Numbers: Episodes 11-12 (Final)

by alathe

Our zany team of spreadsheet-wranglers must band together to rescue a bank! Meanwhile, our villain is still hellbent on seizing power, and there’s no financial institution he won’t topple in order to get it. Time for one last stand in the board room!

EPISODES 11-12

Our not-so-deaf barista has been up to her ears in corporate espionage. Years ago, her father was injured in the Sanga construction sabotage, leaving him hearing impaired. His daughter, noticing how people immediately dropped their guard around him, decided to use it to her advantage. (I’m side-eying this a little… why the convoluted excuse to avoid depicting a disabled character onscreen?) She’s been spying on our villain ever since, waiting for the moment to strike.

Later, Ho-woo gets a morose call from Yeon-ah. Jisan, now hemorrhaging debt, is subject to sale. Our noble guardian of the concrete jungle is adamant: not on his watch! Finally, he fesses up to his tragic backstory. Vice President Han gutted Haebit without remorse; damned if he’ll let the same thing happen to Jisan. Alas, it fails to snap Yeon-ah out of her funk. Instead, she seeks consolation in her two favorite things: a) imbibing vast amounts of alcohol, and b) falling asleep on random uncomfortable surfaces.

She wakes, hungover and confused, in a hotel suite so expensive it can only belong to one person. Ji-soo! Earnestly, Yeon-ah pleads with her unexpected benefactor to help save Jisan. But she doesn’t know what she’s asking. Ji-soo is quick to enlighten her: President Jin stood back and inspected his nails while Haebit foundered. But despite her steely words, she’s willing to join forces. After all, when a private fund and an accountant join hands… anything is possible!

It’s in the same spirit that our ragtag crew of motley accountants band together to rescue a bank in distress. The solution is a matter of cold, hard cash. Customers have fled to other banks, and Jisan needs its deposits back. Luckily, this plays to our heroes’ strengths: kicking (financial) ass, taking names (of business contacts), and organizing meetings. Together, they herd as many bankers as possible into one room, making the hardest of hard sells. Jisan’s downfall was just the beginning, argues Seung-jo. Once other private equity firms see how easily a bank can be toppled, it could happen to anyone. The only defense is to form a consortium — rescuing Jisan with their surplus funds.

Alas, with over 50% shares in Jisan, Vice President Han is halfway to tying the poor, defenseless national economy to the train tracks. The only obstacle is a shareholder screening with the FSC. Here it’ll be determined whether HK Equity is ethically fit to govern a bank — which is a little like asking whether a hungry cat is ethically fit to govern a can of tuna fish. Naturally, the FSC are in Vice President Han’s pocket. However, the nominal representative for HK Equity is Ji-soo — and boy has she come prepared. Sword brooch firmly affixed, she strides into the board room… only to find it deserted.

Vice President Han has struck again. He’s postponed the screening, securing a pyrrhic victory: they can’t rubber-stamp HK’s purchase, but nor can they reject it. Still, he reckoned without Ji-soo’s unimaginable audacity. Cool as a deeply stylish cucumber, she emails the entire board with video footage of her bribing an official. She bombards them with tales of her own illegal exploits, strong-arming them into an emergency meeting. Here, our girl sits deadpan, declaring HK’s intent to continue committing crimes as it pleases. The result? Screening failed successfully!

Meanwhile — and it’s not often you get to type this sentence — the banks have come through. Seung-jo and Ho-woo’s consortium scheme is a go! Side by side, with scarcely-contained glee, Seung-jo and Ji-soo hand Vice President Han proof that Jisan’s BIS score has been restored. I’ll say one thing for him: nobody can scrunch up a piece of paper quite as menacingly as our villain!

Confession, it seems, is good for the soul and the national economy. President Jin holds a press conference, revealing Vice President Han’s scheme to sabotage Jisan, in addition to his own wrongdoing. He’s not the only one bent on making amends. It’s on a lovely, bright day in a green field that Ji-soo glances fondly at Seung-jo… and announces her intention to go to prison. She’d always planning on going public with the crimes she committed in HK’s name. Only then can justice be served.

