrest of the sofa for support.

"Father."

A slightly cool little hand supported his arm.

Satsuki stood beside him, her face showing little surprise, only a faint smile on her lips, as if she had foreseen everything.

"It seems your old classmate with the 'cold' has recovered in New York."

Xiu turned his head and looked at his daughter.

After several seconds, he finally found his voice.

"We won..."

His voice trembled, and his eyes quickly became bloodshot and red.

"Satsuki...we won!"

He grabbed his daughter and hugged her so tightly he almost broke her bones.

"That's the G5! That's coordinated intervention! Tuesday's opening... no, the over-the-counter market has definitely collapsed by now! The dollar is finished!"

20x leverage. Going all in on shorting.

With the support of central banks in five countries, how much will this drop be? 5%? 10%?

For every 1% drop, the Saionji family's assets would double.

If it drops by 10%...

Shuichi dared not even think about that number. It was an astronomical figure, dwarfing the total wealth accumulated by the Saionji family over the past hundred years.

"Yes, Father."

Satsuki let her father hold her, resting her chin on his broad shoulders. Her gaze went over her father's shoulders to the picture of the Plaza Hotel on the television screen.

"This is just the beginning," she murmured to herself. "The real show is yet to come."

……

At the same time. Osaka.

In the Hilton Hotel's luxury suite, the curtains were drawn, and the air was thick with the sour smell of a hangover.

Empty champagne bottles and several pieces of women's underwear were scattered on the ground.

Kenjiro Saionji lay sprawled on the bed, fast asleep like a log. Last night, to celebrate the so-called "five million sets of orders," he had treated several top club members to drinks until four in the morning.

"Buzz—Buzz—"

The phone on the bedside table was vibrating incessantly, as if it were going crazy.

Kenjiro turned over in frustration and grabbed a pillow to cover his head.

"It's so noisy..."

But he forgot to hang up, and the vibration continued stubbornly. Then, the fax machine in the living room also started beeping, emitting a series of piercing signal beeps.

Kenjiro finally reached his breaking point.

He sat up abruptly, feeling as if a construction crew was smashing a wall inside his head.

"Who is it! So early in the morning!"

He grabbed the phone and roared.

"Executive Director! Something terrible has happened!"

On the other end of the phone was the branch office's finance manager, whose voice was trembling with tears, and you could even hear his teeth chattering.

"What's wrong? Did the factory explode?" Kenjiro asked irritably, rubbing his temples.

"Not the factory...it's...it's the US dollar!" the Finance Minister stammered. "Look at the news! NHK! The Americans and Minister Takeshita signed an agreement in New York! They're going to appreciate the yen!"

"appreciation?"

Kenjiro's mind hadn't quite caught up yet.

"Appreciation is great... With appreciation, we can buy a villa in Hawaii, and imported raw materials will be cheaper..."

He mumbled incoherently, grabbed the remote control, and turned on the TV.

On the screen, Takeshita Noboru's remarks at the press conference were being replayed: "...In order to correct the trade imbalance, the yen exchange rate should reflect the strength of the Japanese economy..."

A scrolling news headline at the bottom of the screen reads: [Market Forecast: The yen-dollar exchange rate may break through the 230 mark in the short term, and may even reach 220.]

230?

Kenjiro was stunned.

When he signed the contract, the exchange rate was 250.

His contract was settled in US dollars. That means that for every US dollar he received, he would lose 20 yen when converting it to Japanese yen.

Five million sets of products, totaling tens of millions of US dollars.

If the exchange rate drops to 230... his profits will be gone.

If it drops to 220... he'll lose money.

"Wait a moment……"

Kenshiro felt as if all the blood in his body had frozen. His hangover headache vanished instantly, replaced by a bone-chilling cold.

He remembered the contract.

The [Currency Clause] that Satsuki pointed out, which he had scoffed at at the time.

There was no currency locking or any hedging.

That's equivalent to him running naked.

"Managing Director! The off-exchange bids are in complete chaos! One bank has offered 235!" The Finance Minister was still screaming on the other end of the phone. "That 5 billion yen loan we took out is hard debt! If our revenue shrinks, how will we repay it?"

Kenjiro's hand trembled, and the microphone fell onto the carpet.

He stared blankly at the television screen.

On the screen, U.S. Treasury Secretary Baker is smiling. To Kenshiro, that smile is like a demon opening its bloody maw.

"How could this happen..."

He muttered to himself, his face ashen.

"Everything was fine yesterday...there were big orders yesterday..."

Suddenly, he remembered the hesitant expression on his older brother Shuichi's face at the groundbreaking ceremony for the Osaka factory two months ago.

And then there's that little niece, Satsuki, pointing at the breach of contract clause and asking him "Can you afford to pay for it?" with that innocent look in her eyes.

"The train has already departed."

At the time, he thought it referred to a train to wealth.

Now he understands.

That was a hearse heading to hell.

"It's over..."

Kenshiro's legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees on the carpet. The expensive empty bottles around him seemed like a silent mocking crowd, coldly watching this clown who had fallen from grace overnight.

……

Tokyo. Saionji Main Family Residence.

The post-rain sunlight finally pierced through the thick clouds, shining on the living room carpet and illuminating the spilled coffee stain.

Shuichi had calmed down from his initial euphoria.

He lit another cigarette, sat on the sofa, and looked out at the courtyard. His hands were still trembling slightly, but it was a trembling of excitement.

"Satsuki".

Shuichi exhaled a smoke ring, his voice deep and powerful.

"Tomorrow. No, today."

"I will inform the company to prepare cash."

He turned his head and looked at his daughter sitting beside him.

"We're going to Osaka."

Satsuki raised her head and revealed a sweet smile.

"Are you going to visit your uncle?"

"No."

Xiu stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

"We're going to collect the bodies."