K Street, Washington D.C., USA.
A violent summer thunderstorm battered this city of politics and power.
Rain hammered the roof of the extended Lincoln armored sedan, a steady, dull drumbeat.
Saionji Keigo sat in the spacious back seat.
Only a dim reading light glowed in the cabin.
He held a thick English legal document, using the faint light to review the clauses one final time.
His gaze settled on the addendum.
Per the main family's final instructions from Tokyo, this two-billion-dollar capital injection came with a concession that was extremely abnormal for traditional M&A.
As the investor, S.A. Global Engineering & Logistics Rescue Group would unconditionally waive all voting rights in the target military-industrial private equity fund and proactively relinquish any access to technical information related to Pentagon defense outsourcing.
As an elite bureaucrat who had worked in the North American political center for ten years, Keigo knew exactly what this concession meant on Washington's K Street.
Those military-industrial private equity partners—retired generals and former cabinet staffers—were always wary of capital penetration with Asian Zaibatsu ties. In the Pentagon's compliance web, that was usually an impassable national security barrier.
But this agreement, which severed all control, bypassed every administrative wall through a pure exchange of interests.
As long as underlying control and audit rights were surrendered, the two billion dollars became "blind capital" with zero political risk. The partners could take this massive non-voting capital, secure astronomical outsourcing contracts from the Pentagon, and comfortably collect high management fees and performance splits.
And what the Saionji Family actually wanted was simple: use the partners' political channels on Capitol Hill to secure legal war-zone logistics permits and identity registrations for the "Asian engineering and medical rescue employees" about to deploy to the Middle East periphery.
Keigo closed the heavy legal document.
This was insane… but efficient.
"Sir," the driver said from the front, slowing down, "we've arrived."
The Lincoln pulled up to an understated classical building.
This was a private office for The Carlyle Group in Washington.
Security staff with black umbrellas opened the car door.
Keigo, carrying a black leather briefcase, stepped into the rain and passed through the heavy revolving glass door.
Ten minutes later.
Top-floor private conference room, a military-industrial private equity firm in the middle of K Street.
Keigo sat on one side of the conference table.
Opposite him were two white senior partners with deep Pentagon backgrounds. They had held key posts in the Department of Defense and the Senate Armed Services Committee, and now represented top-tier military-industrial lobbying power on this street.
The partner on the left flipped through the preliminary letter of intent Keigo had provided. His eyes paused for two seconds on the investor's name at the top. Then he set the few pages back on the marble coffee table and leaned back in his leather chair.
"Mr. Saionji. Before we discuss this letter of intent, we need to confirm a basic premise," the partner on the left said, interlacing his fingers and looking directly at Keigo. "You're based in Washington, and your resume lists you as a senior official with Japan's Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Sitting in this room today, do you represent the will of the Tokyo Cabinet, or the private interests of the Saionji Zaibatsu?"
Keigo's expression stayed calm. He removed his gold-rimmed glasses and took a velvet cloth from his suit pocket, slowly wiping the lenses.
"I am currently on a month-long personal leave. My bureaucratic identity is set aside."
He put the glasses back on and placed his hands together on the smooth mahogany table.
"Today, I represent only the investor—S.A. Global Engineering & Logistics Rescue Group."
The partner on the left nodded slightly. He tapped the cover of the letter of intent twice with his index finger, neither hard nor soft.
"Very well. Pure commercial capital makes this simpler."
His finger rested on the paper, and he leaned forward slightly, elbows on the armrests. His gaze sharpened and his pace slowed.
"Mr. Saionji. A two-billion-dollar cash injection… that is hard to refuse."
"But in Washington, massive Asian capital always comes with extremely high national security barriers. The Pentagon maintains the highest scrutiny on equity penetration into military-industrial private equity."
He looked at Keigo, his expression cold and hard.
"If your side intends to use this sum to seek board seats or access to classified projects… I don't believe this deal can clear the Committee on Foreign Investment in the United States."
Facing the partner's blunt question, Keigo didn't flinch.
"Regarding compliance concerns, we came prepared," Keigo said.
He undid the brass clasp on his black leather briefcase and removed the formal Limited Partner agreement, embossed with the seal of a top Washington law firm.
He slid the heavy agreement steadily across the mahogany table.
"Gentlemen."
"We will unconditionally waive all voting and classified audit rights for this fund. The full management fees generated by these two billion dollars during operation, plus all performance fees, will be enjoyed entirely by an institution with local security clearances like yours."
The air in the room stilled.
Both partners' eyes dropped to the harsh clauses that severed control.
