Springfield, Illinois.
Snow had been falling since morning, blanketing the city under a sky heavy with dark clouds. The world beyond the window looked dim and gray.
Inside a modestly sized office, Barrack Obama, a state senator from Illinois, sat alone at his desk.
Ever since his crushing defeat in the recent Democratic primary for the U.S. House of Representatives, he hadn't been able to shake off his dejection. Now, he was merely shuffling through piles of meaningless paperwork stacked before him.
Even the stormy clouds outside seemed to mirror his somber mood.
He had dreamed of stepping onto the larger stage of Washington, of realizing his ambitions there—but after such a painful loss, his gaunt face showed not a trace of motivation.
Knock, knock, knock.
A soft knocking broke the silence, and the door creaked open. Stepping in was Adrienne, who had first met Obama through the Annenberg Challenge Foundation and now worked as a paid aide in his state senate office.
"Yes?" Obama lifted his head weakly. "What is it?"
Adrienne hesitated, watching him carefully before speaking in a small, cautious voice.
"Um… it's getting pretty late, sir. Aren't you going home?"
Obama glanced at his watch only then, realizing how long past quitting time it was.
"Ah… it's already this late. I still have a few things to finish up. You go on ahead, Adrienne."
His voice was dry and drained of energy. Adrienne hesitated for a moment. She knew better than anyone how dispirited he'd been lately. Still, she decided not to show her concern—she didn't want to make him feel any more uncomfortable.
"…All right, sir." She nodded quietly.
When Adrienne quietly closed the door behind him, the small room was once again filled with heavy silence.
Obama lowered his gaze back to the documents spread open in front of him, but the printed words no longer registered in his mind.
Just as the white snow blanketed the gray city, frustration and defeat pressed down on him, burying him completely.
Leaning back in his chair, Obama let out a deep sigh that seemed to sink into the floor.
"Did ambition blind me? I didn't deserve?"
He admitted to himself that the internal polling his team had conducted was sloppy at best, driven more by enthusiasm than proper preparation. He had jumped into the race without a real strategy.
To make matters worse, his opponent's son had tragically been involved in a shooting incident, which drew a wave of public sympathy. Misfortune had followed one after another.
"Even so, to lose by more than thirty percent…."
It was humiliating. His opponent had always seemed like an empty figure, a man with nothing to offer once you stripped away the party banner. Losing to him by such a wide margin only deepened the sting.
"So this is as far as I go, huh?"
He muttered under his breath, shoulders slumped. The confident, fiery young politician he once was had vanished without a trace.
Focusing on his political career had already cost him time with his wife and beloved daughter, and the growing distance at home only added to his exhaustion.
Drowning in gloom, Obama opened the bottom drawer of his desk.
Inside was a half-empty bottle of whiskey.
He knew that drinking meant he couldn't drive, but going home only meant another round of his wife's nagging and an inevitable argument. Staying in the office overnight seemed like the better option.
He twisted off the cap and was just about to pour a glass when a familiar voice spoke up in front of him.
"Isn't it better to drink with company than alone?"
Startled, Obama looked up to see Seok-won standing by the door in a cashmere coat. He shot to his feet in surprise.
"When did you get here?"
"Just now," Seok-won replied.
He stepped closer, gesturing with his chin toward the bottle of whiskey on the desk.
"Mind pouring me a glass too?"
Obama managed a faint smile for the first time in a while and motioned toward the sofa.
"Of course. Sit down—I'll grab another glass."
As Seok-won took off his coat and draped it over the back of the sofa, Obama quickly brought a clean glass, set it down in front of him, and took the seat across.
Pouring the whiskey, Obama asked with a note of warmth, "What brings you here without so much as a call?"
"I was on my way to New York for some business and thought I'd stop by."
Obama knew Seok-won travelled by private jet. There was no reason for him to make a stopover. It was clear he had gone out of his way to visit, simply to check on a friend who had fallen into despair after losing the election.
Realizing this, Obama gave a bittersweet smile, feeling both embarrassed and grateful.
"I feel ashamed to face you. You gave me so much financial support for the campaign, and yet I failed so miserably in the primaries."
At that, Seok-won looked at Obama for a moment before saying bluntly, "To be honest, I'm very disappointed."
"What… did you just say?"
