Chapter 47: Insights from the Takeda Case—Different Paths, Same Destination (Please Subscribe! Please Vote!)

“Robbing a bank?” Kobayashi enunciated each word carefully.

“Robbing a bank?” Noda’s heart skipped a beat—wasn’t that exactly the venture he’d been planning? He repeated, bewildered, “Robbing a bank?”

How could anyone guarantee a flawless bank robbery?

Even taking advantage of the moment right after Ichiro Takeda’s arrest might only slightly increase their chances. The risks remained enormous.

What made Kobayashi so confident that success was certain?

He voiced his doubts.

“You’re right, ordinarily the risks of robbing a bank are considerable,” Kobayashi nodded, wearing a cryptic smile. “But what if the branch manager, deputy manager, and senior staff all cooperate?”

In Japan, many refer to a bank branch as a “branch office,” and its manager as the “branch office manager.”

“That’s… impossible!” Noda instinctively rejected the notion, convinced Kobayashi was speaking nonsense. “Those elites would never risk their careers for such blatant embezzlement. If caught, they’d lose everything and end up in prison. Even if someone was tempted, there’s no way all the higher-ups would agree.”

Bank employees already ranked among the more successful ordinary folk, and senior management at a branch were even more accomplished.

In these tough economic times, a prestigious, well-paid, stable job meant everything.

Besides, these people weren’t desperate for money.

Only a lunatic would attempt collective embezzlement.

“Heh, you’re correct, Noda. But what if, by not doing this, they’d actually lose their jobs and land in prison?” Kobayashi asked with a smile.

Noda was utterly lost, setting his glass down and sitting upright. “What’s going on?”

His scalp tingled, as if his brain was growing—or maybe it was a tumor.

“If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t divulge the truth. But with you, Noda, I’ll be completely honest.” Kobayashi set his own glass aside, his expression turning serious. “My trust in you has never wavered; otherwise, I wouldn’t seek your partnership.”

“Amaterasu above! I swear—every word you say, Kobayashi, will remain secret!” Noda raised his hand in solemn pledge.

Their friendship ran deep—one of life’s four unbreakable bonds.

“This matter is tied to Japan’s current economic malaise,” Kobayashi sighed, explaining, “Many banks look solid on paper, but in reality their prosperity is mere illusion. Hokutaku Bank, for example, appears to be a giant worth nearly a hundred billion dollars, but many of its branches are plagued by bad debts due to countless factors…”

“Kobayashi, you…” Noda was stunned—had his old cellmate, once obsessed only with food and sleep, become so sophisticated?

Was this knowledge meant for people like them?

“Ahem!” Kobayashi interrupted, embarrassed. “It’s just what I’ve heard.”

Noda relaxed—if his own failure was painful, his friend’s success would sting even more. Now, knowing Kobayashi was still in his league, he felt oddly reassured.

“Our target is Hokutaku Bank’s Shinjuku branch in Tokyo,” Kobayashi tapped the table and poured himself another drink, downing it in one gulp. “The head of their business department is a relative of mine. He knows I have experience and connections from my time in prison for robbing armored trucks, so he approached me for this job.”

“According to him, the branch manager was inspired by Ichiro Takeda’s robbery of Choshin Bank’s Osaka branch. With the economy struggling, headquarters is about to launch a thorough audit, and their branch’s financial hole is massive—impossible to patch.”

“As for what caused the deficit, there are many factors, but I suspect internal embezzlement is one. When the economy was thriving, these issues were hidden, but now the lid can’t hold. If discovered, everyone from the manager down will lose their jobs and face prosecution. So, their idea is to arrange a robbery and use the opportunity to balance the books.”

Noda listened, stunned—astonished at the ingenuity.

Unbelievable! Was this really possible?

It was always the educated scoundrels who were the worst.

But as excitement grew, he realized that, if things were as Kobayashi described, it could indeed be a foolproof heist. He asked the most pressing question: “We take the money, and they balance the books?”

“Not exactly.” Kobayashi shook his head, holding up both hands. “The stolen money is split seventy-thirty.”

Those bankers were greedy; having taken the risk, they wouldn’t settle for just covering losses—they wanted their share.

“Why only thirty percent?” Noda complained.

Kobayashi rolled his eyes. “Noda, seventy percent belongs to them—we only get thirty.”

“What!” Noda exploded, then quickly lowered his voice, remembering the thin walls, and spoke through gritted teeth, “They’re insatiable! Even with their cooperation, we’re the ones risking everything, and afterward it’ll be us on the run. And we only get thirty percent?”