"Our only compliance request," Keigo said, adjusting his glasses, his voice low, "is that your side use your resources on Capitol Hill to handle legal war-zone logistics permits and identity registrations for our Asian civilian engineering and medical rescue employees deploying to the outskirts of the Middle East."
Silence.
Hearing such asymmetrical terms, the partner on the left stopped turning pages.
The two men exchanged a quick, subtle glance.
The polite smile on his face didn't change, but his eyes stayed locked on Keigo's.
"Mr. Saionji," he said.
His tone remained gentlemanly and polite.
"In business logic, for your side to surrender this much control and profit sharing just for a few peripheral labor transit permits… this deal lacks a reasonable underlying motive."
He smiled at Keigo.
"You must explain the true intent behind this move."
Keigo looked at them expressionlessly and said two words.
"Political hedging."
Keigo's tone was steady and unhurried.
"And… buying an entry ticket for a geopolitical situation that could deteriorate at any time."
He looked at the two men across from him.
"As you know, the recent troop movements on the Middle Eastern borders are anything but ordinary. Once a regional conflict erupts, it will endanger the global crude oil lifeline, and Japan, which relies heavily on crude imports, will be hit first."
"To be frank, based on our intelligence estimates, the chance of third-party mediation is very low. At that point, your government, as the model for maintaining international peace, will surely lead a multinational force for armed intervention."
"But restricted by our 'Peace Constitution,' even though Japan would be one of the biggest beneficiaries of that action, the Tokyo Cabinet cannot send a single soldier overseas. If that happens, not only will Japan's international image suffer, but your government will also have a hard time answering to voters at home."
"This is something neither side wants to see."
Keigo leaned forward slightly.
"Therefore, to avoid an outcome neither side wants,"
"the Saionji Family has decided to invest at this critical juncture and send a group of non-uniformed civilian employees to handle dangerous engineering and rescue work on the war zone's periphery."
"This will quiet the critics for the Tokyo Cabinet and share part of the risk of casualties and public pressure for politicians in Washington."
"At the same time, securing an entry ticket in advance under the banner of 'civilian rescue' also positions us for initiative in post-war reconstruction infrastructure."
Keigo interlaced his fingers in front of him.
"Surrendering the profits on these two billion dollars is the deposit we're paying for that entry ticket."
The partner on the left finished listening and picked up the black tea in front of him. He didn't drink immediately, using the lid to stir the leaves on the surface.
"Spending money to take heat for politicians, fishing for political capital for yourselves… and grabbing a good spot in future reconstruction while you're at it," he said, setting the teacup back on the saucer with a small smile. "Mr. Saionji, this is a classic script. Politicians in Washington love stories like this."
He tapped the mahogany table twice with his index finger, neither light nor heavy.
"But. Giving up the entire profit on two billion dollars…"
The partner leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on Keigo's face.
"Just to buy a few labor passes for the war zone periphery? The premium on this 'toll' is too high. If we submit the agreement like this, the folks in compliance won't buy such a lofty political story."
The smile didn't leave his face.
"We need a motive that can fully satisfy them, one that satisfies capital's appetite."
Keigo's expression darkened.
He frowned slightly, reached out, and pulled the limited partner agreement back toward him.
"Gentlemen. The content of the agreement and our demands are fully spelled out on paper. Beyond that, I have nothing more to say."
"Since your side lacks sincerity, there's no need to force it."
Keigo stood decisively, buttoning his dark suit with both hands. He tucked the agreement into his briefcase and turned toward the door.
"Mr. Saionji, please wait," the partner on the right said. He set his cigar on the edge of the ashtray.
"We value our friendship with the Saionji Family. However, if you cannot clearly explain the strategic intent of these funds today…"
The partner leaned back, watching Keigo's back.
"For the safety of the fund itself, we'll have no choice but to submit a risk report to the Securities and Exchange Commission. We'll request a comprehensive compliance investigation into the Saionji Family's recent cross-border capital movements in North America."
Keigo's steps stopped.
The partner smiled, watching Keigo's fists clench slightly.
Still young, after all…
Five full seconds passed.
Keigo turned slowly, walked back to the table, and sat down.
"Whew…"
Keigo took a deep breath.
"Even if you press me, it won't help."
"This is beyond my authority. I must request instructions."
The American partners exchanged a smile, and the partner on the right gestured "please go ahead."
Keigo looked at them hard, then pulled a heavy mobile phone from his briefcase in front of both men.
His expression was solemn, brows furrowed, as he dialed the local number of the accompanying secretary stationed in the U.S.
