Preliminary Research
“Senpai, I got assigned a new investigation on a company run by a guy with a past bankruptcy. Looks like you handled the previous case.”
The company was located in Roppongi, Minato-ku, an area once known as a den of vice. It was a recently established business consulting and investment firm. The president, Keizo Ichimatsu (pseudonym), had a history of both bankruptcy and arrest. I reached out to the senior colleague who had handled the earlier investigation.
“That guy’s back again? Be careful.”
That was all he said. Not exactly helpful. The words “bankruptcy” and “arrest” swirled in my head. Clearly, this wasn’t your average businessman. I had a bad feeling from the start.
Beginning the Investigation
Even so, once an investigation is assigned, it’s my duty to gather as much information as possible to support the client’s decision-making. The company I worked for had a firm policy: no matter who you’re investigating—even a con artist or a known criminal—you must deliver your business card in person. Worrying from behind a desk accomplishes nothing. So, I made the call.
“This is Nakamura from a credit investigation firm. We received a request to inquire about your company’s credit profile and would like to schedule an interview.”
“Oh hey, long time no see, credit guy! Yeah, makes sense someone would want a report. Let’s grab lunch!”
“Ah, I’m quite busy. Could we start with the interview first?”
“Alright, fine.”
Something felt off. His tone didn’t match the imaginary tough-guy profile I had built up in my head. This guy was the real deal. I gathered all the commercial registry data I could, including information on affiliated companies. But how was I going to bring up the bankruptcy and arrest?
Interview Day
I had been to that infamous building in Roppongi a few times before—for drinks, not business. I remember feeling out of place at a Heartland beer bar with a male friend, and I also had a faint memory of enjoying a romantic evening view from its observation deck.
I never knew there was a separate residential tower. I entered through an entrance beside a British car dealership. I was called up to a floor that I no longer remember, but the entire floor was one large reception lounge. That’s where I first met Keizo Ichimatsu.
Broad shoulders. Slightly shady aura. Thick fingers. All these impressions flashed through my mind during the brief moment we exchanged business cards.
“Hey Nakamura, check it out! It’s the CEO of the infamous tower!”
Sure enough, someone I’d only ever seen in business magazines walked past with a group of followers.
The two-hour interview was surprisingly relaxed. Ichimatsu told me about other credit investigators he’d dealt with (including my senior colleague), the Lexus model he used for road trips, and his skills in karate. He also spoke of his business ventures: investing in breweries and real estate firms, though the source of his funds remained unclear.
I couldn’t bring myself to ask about his bankruptcy or arrest. But that’s okay. An investigator doesn’t need to be direct. As long as I can weave the essence of those concerns into the report, it’s enough.
Writing the Report
I documented everything—his prior bankruptcy, arrest, investment targets, and more. I wrote carefully to ensure the client would recognize the risk.
Unexpectedly, the first complaint came from the highest-ranking person in my department.
“Nakamura, the companies you listed as shady investments? I know those presidents personally—they helped me when I was managing a branch! What kind of investigation is this?”
“I’m sorry. But the official registry does show Keizo Ichimatsu listed as the new representative.”
“Wait, really? Oh… you’re right.”
From there, the executive conducted his own verification and eventually even reached out to the police. I won’t share the details.
“Alright. Good job.”
The report finally reached the client. I hoped they wouldn’t make the wrong call.
Detained
Shortly after, I got a call from Ichimatsu.
“Hey Nakamura. What the hell did you write in that report? It’s sitting here on my desk. Get over here and explain. Now.”
My life is over, I thought. Farewell, world.
I asked my boss for help. “Pick up your own bones. I’m busy,” he said. (That’s a direct quote.) I had no choice but to go alone.
The lounge atmosphere had changed. Ichimatsu was no longer calm—his expression was terrifying. He loomed over me.
Deep breath.
One of my university professors, who had worked in conflict zones for JICA, once said:
“Sometimes I had to negotiate with armed militants. But I believed in my role at JICA. As long as I focused on that mission, I didn’t feel afraid.”
It sounds made up, but his words came back to me as I sat across from Ichimatsu.
“I work for a credit investigation firm. It’s my mission to stand up to shady companies.”
I repeated this mantra in my head as I deflected his barrage of questions—for five hours.
“You’re one stubborn guy! Let’s grab dinner sometime!” he said.
Absolutely not.
Aftermath
Later, I wondered why the client had passed the report to Ichimatsu. Probably because he pressured them for funding or business, and they didn’t know how to say no—so they used the credit report as an excuse.
If my five-hour ordeal helped a legitimate company avoid a dangerous deal, it was worth it.
Ichimatsu stayed flashy. The source of his funds remained unknown, but his company’s website kept announcing new investments, dual-CEO roles, even a chairman title.
Then came the one headline that made me doubt myself:
“Company Announces Plans to Go Public”
What?! Was my report wrong?
Soon after that press release, NHK broke the news:
Keizo Ichimatsu arrested.
I was relieved. I had protected the client.
