Chapter 134: That Time We Took In Refugees in South America (4)

TL: Skye

As usual, I woke up in the morning, drank my coffee, and turned on my phone. Then I saw Drump's SNS post and nearly spat out my coffee.

[I heard that Yu-jin Choi of San Marcos is a leading candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize. But there is one thing everyone must remember. He was only able to make that great decision because he had my full support. Considering that, if they are going to award the Nobel Peace Prize, wouldn't it be right for Yu-jin Choi and me to receive it jointly?]

The man who had caused a serious threat to world peace was angling for the Nobel Peace Prize.

'...Is he out of his mind?'

The guy who bombed Iran, sent oil prices skyrocketing, and pressured allied countries to deploy forces to the Strait of Hormuz wanted the Nobel Peace Prize?

If shamelessness had levels, Drump was definitely maxed out.

'Where do you even learn confidence like that?'

Still, it wasn't as though Drump was completely wrong.

Without American support, it would have been impossible for me to make the decision to accept a million refugees.

The fate of a figurehead, I suppose.

'Still, jointly winning the Nobel Peace Prize is taking it way too far.'

Just as I was about to turn off my phone, Anna, the Protocol Secretary, came in.

“Your Excellency, everything is ready.”

“Ah, is it?”

“Yes. Shall we depart immediately?”

“Sure. Let's go.”

Today was the day I was leaving for Venezuela for a summit with Telsy, the Acting President of Venezuela.

Officially, it was an official visit to improve relations between our two countries. In reality, I was going there to meet with representatives of the American oil majors over Venezuela's oil fields.

“Apart from the security detail, there will be three people accompanying you: Senior Secretary for Foreign Affairs Sophia, Senior Secretary for Finance Ricardo, and myself. Chief Secretary Isabella will remain at home and oversee state affairs.”

I'd already heard all this, but Anna went over it once more.

“Understood. Let's go.”

The sky over Libertad was exceptionally clear.

*

The flight from San Marcos to Venezuela took less than two hours.

There were procedures to follow, however, so only after entering the country and going through a few ceremonial formalities was I able to enter Miraflores Palace in Caracas, where Telsy was waiting.

The Venezuelan presidential residence was far larger and more ornate than the Presidential Palace of San Marcos, but traces of age showed everywhere.

Remnants of the wealth that had once poured in with the oil, perhaps.

The paint was peeling in places, and the carpets in the corridors were worn thin.

I walked on for a while, taking in my surroundings.

“So we finally meet in person.”

At the entrance to the conference room, I came face-to-face with Telsy, who had been waiting for me.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, President Yu-jin Choi.”

“The pleasure is mine, Acting President.”

We shook hands and looked each other in the eye.

We had spoken many times before, but meeting face-to-face felt different.

I could see things that were impossible to pick up over the phone.

Soon, we sat across from each other in the conference room. The accompanying officials from both sides took their seats, and interpreters were positioned nearby.

Telsy and I both spoke Portuguese and Spanish, but since this was an official occasion, we decided to go through interpreters.

“First, I must express my gratitude.”

Telsy began with a serious expression.

“Without San Marcos's help, Venezuela would be in an even worse situation by now. I sincerely thank you.”

“I only did what I promised.”

From there, the summit proceeded smoothly.

The Venezuelan side requested additional assistance.

Medical supplies, infrastructure construction equipment, technical personnel. There was desperation in Telsy's voice, but she did not sound as though she were begging.

I responded positively wherever it was feasible.

The United States would probably offset most of the costs against the loan anyway, and more importantly, I was confident that whatever we put in, we could make back.

Of course.

“We, the Venezuelan government, would like to request a loan of thirty billion dollars.”

It became a problem when she crossed the line like that.

'How is a developing country supposed to lend you thirty billion dollars?'

“When we conducted background checks on all forty-two thousand people in the first wave of immigrants, we found a remarkably high percentage of people with criminal records. Was that a coincidence?”

“Well... things have gotten very bad here recently, and the crime rate has soared. Naturally, that means the percentage of people with criminal records is higher as well. It wasn't intentional.”

“I see. What was it you said earlier? Something about a loan...?”

“Ah... never mind.”

Before she could bring up the loan again, I changed the subject.

“By the way, I heard the Chinese asked to negotiate?”

“Yes. They've contacted us to ask what we think about extending the repayment period. I believe they want to discuss restructuring the debt.”

“Hmm... If you can avoid it, don't agree.”

“Excuse me?”

“I've done this myself, so I know. Dragging things out as long as possible is always in your favor.”

“Why is that?”

“Because inflation exists. Sixty billion dollars this year and sixty billion dollars ten years from now do not have the same real value. Even if inflation is only three percent a year, its real value will fall by more than twenty-five percent after ten years. In other words, the later you repay it, the less you're effectively paying back.”

“......”

“If you pay it back twenty years later, it's basically half price.”

“I-I see.”

The next topic of coaching was public security.

“How are you administering martial law?”

“We've deployed the military to major cities to maintain public order. But as it drags on, fatigue is accumulating within the armed forces, so we're watching for the right time to lift it.”