The line connected.
Keigo's back straightened subconsciously. He lowered his head slightly, taking a respectful posture.
He switched to Japanese, speaking slowly with complex honorifics.
"Ha… I am truly sorry to disturb you at such a time."
Keigo's brows were locked tight.
"Regarding the bottom-line concessions for Plan B… Yes. I request the main family approve a compromise on the traditional Japanese target at the fourth coordinate in the special zone."
A two-second pause on the other end.
Keigo closed his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"It is truly irreplaceable. We must use the Kanto-style configuration, and… I request you also approve double the protein toppings."
The two American partners leaned back in their leather chairs, watching this Japanese bureaucrat.
What was this? Some internal code?
Their Japanese wasn't strong to begin with, and Keigo's archaic honorifics made it worse.
But his posture said the person on the other end was high-level in the Saionji Family.
Five full seconds passed.
"…Thank you very much for your tolerance and decision. Then, please deliver the target within thirty minutes. Yes… excuse me."
Keigo moved the phone from his ear and ended the call.
He exhaled a long, heavy breath, closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Japan's large general trading companies and heavy industry giants have massive investments in oil refineries, desalination plants, and infrastructure entities in the Middle East," Keigo said, his voice low.
"Once war ignites, multinational insurers will immediately refuse coverage, and conventional commercial security will flee the war zone. Those overseas assets of Japanese enterprises will lose protection, becoming high-net-worth abandoned assets with no mechanism."
A cold smile touched the corner of Keigo's mouth.
"As long as the Saionji Family holds the only 'logistics rescue' legal pass in Japan endorsed by the Pentagon, we can take over and 'protect' these domestic colleagues' assets in the Middle East."
"In the extreme environment of war, the protection fees the Saionji Family collects from domestic peers, plus the profits from acquiring high-quality assets that can't be moved at deep discounts…"
He looked at the two partners across from him.
"…will far exceed this mere two-billion-dollar entry fee."
The muscles in the two partners' faces relaxed. They exchanged a look.
The partner on the right picked up his whiskey glass and toasted Keigo slightly.
"Mr. Saionji. In Washington think tank reports, large Japanese enterprises are known for their 'convoy' model of huddling for warmth," he said, taking a sip, his eyes on Keigo. "But it seems the Saionji Family prefers Wall Street's feeding style."
The partner on the left smiled and picked up the fountain pen on the table.
"The Carlyle Group is very happy to provide a compliant channel for a business plan with high return expectations."
He uncapped the pen.
The iridium nib glided across the thick paper.
The scratching sound was clear in the quiet room.
Two florid English signatures landed in the final column of the agreement.
Keigo leaned back, watching the other party sign.
Finally… they took the bait.
The three reasons he gave were all pre-approved and public.
What truly needed cover was still hidden behind those three real reasons.
This security team's internal designation was "High-Mobility Battlefield Medical Special Task Force." Deploying to the edge of a real war zone was to give this private armed force initial combat certification.
Additionally, once large-scale armed conflict broke out, if high-value coalition personnel were in desperate situations, this elite team—unburdened by official red tape—would have the prerequisites to execute fireline rescue operations.
This arrangement by the Young Miss seemed intended to build goodwill with the American side.
As for the two-billion-dollar military private equity injection, it was indeed just a legal capital container to establish Limited Partner status.
When the Middle East war ignited, the crude oil OTC call options the Saionji Family built in advance would convert into an enormous windfall. A windfall seized by leveraging the blood of America's wars would inevitably draw cross-border liquidation by Washington regulators.
And this military private equity fund, which voluntarily gave up all control, was the highest-level cover.
Those offshore dollars reeking of crude oil would be injected into this fund in batches, compliantly converting into underlying shares of the U.S. military-industrial complex. The huge non-voting funds would generate management fees and performance splits, flowing endlessly into the private pockets of K Street politicians and retired Pentagon generals.
Welding Washington's powerful vested interests to the Saionji Family's funds.
In the future, when the Commodity Futures Trading Commission tried to pierce the layers to trace the true source of this crude oil windfall, those interest groups protecting their own dividends would, to protect their meal, use their political privileges on Capitol Hill to block any sanctions against the Saionji Family.
This was the full picture of Satsuki's plan.
A single action aimed at multiple predetermined goals.
The partner on the left looked at his signature with satisfaction.
He stood and extended his right hand across the mahogany table.
Keigo also stood and extended his right hand.
The two men shook firmly, both smiling.
"Pleasure doing business."