How I Rode the K-Coin Wave in South America (2)

"Your Excellency, I have wonderful news. The transfer of rights for all one hundred seventy properties belonging to the gangs has been completed."

At Lucio's report, my eyes went wide.

"Already? I only mentioned it yesterday."

"Yes. Thanks to the owners' most enthusiastic cooperation."

"How much did the purchases run? I was worried we didn't have much of a budget for this."

Lucio answered with an affable, people-person smile.

"Not a single cent."

"...Come again?"

"The moment we mentioned we intended to buy, the homeowners donated the properties of their own accord. They asked that we put them toward the development of the nation."

I briefly questioned my own hearing.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Is that true? You didn't coerce or threaten anyone?"

"How could I possibly do such a thing? I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠merely conveyed Your Excellency's noble intentions. Upon hearing them, they all shed tears of emotion and pressed their thumbprints to the documents. A few were so overjoyed their hands even trembled."

"Huh..."

I let out a breath of genuine amazement.

"It seems there truly is healing power in nature, just as Your Excellency foresaw. Working up a sweat in the great outdoors appears to have led them to mend their ways completely."

"That's wonderful news. I mean the part about those people turning over a new leaf — more so than the hotels."

"All thanks to Your Excellency's mercy, I am sure."

Lucio bowed deeply, in the Korean manner.

"Very well. Director Lucio has worked this hard — I can hardly sit idle. I'll instruct Senior Secretary Lessa to begin construction at once."

"Understood."

The moment Lucio left, I called for Isabella.

"Chief of Staff, has a site been selected for the Korean embassy?"

"Yes. I have narrowed it down to several candidates."

Isabella spread a map. The place she pointed to, however, was not downtown.

"Here...?"

"Yes. It was used as a villa by Portuguese governors during the colonial era. The grounds are spacious, and security would be straightforward."

"This is on the outskirts of Libertad."

Embassies were typically planted in accessible downtown districts or diplomatic compounds. The spot Isabella had marked, though, was the equivalent of sticking it in Dobongsan — the last stop before you hit Uijeongbu, if this were Seoul.

"Won't the Korean embassy staff find that inconvenient?"

Isabella explained with a perfectly serious face.

"Downtown has heavy foot traffic, which could expose them to terrorist threats. This location has only a single access road, making checkpoints easy to operate, and it is an optimal defensive position in an emergency. The Korean government requested that safety be the top priority, so they will be satisfied."

"Hmm. That's true, but..."

She wasn't wrong. San Marcos had suffered a terrible bombing; the wound was still raw.

Still.

If it's that far, I won't be able to drop by.

I'd been planning to swing through now and then to cadge some ramyeon, instant coffee mix, soju, kimchi — that sort of thing. Too far and the whole scheme fell apart.

My expression must have soured, because Isabella added a rider.

"In exchange, we will run a dedicated shuttle bus between downtown and the embassy. We will also repave the road so that travel is no inconvenience."

"Well, if that's the case... All right. Coordinate with the Korean side and proceed."

"And I have one more proposal."

Isabella's eyes lit up as she turned her tablet around, a blueprint already open on the screen.

"What is it?"

"I was thinking we might remodel Libertad's central plaza to boost tourism, so I drafted this."

"You can do this kind of thing too?"

"I studied design when I was at university in Brazil."

"...Isabella, is there anything you can't do? All right. How do you plan to proceed?"

"We will pave the plaza in stone, rebuild the old fountain, and erect a monument in the center."

"A monument? You mean a flagpole?"

"No. A statue of Your Excellency."

"...Excuse me?"

Isabella zoomed in on the drawing with unmistakable excitement. Something human-shaped that I hadn't noticed before was standing there.

"A bronze statue, three meters across and fifteen meters tall. The pose has Your Excellency holding a command baton in one hand, pointing toward the sky. On the pedestal, we would inscribe the words: Eugene Choi, Savior and Leader of San Marcos."

"No."

I grimaced and crossed my arms into an X.

"Rejected. Absolutely rejected."

"What? Why? The people want it, and it would make an excellent photo spot for tourists."

"Put up a Pororo statue instead. That would be far more popular."

"Tch."

Isabella pouted and swiped to the next drawing.

"Then at least permit the forest park."

"A forest park with a panoramic view of Libertad... That I like. Approved. Make it beautiful."

"I shall have it prepared to perfection."

Isabella answered briskly and left.

A statue... She's saying some dangerous things.

What was this, North Korea? Putting up statues of the leader.

A few days later, word reached Eugene that a direct flight connecting Korea and San Marcos had opened.

It had been a near impossibility. Regularly flying to a small South American island nation with uncertain demand was, from an airline's point of view, a scheduled loss. But Eugene had pulled off the impossible through the power of connections.