Obama's face stiffened at the unexpected reply, but Seok-won continued in a calm, steady tone.
"I didn't think you were the kind of man who'd lose heart and sink into despair over such a minor setback."
"..."
The words struck deep, and Obama's expression turned bitter.
"You're right. I should be ashamed."
Seeing Obama lower his head, Seok-won leaned forward.
"So what now? Are you planning to give up everything and walk away like a coward?"
Obama lifted his glass, took a sip of whiskey, and spoke honestly.
"I don't know. I'm almost forty, broke, humiliated by a crushing defeat in the primaries… and now even my marriage is falling apart. For the first time in my life, I'm starting to wonder if I've been on the wrong path all along."
"Still haven't made things right with Catherine?"
Seok-won frowned as he asked, and Obama let out a small sigh, nodding.
"Catherine went back to work. Every day, she comes home, feeds the kid, baths her, reads her a story, and puts her to bed. Then she just collapses into sleep, only to wake up and go to work again. On top of that, she still handles all the cleaning and laundry herself."
Obama wet his throat with another sip of whiskey before continuing.
"Every day it's the same routine. And all that time, I used work as an excuse and never really helped her—neither with the baby nor with anything at home. Of course she's resentful."
His expression darkened as he absently rolled the glass between his hands.
"When I first told Catherine I wanted to go into politics, she was against it. She said I'd end up neglecting the family because of work… and that's exactly what happened."
"You've been doing your best in your own way," Seok-won said, trying to comfort him.
But Obama's face didn't brighten.
"For Catherine, who's been carrying all the weight alone, that probably doesn't count for much."
Obama drained the rest of his whiskey in one long swallow. Without a word, Seok-won picked up the bottle and refilled his glass.
"I was the one who broke the first promise—to always put my family before politics. And even then, I kept telling myself I could still bring good to others, that I could change the world. I convinced myself that was reason enough. But after losing the primaries so miserably, I realized it was all just my own delusion."
In a world where his convictions had crumbled, Obama had nothing left to lean on.
His family was on the verge of falling apart, and the election loss had left his hands empty—filled with nothing but emptiness.
"I don't see it that way," Seok-won said quietly.
"?"
Obama lifted his head and looked at him.
"I believe you have the strength and ability to change the world, Obama. What happened this time was just you tripping over a stone because you were running too fast. All you need to do is stand up, gather yourself, and start running again."
Obama gave him a faint, uncertain look, clearly moved yet doubtful.
"I appreciate that, but maybe you're giving me too much credit."
Seok-won let out a short laugh, as if finding that absurd.
"Do you know who you're talking to?"
"What?"
"I'm a Wall Street investor who places multimillion-dollar bets several times a day. Don't you think I can recognize potential when I see it?"
Obama was left speechless at Seok-won's confident tone.
"You made a mistake because you rushed. When things get urgent, you need to slow down and look around—but instead, you focused only on what was ahead. Honestly, I think it's a good thing you lost the primaries."
"What do you mean by that?"
"It's better to take a step back now and untangle the knots while you still can, before you go too far and it's impossible to fix anything."
Obama turned his glass slowly in his hands, then asked quietly, "Do you really think I can set everything right again?"
"Of course."
Seok-won nodded without a hint of hesitation.
"First, adjust your schedule. Make time to have dinner at home more often and reconnect with Catherine. If you can't even take care of your family, how can you take care of something bigger?"
"You're right," Obama admitted.
"And this time, don't rush things. Take it slow. Focus on your home and your work, and rebuild your foundation from the ground up. If you do that, the chance to do something greater will come again."
Obama sat in silence for a while, deep in thought.
Seok-won didn't interrupt. He simply waited, giving Obama the space to collect himself and sort through his thoughts.
After some time, Obama finally lifted his head. The dullness in his eyes was gone, replaced by a renewed spark.
"Listening to you… it feels like the dark clouds that were weighing on my mind have finally cleared."
"I'm glad if I could help," Seok-won replied.
"I haven't decided exactly what I'll do yet, but you're right. I need to slow down, set my priorities straight, and start untangling things one step at a time."
"That's the right approach. And if you ever need help, don't hesitate to reach out."
"Thank you," Obama said sincerely, his expression full of gratitude.
Seeing the fire return to his old friend's eyes, Seok-won felt quietly satisfied that he'd made the trip after all.