“You should keep martial law in place for as long as possible.”

“...Excuse me?”

“First, get the situation completely under control, then gather intelligence. After that, round up the social misfits all at once. Gangs, for example. Especially gangs. Lots and lots of gangs.”

At some point, Telsy had started taking notes. She looked up and asked,

“All at once?”

“Yes. If you drag it out, they'll all run. The key is to gather enough intelligence first, then sweep them all up in one operation. That's how we wiped out the gangs too. Secure a list of the organization's leadership, then make simultaneous arrests. If the military comes crashing in at four in the morning, they don't even have time to resist.”

Telsy let out a quiet sound of admiration and nodded. Her notepad was rapidly filling up.

“And don't let your guard down after arresting them. Rehabilitation is no easy thing. Venezuelan prisons are practically the gangs' own world, aren't they?”

“But we can't exactly execute them, can we?”

“If they're too troublesome for you to deal with, send them to San Marcos. We have a Coal Mine Program ready that can rehabilitate any criminal. Ah, of course, I'm not asking you to send them for free. Their wages, minus actual expenses, will be transferred in full to the Venezuelan government.”

“That is... rather tempting.”

And so I generously shared all the know-how I'd accumulated with Telsy.

***

Yu-jin successfully concluded the summit.

The substance of the talks could be divided into two main points.

The first was to reaffirm the arrangements concerning food aid and the absorption of refugees, while the second was to help Venezuela get back on its feet through the rapid development of its oil fields.

And to make that happen, Yu-jin met with three other men.

Michael Collins, CEO of ExxonMobil. David Hunt, CEO of ConocoPhillips. And Robert Miller, Vice President of Occidental Petroleum. Every one of them was a man who moved tens of billions of dollars.

In truth, the fact that they had gathered in one place at all was unusual.

Under normal circumstances, they were too busy competing with one another to sit at the same table.

But today was different. They had a common objective.

Venezuela. The Orinoco Belt. The world's largest oil field, with proven reserves of three hundred billion barrels. They were here to carve it up among themselves.

Normally, the Venezuelan government and its people would have made it impossible for them to openly covet the prize. But now, sitting before them, was a man who could open that door.

“Mr. President, it's an honor to meet you.”

That man was Yu-jin.

“It's good to meet all of you.”

Once everyone had taken their seats, Michael Collins, the organizer of today's meeting, spoke.

“Let's get straight to the point. I assume you've all heard the White House's proposal.”

“Otherwise, we wouldn't have come all this way.”

“Likewise.”

The White House's proposal was simple.

Don't compete over the Orinoco Belt. Just divide it up reasonably among yourselves.

Looked at one way, it was little different from collusion, but the capitalist market had a magical mechanism called a consortium.

And San Marcos was going to have a seat in that consortium as well.

“We intend to establish an oil company in San Marcos through joint investment. The company will be called San Marcos Energy. We chose the name least likely to provoke resistance from the Venezuelan public.”

Robert Miller cut in.

“Is there no risk of our assets being seized again, like in 2007?”

Yu-jin answered calmly.

“As long as San Marcos is out front, that won't happen. Venezuela cannot sever its relationship with San Marcos. Food aid and refugee absorption depend on us. Touching a San Marcos company would mean making an enemy of San Marcos, and for the Telsy administration, that would be tantamount to suicide.”

“What happens if the Telsy government falls? Is there any guarantee the next administration won't seize the assets again?”

Yu-jin answered calmly.

“They won't be able to make that decision.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because if that happens, the Venezuelan government won't be dealing with you. It will be dealing with the San Marcos Navy.”

“......”

Only then did the three men exchange glances and nod.

There was little room to argue with the logic, and in truth, that was exactly what they had wanted to hear from the beginning.

No matter how powerful the companies they led were in the global energy industry, getting burned by another Chavez-style expropriation would still be a serious blow.

Michael Collins asked,

“What ownership split do you have in mind?”

“Twenty percent for San Marcos. The remaining eighty percent would be divided among us.”

“Twenty percent seems a little high if San Marcos is only serving as a diplomatic shield. Will the San Marcos government be investing capital as well?”

“Yes. In exchange, as I mentioned beforehand, our compensation for acting as the diplomatic shield will come in the form of refining fees.”

“Agreed.”

“I agree as well.”

David Hunt of ConocoPhillips asked with a skeptical look,

“Are you certain there won't be any problems with the quality of the refined product?”

“The refinery is led by Korea's Hyunhwa Energy and was built by Hyunhwa Construction using top-tier technology. When it comes to quality, I'm confident.”

“...Then I agree as well.”

After a brief silence, all three men nodded.

“Then we're agreed on the overall direction. Let's have our working-level teams negotiate the specific terms.”

Collins extended a hand toward Yu-jin.

“Good.”

Yu-jin looked out through the conference room window at the sky over Caracas.

A twenty percent stake in the company developing the world's largest oil field, plus exclusive refining rights.

It would have to be shared with Venezuela and carved up with the oil majors, but it was still no small haul.

'Even being a figurehead pays pretty damn well when the cut is this good.'

*****

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