Claiming they were close from some patriots' club, Chairman Chung had personally telephoned the chairman who owned the airline, and before long the working-level staff had arrived in San Marcos.

Of course, it hadn't been free. A publicly listed carrier opening a route that was all but guaranteed to lose money could constitute a breach of fiduciary duty. So Eugene had made an extraordinary offer: jet fuel from the oil refinery that would eventually be built, supplied at ten percent below market. The team from Koreana Airlines accepted.

It had been the hardest thing to pull off. It was also the thing that wrapped up most easily.

And there was more good news.

Joseon Zinc's nickel mine had begun full-scale operations. Crowds poured in to mark the historic moment that would redraw the economic map of San Marcos.

"Your Excellency, we're ready."

"Let's go."

Isabella had been forced to skip the ceremony to supervise the forest park, so Eugene attended with Senior Secretary Lessa of Resources and Tourism instead. In a crisp suit and white gloves, he climbed the dais. Beside him stood Park Chan-joon, CEO of Joseon Zinc, beaming.

"One, two, three!"

Snip!

The golden scissors sliced through the red ribbon, and camera flashes erupted from every direction. Eugene and CEO Park shook hands firmly.

"Congratulations, sir. We're in the same boat now. I look forward to working with you."

"The pleasure is ours. We'll work hard to make a real contribution to San Marcos's economy."

This mine was not a foreign investment in the usual sense. It was a partnership: the San Marcos government held thirty percent, having contributed the mining rights as an in-kind investment; Joseon Zinc held forty, having put up half of the five-hundred-million-dollar total plus the technology; and Tortilla Company held the remaining thirty, having supplied the other half of the capital. Tortilla Company was, for all practical purposes, Eugene's personal slush fund — or rather, a state-owned enterprise in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all but name. The government effectively controlled sixty percent of the shares.

That should lock down control for good.

After the ceremony, Eugene toured the open-pit mine and the interior of the smelter with CEO Park. Enormous crushers roared as they worked, dumping ash-gray ore onto the conveyor belts.

"How's the grade?"

"Better than we hoped. Average nickel content is running above 1.5 percent. Outside of Indonesia, that's world-class."

Park Chan-joon turned his tablet so Eugene could see the figures and kept going.

"And production?"

"We're planning for about fifty thousand tons a year. Converted to revenue, that's seven hundred million dollars annually. Net profit after production costs should land somewhere between five and six hundred million."

"That much?"

"We've installed the latest equipment, and..."

He stepped in close and lowered his voice.

"The labor costs are so low it makes the numbers possible."

"Ah..."

"Add in the cobalt byproduct and it could run even higher."

"That's remarkable."

Eugene nodded, openly impressed.

Six hundred million in net profit means three hundred sixty million flowing to the government and Tortilla Company — and that's before you even count the jobs and the corporate tax. This is basically mining gold.

Park Chan-joon began walking him through the operation.

"Ore extracted here is processed at this primary smelter into nickel matte. From there it goes to the port and on to our smelters in Korea for finishing."

"I'd like to see the local processing ratio go up."

"Of course. We plan to build a plant within three years and produce finished product on site."

"You'd go that far?"

"Once you factor in shipping costs, producing locally is incomparably more advantageous. And as I mentioned, we can take advantage of the inexpensive labor."

"I hardly know what to say."

"There's no need to feel indebted. We simply chose the more profitable option."

It was perfect. They wouldn't just be selling raw materials — bringing in a factory would create even more jobs.

"Very well. I'm putting my trust in you, CEO Park."

"I won't disappoint you."

Eugene's steps were lighter than they had ever been.

Meanwhile, on a mountain overlooking downtown Libertad at a glance, dozens of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stonemasons and combat engineers had gathered. The person leading them was none other than Isabella. She looked up at the sheer cliff face and smiled with deep satisfaction.

"From this moment, we carve His Excellency's face into this cliff. Like America's Mount Rushmore. So that every citizen of Libertad, upon opening their eyes in the morning, will see His Excellency's benevolent smile first thing."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Begin the blasting."

At Isabella's signal, the engineers brought forward crates of explosives. Pedro, who had come to the site on the excuse of seeing his niece for the first time in a while after hearing the engineers had been detailed here, stared at her in disbelief.

"You're actually going through with this? Didn't His Excellency forbid it?"

"His Excellency forbade the erection of a statue. He did not forbid the creation of a bust."

"That's the same damn thing..."

"That is not important. What matters is that the people wish to behold His Excellency's countenance."

Isabella gazed at the cliff, her face flushed with color.

"Once this sculpture is complete, His Excellency will surely be pleased as well."

Already her mind was filled with the image of Eugene's face carved into the rock, gazing down upon Libertad, the heart of San Marcos.

BOOM—!

With that blast, work began on the monument that would one day become a symbol of San Marcos.