A President with a Tohoku Accent
Moto-Asakusa, Taito Ward.
The first time I met President Tsukita (a pseudonym), who spoke with a lingering Aomori accent, was when I was introduced to him by a senior colleague who had just been promoted to management and was transferring the account of this client company to me.
As someone from the Tohoku region myself, his tone felt warm and familiar.
“Nakamura-kun, President Tsukita said once their sales exceed one billion yen, they’ll expand business with us. He’s an important client, so take good care of him.”
Unlike typical construction company presidents, who often wear crisp suits like they’re from a general contractor, President Tsukita was a down-to-earth, hands-on boss dressed in work clothes.
“Our foundation method’s patented, and when we pitch to architectural firms, they always rate it highly,”
he told me. His company’s revenue hovered around 700–800 million yen, just shy of the billion mark, but it never quite got there. The sales seemed to plateau year after year.
“Man, I really thought we’d break the billion mark this year—but then the Democratic Party went and shifted policy from ‘concrete to people’…”
“Thought we’d hit it this year, too, but then the Lehman Shock happened…”
Every year, there was a reason they just couldn’t grow. The flatlining performance—blamed partly on the economic climate—persisted. I once tried to help by suggesting a list of thriving architectural firms to approach, but he wasn’t interested.
Rumors of Credit Trouble
Despite the stagnant (or “stable,” to put it nicely) performance, we suddenly received an investigation request with an alarming note attached:
“Rumors are circulating that the company is about to go bankrupt.”
No way, I thought, brushing it off. I tried calling President Tsukita like usual, but couldn’t get through. The more I tried, the worse my gut feeling became.
When there’s a credit concern, you’re expected to quickly verify and report the facts. Pushed by the looming report deadline, I hurried to Inaricho Station.
It was a cold winter evening, already dark. I don’t remember why, but by the time I arrived, the office was deserted.
“Crap! Did they vanish?!”
How could this be? Everything had seemed stable. We’d bonded over Aomori and Akita. Had I only imagined that we’d built a relationship?
As I stood hopelessly by the building’s mailboxes, the heavy back door clanked open—it was President Tsukita.
“President Tsukita, I’m so sorry! We received an urgent request for an investigation, and I’d been trying to reach you…”
“Ahhh, sorry, sorry—was out on-site!”
(still speaking in that familiar Tohoku accent)
He wore his usual work clothes, helmet tucked under one arm. Clearly back from the field. I felt bad about dropping in at such a bad time.
He invited me into the office, now empty, and we sat down in a side booth.
“Here, take this too.”
He handed me the latest financials—same as always, flat revenue and modest profit levels, seemingly adjusted to avoid heavy taxation. No surprises.
“Thank you! This really helps. I’ll make sure to schedule next time!”
Reassured to see him in good spirits, I submitted the report as:
“No signs of financial distress. No credit concern confirmed.”
Or so I thought…
“What Kind of Investigation Was That?”
Back then, I didn’t have a company phone, so I’d get calls on my personal mobile. The next day, on the way to another assignment, I got a call—and got chewed out by our credit evaluation department.
“Nakamura?! What did you even investigate?! This financial statement’s nonsense. I’m lowering the credit rating.”
This team, staffed with veterans and mid-career hires with backgrounds in credit assessment, reviews all field reports. They’re the last people you want angry at you.
The reviewer in this case—let’s call him Mega-Man—was an ex-megabank credit officer, known for his sky-high standards.
His declaration that he’d downgrade the rating hit me hard. I couldn’t help but picture Tsukita-san again, sweating out pitches to architects, speaking in that familiar accent, trying to keep the company afloat.
Feeling some misguided sense of duty, I rushed back and confronted Mega-Man:
“How dare you override my rating! You haven’t even met President Tsukita—how can you pretend to know his company?!”
But Mega-Man shot right back:
“Every year it’s the same story—identical revenues, tidy little profits. You’re falling for obvious fiction! And you call this no signs of distress despite bankruptcy rumors?! This isn’t a report, it’s negligence!”
He had a point. The financials were suspiciously consistent. But I couldn’t back down.
“You sit at your desk all day nitpicking! Do you have any idea how hard President Tsukita works just to keep that company running flat during a downturn? That’s already a huge achievement!”
“Suit yourself. Young people these days… you’ll learn the hard way.”
The Truth: Falsified Financials
Still fuming, I got a call from another field investigator:
“Nakamura-san, you’re handling Tsukita Giken, right? I just got word from their executive director—they’ve been falsifying their books. Massive losses. Bankruptcy imminent.”
I went blank.
In hindsight, I shouldn’t have, but I called President Tsukita directly.
“Sir, I’ve received a rumor, just a rumor, that your company might be hiding losses through falsified reporting…”
“What? Nakamura-san, where’d you hear that? That’s nonsense.”
He brushed it off casually.
“Right? I figured as much!”
I kept it light and hung up.
I told the tipster that the info was probably false. Then I lit a cigarette, thinking what a chaotic company this was. But soon after, I got a furious call.
Apparently, after I called, chaos erupted internally. A confidential secret—known only to the top brass—had somehow leaked to a credit agency.
They launched a full-blown internal witch hunt. I felt awful for the executive director and branch officer who had tried to help me.
Owning Up
“I’m sorry. Due to my inexperience, I failed to detect the falsified statements.”
It took a lot of courage to admit fault. I kept worrying about wounded pride, or that Mega-Man would gloat.
But the fact remained—he was 100% right.
“Nakamura-kun. Honestly, after the way you acted, I thought you were hopeless. But being able to admit your mistake—that shows potential. Keep it up!”
Tears welled up. Mega-Man didn’t rub it in—he encouraged me instead.
Tsukita Giken Goes Bankrupt
Soon after, Tsukita Giken went bankrupt. Their website lingered online for a while, but now even that’s gone.
I have no idea what became of President Tsukita. But on dark autumn evenings like this, I still picture him, helmet under his arm.
“Ahhh, sorry, sorry—come on in.”
I can still imagine him saying that to me again, somewhere.