He had no doubt Obama would have pulled himself together eventually, even without his visit—but helping him now would only strengthen the bond between them.
And as if to confirm that, Obama's gaze, filled with trust, met Seok-won's. Seok-won smiled warmly in return.
***
December 20, 1999 – Washington, D.C., United States
In a conference room lined with portraits of former Federal Reserve Board (FRB) chairmen, Chairman David Stanway sat at the center of a long table. Around him, the Federal Reserve governors and regional bank presidents were gathered, their expressions serious.
"As we've already discussed," said Chris Murphy, President of the New York Federal Reserve, "given the uncertainty surrounding the potential Y2K problem, I believe it would be best to skip a rate hike this time and hold the benchmark interest rate steady."
Before he even finished, Charles Drew, one of the board's leading hawks, voiced his objection.
"The stock market aside, we just saw third-quarter growth hit 5.5%, and unemployment is down to 4.1%—the lowest in thirty years. With the economy this strong and no slack left in the labor market, inflation is inevitable."
Chris countered immediately. "That's why we've already raised rates three times since June, bringing the federal funds rate up to 5.5%."
But Charles wasn't backing down. "And yet, the boom hasn't cooled at all—it's burning even hotter. We need to continue tightening to show the Fed's resolve."
"And what happens," Chris shot back, "if the millennium bug really does cause chaos? Who's going to deal with the aftermath then?"
At that, Charles couldn't respond right away. He let out a low grunt of frustration instead.
The "millennium bug," more commonly known as Y2K, was a computer error stemming from the way dates had been programmed to use only two digits instead of four.
In short, instead of recording a year as 1999, systems stored it simply as 99 to save on costs and processing time. When the year rolled over to 2000, that same 00 could be misread as 1900, creating uncertainty about whether computers would interpret the date correctly.
If the fears proved true and computers began malfunctioning, it could paralyze transportation, finance, and government systems, potentially causing a large-scale disaster.
The anxiety was especially high in the financial sector, where daily cross-border transactions amounted to astronomical sums.
Governments worldwide were treating the Y2K issue as a serious threat, setting up response centers and contingency plans.
The Federal Reserve was no exception. The concern was significant enough that they were even considering halting rate hikes meant to contain inflation.
As the room sat in uneasy silence, all eyes turned to Chairman David Stanway—who was about to make his decision.
"While concerns about inflation are valid, if we were to raise rates hastily and further tighten liquidity, any Y2K-related financial disruption could have uncontrollable consequences. Let's hold the interest rate steady this time and move forward cautiously."
The attendees exchanged glances, then nodded in agreement.
"Agreed."
"Let's do that."
"There's no need to take unnecessary risks under such uncertain conditions."
"Exactly."
Given that the potential disruption from computer errors posed a greater threat than the still-manageable inflation, Chairman David and the participants not only agreed to hold the rate but also decided to temporarily inject substantial liquidity into the market as a precaution.
Yet at that moment, no one could foresee the chain reaction this decision would set off.
TL/n -
The Y2K problem, also called the Millennium Bug, was a major computer issue that arose around the year 2000.
Many older computer systems represented years using only the last two digits (e.g., 1980 as 80). When the year 2000 arrived, these systems could interpret 00 as 1900 instead of 2000. This could cause errors in date calculations, comparisons, and financial or operational systems.
WHY =>
Early computer storage was expensive, so programmers used 2-digit years to save memory. The problem was compounded because date validation and error handling were weak in many older systems.
EXAMPLE =>
Imagine a program that calculates a person's age based on the year of birth. It stores years as two digits.
Scenario - I
Birth year: 1975 → stored as 75 Current year: 2000 → stored as 00
The program does a simple calculation:
Age = Current Year - Birth Year Age = 00 - 75 Age = -75
Result: The program thinks the person is -75 years old!
Scenario - II
A bank calculates interest based on the date difference:
Last transaction: 12/31/1999 → 99
Current transaction: 01/01/2000 → 00
The program calculates days between transactions:
Days = Current Year - Last Year Days = 00 - 99 Days = -99
Result: The bank could charge negative interest or crash entirely.
++
Even simple programs could fail catastrophically if they assumed years always have two digits. That's why Y2K caused global panic before the year 2000.