The Cocky Young Investigator vs. The Stubborn Craftsman
Mizumoto, Katsushika-ku.
A train ride to Kanamachi, followed by another 30 minutes on a bus from central Tokyo—it’s a journey that eats up more than half a day. Truly a nightmare zone for credit investigators.
Still, wherever there are people living, there will be construction and real estate businesses. And because many of these companies are fueled by public contracts intended to stimulate employment, they exist in even the most remote corners. As you may know, for any company with a construction license, completion records and financials can be viewed at the Tokyo Metropolitan Government. Since construction work itself doesn’t vary much between companies, differentiation often comes down to whether they ban smoking on-site or how well-connected the president is.
After investigating hundreds of such firms, I’d become numb. Frankly, anything that wasn’t a major general contractor, I just wanted to get over with quickly.
(As an aside: I once investigated a company called “K.K. Watanabe (alias)” that claimed to do piping work. It had no commercial registration despite the “K.K.”—which stands for Kabushiki Kaisha, or Corporation. The owner told me, “I couldn’t afford capital, so I just stuck K.K. on the name to look legit.” The interview took place in a dark, reeking one-room apartment. But I’ll save that story for another time.)
Amid such frustrations, I received a request to investigate Yuubi Doboku, located in Mizumoto. I had never looked into them before, meaning I had to collect everything from scratch—and possibly verify their physical existence. An on-site visit was mandatory.
“President Mizuno, this is Nakamura from a credit investigation firm. We received a credit inquiry regarding your company, and I’d like to schedule an interview.”
“Huh? Who the hell are you?! A detective?! Who regulates your company? Huh? Just check the construction license database, will ya?”
Click.
Unbelievable. Something in me snapped.
“We don’t have a regulator. Don’t you know who we are? Most of your clients—yes, even listed companies—use our reports. You’re the one who’ll lose out if you don’t cooperate.”
I said it. The cocky rookie used the company name as a shield to push back. I’d like to say it was pressure from a chaotic workload that made me do it.
“Oh yeah? Fine, then get your ass over here—7 a.m. tomorrow!”
“Do you even realize our office is in central Tokyo?! Water #%&$#@ 7 a.m.?! No way!” Stress levels: maximum.
After some back and forth, we settled on a more reasonable time.
Investigation Begins
Investigators start early. You wake up at 4 a.m., prepare, and get to the office by 7 to submit your daily reports. If you show up at 8, your boss hits you with, “Oh, look who’s too important to come in late now.”
If you miss that 7 a.m. report deadline, your entire routine collapses and you’re stuck filing two days’ worth of reports tomorrow. But I had no choice with this Mizumoto appointment.
So, I was in a foul mood from the get-go. As soon as I arrived:
“I’m here from the credit bureau!” I barked.
“It’s you, huh?! Get up to the second floor!” Mizuno called down.
When we met face-to-face, he turned out to be nothing like the “scary guy from Roppongi.” Small, pale, but with a swagger like he stepped out of a Be-Bop manga—he reminded me of the boxer Joichiro Tatsuyoshi.
Industry Talk
Once the interview started, he was all smiles—and wouldn’t stop talking. Even about things I hadn’t asked.
I remembered something an instructor once said in training: “When you get a talkative president like that, just wrap it up and come home.” I was about to leave when he asked:
“Hey, do you know Maruwa Construction in Sumida?”
That set me off. In the eastern Tokyo area alone, there were probably around 2,000 construction firms. My department—at Japan’s top credit bureau—covered them all. If Mizuno knew a company, either I or one of my seniors had investigated it.
“Yeah, the one where Mr. Okawa got arrested, right?”
That was the spark. We chatted for hours about this company and that. By the end of the three-hour interview, we were practically friends.
The President’s Philosophy
“That’s just how it was back then,” Mizuno said, puffing on a CABIN cigarette.
He explained how, in the old days, contractors in areas like Katsushika, Sumida, and Adachi would crowd the city hall anytime a public works project was posted. You’d yell, “This project’s mine! No one else bid on it!” and that’s how contracts got decided.
Then came the era of anti-collusion, bidding qualifications, and IXX certifications aimed at governance and transparency.
“You mean ISO standards?” (Back then, everyone thought ISO was the ultimate seal of virtue.)
“Yeah, that crap,” he said. “But what’s the point of certifications if you’re just screwing over your subcontractors and suppliers?”
“‘Never inconvenience your business partners. That’s my ISO.’ Pretty good line, huh?”
I doubt he even knew what ISO stood for. But his words—simple yet profound—reflected a genuine business philosophy. His personal standard, forged from experience, was “never cause trouble for your partners.”
When he said it, I felt not only reassured by his integrity, but also ashamed of myself for being consumed by stress and impatience.
Completely humbled by this Joichiro Tatsuyoshi look-alike, I was about to excuse myself when he added:
“See that banner that says ‘Yuubi’? That’s my daughter’s name. I named the company after her. I can’t drag that name through the mud.”
Tears welled up. On the way back from Kanamachi, I spent the entire trip reflecting on my immaturity and the meaning of pride in one’s work.
