How I Cracked the Whip in South America (2)

The Grand Conference Room of the Presidential Palace.

Until recently, this place had been nothing but laughter and easy smiles, the austerity years finally behind them. Now a suffocating silence hung over the table.

The reason was simple. I was making my displeasure extremely obvious.

It's about time I cracked the whip anyway.

I turned my head. The Senior Presidential Secretaries dropped their gazes like men already convicted.

I set the report I'd been holding down on the table with a quiet tap.

The voice was low and even. They flinched as one and stared at me, eyes wide.

"We are currently staking the fate of this nation on attracting foreign companies. We are giving them land, cutting their taxes, even running power lines out to their doorsteps. Why are we doing all of this?"

I rose from my seat and walked slowly among them.

"Is it not to strip from our people the wretched yoke of poverty they have worn for generations? To create real jobs. To educate our children. So that poverty is no longer an inheritance."

I drew a breath and looked around the room.

"And yet... what is this?"

"......"

"You built an industrial complex without even the most basic infrastructure in place. How do we supply industrial water? How do we treat the wastewater? Where does the waste go? Why did not a single one of you think about any of this?"

"I have no excuse, Your Excellency."

Aman, the Senior Secretary for Industry, answered in a voice that had shrunk to almost nothing.

"That's right. To be honest, it had slipped my mind as well."

I gave Aman's shoulder a couple of light pats, hoping he wouldn't take it too hard. Apparently moved by the gesture, he trembled from head to toe and bowed even lower.

"But all of you should have known. Are you not ashamed of the title Senior Presidential Secretary? What is it you do all day? You research policy and you execute it. That means you study. That is why you are paid more than everyone else, is it not?"

The senior secretaries clamped their mouths shut, struck dumb.

"We can let Taeyang Apparel slide as a first-time mistake. But Joseon Zinc and Hyunhwa Energy, who are coming in next, are on an entirely different scale. Are you going to tell me you didn't know then, too?"

I could see their faces burning under the rebuke. Fair enough. They had, in truth, grown complacent — drunk on their own results.

"Start over from the beginning. I want a complete review from square one."

The instruction was not a suggestion.

"And it is not just the industrial parks. Ports, roads, power, telecommunications — comb through every sector for anything we might have overlooked. Study every case from the developed world and adapt it to our circumstances."

"We will keep that in mind."

"And one more thing."

I paused and looked around the room.

"From now on, if you see a gap or you think a problem is coming, do not wait for proper procedure — report it. If it is urgent, act first and report after. That is a hundred times better than cleaning up after something blows. What you will not do is hide a problem. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir! Understood!"

"Good. I will be expecting results."

I left the conference room thinking, That should be enough to snap them out of it.

I just hoped I hadn't crushed their spirits too badly.

Eugene's hopes, however, had nothing to do with what came next. The senior secretaries' ordeal was not over.

"A moment of your attention, if you would."

Isabella, Chief of Staff and de facto head of the Senior Presidential Secretaries, had remained behind.

"Just how exactly have all of you been doing your jobs?"

She set a stack of documents on the table.

"The road connecting to the Northern Oil Fields should have been over fifty percent complete by today. It stands at thirty-six. And the hygiene management at Tortilla F&B, which produces food for children, is at a level that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠can only be described as nonexistent."

Her voice was a blade.

"Why does ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Office of the Chief of Staff exist? Is it not to serve as His Excellency's eyes and ears — to look ahead and assist him? If this is the best you can do, why are any of you drawing a salary?"

"Chief of Staff, that's—"

"I do not need excuses. Prove yourselves with results."

Isabella folded her arms and delivered the warning with complete calm.

"This is the last time. If anything occurs that disturbs His Excellency's peace of mind even once more... do not assume you will keep your seats. Capable people are not in short supply. Do I make myself clear?"

"...We will keep that in mind."

The click of Isabella's heels echoed as she left the conference room. The instant the door closed, another man stepped forward.

"Ahem. Ahem."

Lucio, Director of the SIA. A founding pillar of the current government, and a figure of genuine terror — the sort of man who, once he set his mind to shaking someone down, could manufacture crimes that did not even exist.

"You've all had a difficult morning. His Excellency's expectations run high, which is why the words were a little sharp. Don't take it too much to heart."

"Ah — yes. You've had a difficult time of it as well, Director."

"That said."

Lucio's expression changed in an instant. The smile vanished, and what replaced it was cold enough to frost the air.

"I've been rather busy lately, so I haven't been paying as close attention as I should. It seems a few screws have come loose. I'm hearing that people have been accepting free meals here and there. Drinking together, too. Oh, not you, of course. I'm talking about the people under you."

He reached out, smoothed Arn's necktie, and spoke just above a whisper.

"A mere failure of oversight is the sort of thing our merciful Excellency might overlook. I, however, am different. Removing obstacles to national development before they become problems — that is my job."

He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

Eugene. Isabella. Lucio. Having taken a three-stage beating from hell with their entire bodies, they arrived at a single, clarifying realization.

If they wanted to live, they would have to do the same to everyone beneath them.

That afternoon, across every ministry of the San Marcos government, hundreds of dressing-downs cascaded down the ranks.

Around the time the civil service of San Marcos was being whipped into shape, a spark jumped from a place no one had expected — on the far side of the Pacific, in the Republic of Korea.

It began with a single article in a regional American newspaper.

In another era, news from the opposite side of the planet would never have reached Korea at all. The world was far too small for that now, and the internet was unreasonably fast.

A Korean student living in the United States stumbled on the piece, decided the headline looked too strange to ignore, and dropped it on the community board where he usually posted nonsense.

The post exploded past tens of thousands of views in minutes and spilled into every community on the Korean internet.

Suspicion and curiosity piled up like a snowball rolling downhill.

Korea's self-appointed internet detective corps dug into Eugene's past, and it did not take long to establish the truth: he had completed his full term of military service as a sergeant, graduated from Hankook University, and was a native-born Korean through and through.

As the internet caught fire, Moon Sung-moon, Deputy Director of the National Intelligence Service, who had been watching the situation with growing unease, clicked his tongue.

"Hah. Our netizens really are terrifying. I tried so hard to keep a lid on this, and it's already everywhere."

He had wanted Eugene's existence to stay quiet a little longer.

"The timing would've been perfect once the nickel mines were up and running. Of all moments for this to blow... tsk."

But what was he supposed to do? The only person he could blame was himself for failing to stop it.

Which meant there was only one move left.

If it was already out, they would have to make the image as good as it could possibly be.

He straightened his tie, made the decision, and picked up the phone.

The next morning, the front page of every major Korean portal was wallpapered with Eugene Choi.

The press poured out praise as if they had all received the same memo. On top of that, the economic papers — with a little help from the Hyunhwa Group's influence — trained their lights on San Marcos's potential and on Eugene's abilities.

The finishing blow came from the 9 o'clock evening news.

To put a stamp of credibility on the story, they even brought in people who knew him.

With the news as the detonator, the national pride of the Korean public went off like a firework.

YouTube filled with videos titled The Miracle of San Marcos, Who Is Eugene Choi?, and The Korean Leadership That Shocked Japan and Stunned China. They racked up millions of views and conquered the algorithm.

And as for our Eugene—

"Nngh... my money... Isabella... gimme my money back... *snore*..."

He was fast asleep, knowing absolutely nothing.