“They have numbers on their side, and plenty to split. If the haul is big enough, thirty percent is still a lot. The key is their inside help—the odds of success are high!” Kobayashi tried to persuade his old friend, then smiled slyly. “Besides, the money’s in our hands—who’s to say exactly how much we really take?”

“Hahaha, Kobayashi, you’re still as cunning as ever! Truly cunning!”

“Noda, let’s toast—here’s to our reunion, to the brilliance of our soon-to-be-successful enterprise, to friendship, and to fortune. Cheers!”

“Kobayashi, cheers!”

…

Tonight seemed suited for gatherings.

Elsewhere, Norifumi Tanaka had also arranged to meet at an izakaya with the two colleagues who’d once helped him betray Hidehiko Aoyama.

When working under Aoyama, the three had gotten along well, but after their shared betrayal, their relationship soured. Though still in the same department, they kept their distance.

This was their first meeting since the betrayal. They drank in silence, each knowing what the others were thinking.

At last, unable to bear the awkwardness, Tanaka slammed his glass down and fixed his gaze on the other two. “Are you really just here to drink? That man is coming back—he won’t spare us! Do you honestly think Chief Inspector Sato’s death at his hands was an accident?”

“That man…” The older of the two, a thirty-something with a severe part in his hair, covered his face in resignation. “Who could have guessed he’d return?”

“It’s divine punishment for us. All we can do is wait,” sighed the younger, a man in his mid-twenties with a neat center part.

“Enough! Are you two just going to surrender?” Tanaka slammed the table and stood, grabbing both men by the collars and shouting, “Akira Yamamoto, Tsukasa Nakayama, pull yourselves together! He hasn’t even returned and you’re already terrified? We can win!”

“Win? How?” Yamamoto, the older, threw off Tanaka’s grip, clutching his hair and shouting, “I see no hope of victory!”

Hierarchy was everything in Japan—especially at work, and even more so in officialdom.

They had no patron, and with Aoyama as their superior, dealing with them would be effortless.

“Without Chief Inspector Sato, we’re nothing but fish on Aoyama’s chopping block,” Nakayama lacked any fighting spirit and tried to persuade Tanaka, “Let it go, Tanaka.”

“No! I refuse to give up!” Tanaka was determined to protect his wife. He gritted his teeth. “In fact, I’ve already thought of a plan.”

Nakayama and Yamamoto stared, exchanged glances, and looked at Tanaka in disbelief.

“Tanaka… what… did you say?”

“You’re not joking?”

“Of course not.” Tanaka’s frustration grew as he looked at his companions—if they’d been more resolute, he wouldn’t have resorted to this. But now he had no choice. He drew a deep breath. “Here’s what we’ll do… this way…”

As they listened, Yamamoto and Nakayama’s eyes grew brighter; hope revived their spirits.

“Tanaka, thank you—you’re truly my benefactor. I’ll fully support this plan!”

“Me too!”

Both quickly pledged their support.

“If we three work together, what fear have we of Hidehiko Aoyama? This time, we’ll make sure he never rises again!” Tanaka’s eyes flashed with fierce determination. He poured three cups, raised one, and said, “To unity. Cheers.”

“Cheers!” The others echoed.

After draining his glass, Yamamoto glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late—I need to get home and put the kids to bed. Now that I have a plan, I can finally sleep well tonight.”

“I’ll head out too—thank you for tonight, Tanaka.” Nakayama set his glass aside and took his leave.

Tanaka watched the two depart, annoyed at how eager they were to leave now that there was hope, but he could only smile and bid them farewell.

“Take care.”

Nakayama and Yamamoto bowed and exited.

“Nakayama, have a good night’s rest.”

“You too, Yamamoto.”

The two exchanged farewells outside the izakaya, then drove off in opposite directions.

Yet less than half an hour later, both spotted each other’s cars parked outside Hidehiko Aoyama’s house.

They exchanged glances through their windshields.

The moment was awkward.

“Ahem… Nakayama, what a coincidence,” Yamamoto, slightly older and thicker-skinned, got out first and approached Nakayama, joking to break the tension, “Looks like the world really is round.”

“All roads lead to Rome,” Nakayama replied with a forced smile, closing his door.

Silence fell again.

Yamamoto spoke first. “We’re already here; no point pretending. Looks like we had the same idea—let’s go together.”

“Right,” Nakayama agreed.

Together, they walked toward the gate of the Aoyama residence.