After returning from Italy, I headed to Faber's place early in the morning. Thankfully, he seemed to be up already.
"Since you were on a business trip, you should have done some sightseeing. Why are you back so soon…?"
"My lead designer got a job offer. I was so anxious, I couldn't focus on anything else."
At my joke, he gave a small smile.
"May I come in?"
"Of course."
It was a hotel, but still technically someone else's place. Feeling awkward to come empty-handed, I had brought along some simple sandwiches and coffee.
"I was hungry anyway."
Faber sat on the sofa and devoured the sandwich, while I, not particularly hungry, sipped on my coffee. Soon, as if by unspoken agreement, we started sharing our recent experiences.
Faber went first.
"They kept going on about money, money, money. I mean, I'm not some money-obsessed person."
"So, you turned them down flat?"
"Not exactly… I was curious, so I listened to everything they had to say."
"What did they say?"
"They said the only thing they could offer was money, so I told them to just go their own way."
Smirking, it was my turn now.
"How did it go with Gucci?"
"I asked them to produce 50,000 units per item, with the condition that I take on any leftover inventory if they don't sell."
"50,000 units… how much is that…?"
Unlike Gucci's chairman's secretary, Faber wasn't great at mental math. He extended a few fingers, then gave up and shook his head.
"Isn't that too risky?"
"It's not exactly safe."
Faber blinked at my response, his expression asking why I'd take such a risk instead of just pursuing a straightforward acquisition. My answer was simple.
"To create a story."
If we're ants, Gucci is a dinosaur. The image of two vastly different companies collaborating is intriguing enough. But what if the ant swallows the dinosaur by successfully leveraging the collaboration?
Wouldn't that create a legend, one people will talk about for years to come?
But it seemed my explanation was lacking.
"What's the connection between a successful collaboration and acquiring the company?"
"Gucci has been hitting rock bottom day after day, and shareholder dissatisfaction is at its peak. In that situation, if the collaboration generates unprecedented results and massive revenue, then…"
To shareholders worn out by lax management, we'd look like a ray of hope.
"Hmm, Gucci's side might contact us instead. 'Let's do it again, but this time, without taking on any leftover inventory…'"
"That's when we'll make a new proposal."
"Forget collaboration; let's acquire the company?"
I nodded.
"If they accept, the stock skyrockets! If they refuse, it plummets!"
"Whose side do you think the shareholders will take?"
"Wow! This is like a fairy tale!"
An ant swallowing a dinosaur—a story more magical than any fable.
We were having a pleasant conversation, yet a hint of worry crept onto Faber's face. Carefully, he spoke up.
"Sir, there's something on my mind."
In short, Faber had been threatened by Harris's lawyer, but he laughed it off and walked away.
"Do you think my rejection could cause any issues for you…?"
"No way."
"Could it maybe interfere with your plans…?"
"No problem at all."
Perhaps reassured by my firm answer, Faber's smile returned.
"Right? It was ridiculous to listen to, really. They told me not to even dream of opening a store in London. As if London were their own personal property. I thought, 'Yeah, like that's going to work.'"
"That probably wasn't an empty threat."
"…What?"
"They likely know someone who holds a grip on key locations in London."
"Then… this could actually be serious?"
"It's fine."
"…?"
"I'm pretty close with that person's son."
***
Meanwhile, in front of Harris Department Store.
Tennessee looked up at the massive building that loomed like a fortress. Most department stores have a certain scale in mind. But the Harris flagship store was easily the size of five of them put together.
Its presence was undoubtedly overwhelming.
"…."
But a bitter smirk appeared on Tennessee's face.
If he had to choose the most vulgar place in the city, he'd pick this Harris Department Store without hesitation.
This place has no distinctive concept or refined taste. It merely incites raw desire and encourages mindless extravagance.
But what could he do?
Having received orders from his father, Tennessee had no choice but to show his face, at least briefly. He pulled the invitation out of his jacket.
"Tsk."
Another luxury boutique, of course. He forced himself to step forward, all the while thinking how much he'd like to toss that luxury boutique into a garbage bag and throw it away.
On the third floor, in the prime location, a gleaming white sign caught his eye.
'Carl Bernstein.'
Not even a renowned designer. What nerve he must have to put his own name on the store.
'How brazen.'
Compared to him, what about Park Ji-hoon? Well, no point comparing; it felt unfair to Park Ji-hoon.
As he approached the store…
Click, click.
Oh, they were in the middle of a photoshoot. A lookbook, maybe? One model, but three photographers. What's with this scene? And shouldn't this be done after hours? There wasn't a single customer in sight, which was probably why they were doing this during business hours.
Under normal circumstances, he'd leave and come back later. If that wasn't an option, he'd at least look around somewhere else and return when things had calmed down.
But why should he?
What was so special about this place that he'd make two trips just to accommodate them?