Our Dream Team is determined to make Ji-soo’s sacrifice count. What follows is a truly beautiful montage of truth-telling. Ho-woo and Seung-jo pull together a stack of ledgers evidencing Vice President Han’s smorgasbord of crimes. Jae-hwan testifies about his fiery brush with death. Our barista super-spy holds a tell-all interview packed with tales of corruption and violence. Grandma loudly reveals Ho-woo’s crush on Yeon-ah. (Okay, so that one doesn’t make it to the national press.) Finally, Ji-soo has a long, serious conversation with our favorite prosecutor, LEE SOO-YOUNG (Lee Hwa-jung) — ending, miraculously, in reprieve. She won’t be charged. And so, having unexpectedly gained her life back, she finds herself Seung-jo’s door, suitcase in hand. Maybe it’s not as simple as picking up where they left off… but then again, what if it was?

Meanwhile, the murderboards make their public debut: Ho-woo spills the beans to journalists in and outside of Korea. This gets a reproachful look — oh, you scamp! — out of Taeil’s immensely affable chairman (Nam Kyung-eup). Still, our hero talks him round. After all, the only way to patch up its reputation is for Taeil to punish the one responsible. In other words… Vice President Han is going down.

And oh how far he has to fall. In stony silence, framed by the eerie light of his office, he casts his eyes down at the desk. On it lies a notice of dismissal. Soon, he’s being marched to prison, with that same air of silent, immaculate calm. It’s only when he’s alone in his cell that he looks towards the window… and gives a sharp, shark-like grin.

Time passes. Seung-jo is propelled to the role of partner at Taeil. As for Ho-woo, he’s doing… okay? Maybe? Ask him again in a week or so. It’s hard to lose a career-defining vendetta overnight. Seung-jo is similarly iffy about having stuck his own father behind bars. Still, our heroes banter, laugh, and try to convince each other things will be all right.

Ho-woo and Yeon-ah’s relationship has made great strides: they’ve progressed to awkwardly holding hands in public! Granted, nobody’s said the word “dating” aloud. Still, it’s serious enough that Yeo-jin arranges a meeting with Yeon-ah. She cuts straight to the chase: you could have anyone — so, why Ho-woo? And don’t say it’s because you’re so rich that you’ve never had real friends. But lest we forget that rich people have problems too, Yeon-ah retorts that this is exactly the reason. Yeo-jin’s only flippant because she’s always had friends.

Vice President Han may be imprisoned, but his malevolent deeds live on. (And yes, technically he’s no longer Vice President. What do I call him, though — Je-gyun? I wouldn’t dare.) Ho-woo investigates Jaehan Holdings, one of the last paper companies. He finds a dark, abandoned office… and a bloodied, unconscious man. How many times can one poor guy be forced to relive his defining trauma? Apparently, once more.

Fortunately, he stemmed the bleeding just in time. At the hospital, they declare the patient unconscious but stable. But Ho-woo is in for another shock: his guardian is Taeil’s espionage-oriented barista! The injured man is her father, Yoon Moo-il. This was a suicide attempt — and not his first. Moreover, the situation has “villainous scheme” written all over it: Moo-il was listed as CEO for the paper company. Turns out, Vice President Han was using his name to keep a secret account for Jaehan… the perfect cover for a slush fund.

Prison for Vice President Han is rather like a pleasant business outing. He’s making constant calls from his cell, coordinating with the newly-minted minion that he purchased from the minion shop (I mean, scholarship foundation), WOO SANG-HYUN (Shin Woo-gyeom). Soon, Ho-woo and Seung-jo are horrified to learn that Harbor City Bank has collapsed due to a bank run. Everything is coming up Je-gyun! (Sorry, Vice President Han. Don’t murder me.)

Not long after, word hits Taeil: Vice President Han has been pardoned. Arson, murder, violation of the Certified Accountant Act — the whole shebang. At first, this seems inexplicable. However, as Jae-hwan points out, it makes a sick kind of sense. Vice President Han made certain never to order a cup of coffee directly, much less a bank run. Everything was done via insinuation. Now, newly freed, he has his sights set on Hosu Bank. Ho-woo and Seung-jo act fast, convincing Hosu to join the consortium. Next, they visit some mid-level banks, in the hopes of protecting them ahead of time. Bizarrely, they’ve already signed up. Is some secret, sinister figure from the shadows… helping them?