So Tennessee stood, somewhat boldly, at the store entrance. After a moment, a store employee noticed him and came over. If they mentioned the photoshoot, he was ready to flash his invitation. But then…
"Mr. Tennessee Grosvenor, correct?"
The employee's words caught him off guard.
"We were expecting you and have been preparing for your visit."
"…."
"May I show you around?"
Damn. He'd planned to buy something quickly and leave. This could take longer than he thought.
"Our brand offers various labels, from the modern White Label to the elegant Black Label, to suit our customers' diverse tastes…"
In other words, a hodgepodge. Harris Department Store wasn't exactly known for discerning tastes; they'd bring in anything that made money. This store seemed like a concentrated reflection of Harris's ethos.
"You've seen the White Label. Next is the Green Label…"
"How many are there in total?"
"We have plans for twelve labels, though we're currently displaying nine."
Unbelievable.
Twelve labels? At that point, it's less of a clothing store and more of a general merchandise stall.
'I promised not to compare.'
Park Ji-hoon's store didn't need to send out invitations—curiosity alone made you want to check it out. And the satisfaction was high, too. The hidden room behind the wardrobe was fun, and the concept of limited new items released every week fit perfectly with the store's "secret room" theme.
'That's branding.'
Not only was the concept great, but the designs also carried James Faber's signature flair. From the overall tone of the store to every minor detail, even the texture of the carpet, everything showed a keen attention to detail.
And this place, by comparison…
'Let's not even talk about it.'
Tennessee turned to the store clerk.
"Enough with the explanations. I just want to buy something."
"Ah, sure. Let me know your preferences, and I'll guide you."
Preferences?
"What's your most expensive line?"
"That would be the Black Label."
"Fine, I'll take everything new in that line."
He'd said something similar at Queensman. Though, back then, it was rare, so he'd grabbed what he could. Now, he was spending money just to save face…
"There's quite a lot. Are you sure?"
"Just bring it."
Maybe he should have bought less.
"…."
The packaging alone was taking ten minutes. If they'd just packed, it would have been bearable, but an employee seemed to feel it necessary to keep him company. They approached with a friendly smile, but Tennessee's expression remained stone-cold.
"Instead of chatting with me, wouldn't it be more useful to help with the packing?"
At some point, it even came to this.
The photographers, whom Tennessee had thought were here for the lookbook, actually seemed to have come to photograph him. They pretended to pack up while subtly aiming their lenses at Tennessee. After all, his status as the first customer of Queensman had caused quite a stir. They probably wanted a few shots to remember the moment. If it weren't for the invitation, he might have had a word with them, but…
"Do as you please."
Just as Tennessee resignedly turned his head, five more minutes passed, and finally, the long-awaited packaging was done.
"We'll carry this to your vehicle."
"No."
"It's likely too heavy for you to carry alone."
"No, just get me a hat."
"Pardon?"
Carrying all these shopping bags in plain view—how embarrassing would that be if others saw? He needed a hat, at least, to hide his face.
As soon as he completed his purchase, a trail of employees began following him, making Tennessee quicken his pace. The hallway of luxury boutiques felt unusually long. Perhaps it actually was, or maybe it just felt that way because he was walking with his head down.
'Heavy… obnoxiously heavy.'
He was almost tempted to throw down the shopping bags piled high in his hands when—
Thunk.
His hand shook slightly, and then—
Splat.
A cold sensation spread across his foot. He looked down to see a spilled drink and a little child with a stunned expression on the floor.
….
It seemed his shopping bag had accidentally bumped into the child, causing them to drop their drink, which had splashed all over Tennessee's shoe.
Sigh.
He let out a low sigh. These were the Ultimate X John Green collaboration limited-edition sneakers, now drenched… in sticky cola, of all things.
Luckily, there was a restroom sign nearby, but the thought of taking all these shopping bags in there irritated him to no end.
'Damn.'
Undeniably, this was the worst day.
As if to vent his frustration—
Thump!
He shoved all the shopping bags straight into the trash can.
***
Ten minutes later.
Carl Bernstein was on his way over in a hurry, having just received a call. Maybe all those pricey designers had paid off? Apparently, the notoriously picky Tennessee had bought every single Black Label item in stock. They'd even captured his shopping bags, full to the brim, on camera.
'This would be perfect for a magazine cover.'
Things were off to a great start. Well, maybe "start" wasn't quite the word, as they'd been at this for a while, but still, it was a fine accomplishment. Soon, Carl's store would be moving to the first floor, where Gucci had once been. With that, not only would sales spike, but media attention would soar.
'When the new store opens, I'll send another invitation.'
And for the first-floor debut, the guest must, of course, be Tennessee Grosvenor…
He was basking in this rosy vision when—
'Why the hell are they emptying the trash now?'
Carl glanced over, hugging the wall as he walked, only to catch a glimpse of something that made him freeze in his tracks.
There, buried in the trash, lay the pride of the brand—the new Black Label items, crushed amid the garbage.