Actually, yes! Thwarted in his efforts to buy a bank, Vice President Han opts for the next best thing: a securities firm. With a screech of wheels, our heroes speed towards the public bid. But they’re blocked by our villain’s minion du jour, Sang-hyun. Thus far, Sang-hyun has aided Vice President Han’s with robotic resolve. There’s a reason for that. Ever since Hyeong-woo’s death, he’s been waiting to drag down Vice President Han’s operation from within.

Sang-hyun hands our heroes what they’ve lacked until now: tangible proof of wrongdoing. Meanwhile, Ho-woo’s hit a goldmine… almost literally. Hidden within a desk at Jaehan is a horde of illegal cash — discovered after bashing it open with a hammer. All of this is handed to Soo-young, the only prosecutor in the city. It might not be enough to sink our villain, but it sure might slow him down!

And so, with Vice President Han facing a cancellation of his accountant license, life — and love — goes on for the Dream Team. Ho-woo is rising up the ranks at Taeil, buoyed up by President Jin’s approval. Yeon-ah plans to become a venture capitalist, for, uh, the betterment of society. And also profit! Ho-woo remains wary, clocking in more late-night library hours. But by now, his sort-of-girlfriend knows him. Yeon-ah finds him seconds before security come in, and soon the two are pressed up against the shelves, hiding. Daringly, Yeon-ah steps forward to press a kiss against his cheek. They grin, adorably pleased with themselves.

Ji-soo also works in venture capital, lifting up small business like Mujin Milk. She and Seung-jo are together again, and deliriously happy. Soon, it’s time for him to meet their son. Seung-jo is, of course, entirely emotionally prepared — or at least, as prepared as a man who frantically googled “how to befriend a kid” can be. Somehow, all this careful research dissolves in the face of his honest-to-actual child. The two hug fiercely at the airport, as Seung-jo stifles his tears. Ji-soo — in a move I can only chalk up to deep, deep trauma — told her son that his father was busy with work… for, uh, three whole years. Thank God they can afford all that child therapy.

As for Vice President Han? He’s still around. Surprisingly, when we see him next, it’s at a playground, where his grandson is frolicking in the sand. He doesn’t approach or say a word. He just sits, with an utterly maskless expression, meters away from the family he lost. It’s a brief moment of humanity.

Nonetheless, soon after, he’s making a triumphant entrance back onto the financial stage, as head of a real estate investment trust. As Hyun points out, it’s inevitable: there’ll always be people like him. That’s okay, as long as there’s people like them to stop him. And this, indeed, is where we end: with Seung-jo and Ho-woo preparing their next move, ready to fight for truth, justice… and, of course, the national economy!

I’m delighted that Vice President Han remains at large. On the one level, he’s a larger-than-life metaphor for the evils of corporate hegemony. On another, he’s entertained us so beautifully that I feel like he deserves a little white-collar crime, as a treat. That moment with his grandson pretty much killed me — his open, un-bespectacled look of loss!

Overall, this was a drama of considerable highs and lows. The issue is that Numbers kept making promises it couldn’t keep. The first two episodes pitched it as an enemies-to-besties bromance, and whilst we got a little of that, it’s not where the focus fell. Later, Ji-soo was hyped up as a formidable frenemy with big, morally dubious plans. Again, whilst she was that, to a degree, we didn’t get nearly enough of her being ruthless. Meanwhile, they never fully sifted through the implications of most of our defenders of the downtrodden being filthy rich.

Still, I’m only critical because I liked so much of Numbers. When it was good, it was so good, and memorable. You had Ji-soo in all her sword-brooch-adorned glory. Vice President Han hearing unpleasant news, taking a moment’s pause, then muttering, “Okay.” Every single one of Seung-jo’s glossy, puppy-dog-eyed stares. Most of all, this show had its own, addictive sense of atmosphere: the palatial corporate buildings, the jargon-studded financial scheming, and the valorization of our number-crunching bureaucrats as warriors marching to battle. At the end of the day, what’ll stick in my head is all that ambition and style!

 
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