How I Held a Summit with Drump in South America
After a long meeting, I decided to take both Isabella's advice and Lucio's.
"Chief of Staff Isabella, coordinate with Senior Secretary Ricardo and start buying U.S. Treasury bonds. Purchase them steadily, a little at a time, as the oil payments come in. That way we send a clear message that we intend to share in America's prosperity."
"Understood. To what scale shall we make the purchases?"
"A billion dollars in the short term. Over the long run, we fill it out to ten billion or more."
"So, match whatever comes in as loans."
"Treasury yields are higher than the interest on the loans coming from the United States. We won't take a loss."
"Yes, understood."
"That's settled, then. Director Lucio, stay behind a moment."
I called Lucio aside.
"Proceed with the lobbying we discussed. But it has to look like the voluntary support of patriotic San Marcos-Americans. There must be absolutely no trace of government involvement."
"Have no fear, Your Excellency. I intend to leave it in my cousin's hands."
Lucio smiled with complete confidence.
"...I'd really like to meet that cousin of yours someday."
"If you would only summon him, he would consider it the honor of a lifetime. He lives in America, but his patriotism for San Marcos runs deep."
"Good. I'm counting on you."
A few days later, in Florida. Lucio's cousin — Antonio Carvalho, godfather of the San Marcos immigrant community — was out on the golf course with Reed Anthony, an influential Republican senator.
"Nice shot! Your game's as sharp as ever, Senator."
"Not as sharp as yours, Antonio. So, how's business these days?"
"Thriving, thanks to you."
"Maybe I should've gone into business instead of politics. I work myself to the bone and never seem to have anything to show for it."
"That's what people like me are for, isn't it?"
"Haha, true enough. Men like you are the reason men like me can exist."
Reed Anthony smiled with satisfaction.
And why wouldn't he? A single word from Antonio could move the votes of six hundred thousand San Marcos immigrants across the United States — more than fifty thousand of them in Florida alone. On top of that, Antonio himself was a major donor, handing the Republican Party sums that stood out even in a state overflowing with wealthy contributors.
Of course, the nature of Antonio's businesses made a politician's backing essential. But when a man hands over a quarter of his annual net profits, year after year, a certain sincerity tends to come with it. Naturally, Reed Anthony trusted him implicitly.
"Which brings me to something... I'd like to increase the scale of our support."
"Hm? You're already putting more than five million dollars a year through the Super PAC, aren't you?"
"That's Carvalho Holdings' money. This time, the community wants to contribute."
"The community?"
"The San Marcos Community. An organization I founded. Think of it as a kind of civil rights group that helps San Marcos immigrants with their difficulties."
"Ah... I see."
Reed Anthony's reaction was awkward. Like most Hispanic communities, the San Marcos diaspora ranked among the poorest — and it made sense. People who had never received a public education, who could barely read their own language, let alone English, were never going to find decent work. It was only thanks to figures like Antonio, handing out scholarships and donating to political parties to polish the community's image, that things had even come this far. Barely a decade ago, San Marcos immigrant had been another word for gangster.
A pile of pennies is still just pennies, isn't it?
That was what he figured. And then—
"We'd like to donate a hundred million dollars through the Super PAC."
Reed's eyes flew wide at a figure far beyond anything he had expected.
"......"
A seasoned politician, Reed started calculating. There's an angle here. He tried to work out what Antonio wanted. Nobody dropped a hundred million dollars without a reason. But the offer that followed stopped his thoughts cold.
"And two hundred thousand community members will each make individual contributions. Right up to the two-thousand-dollar limit."
A hundred million in soft money and four hundred million in hard money. Five hundred million dollars in total. With the midterm elections only months away, it was far too much money to refuse.
"We San Marcos-Americans wholeheartedly support the Republican Party's policies."
Antonio smiled, all innocence.
"However... we've been hearing talk lately of tariffs being imposed on San Marcos, and people back home are getting very anxious. All we want is for America and San Marcos to get along like brothers."
"Ah, that..."
The senator swallowed.
"N-now don't you worry, Antonio. Sounds like the President had a bit of a misunderstanding. I'll set him straight."
"Thank you. You're the only one we can count on, Senator."
And the following afternoon, Reed Anthony, accompanied by the Republican Party leadership, was granted an audience with America's Kaiser — Drump.
The two-track strategy of buying Treasuries and running a lobbying campaign produced results immediately.
I mean, they hadn't even been lobbying for a full week.
He posted that on his personal social media account.
"...Is this guy insane?"
I wasn't sure this was the same man who'd been ranting about plunderers and thieves just days ago.
"If he doesn't have dementia... this guy might actually be a genius."
A few words out of his mouth, and he'd gotten me to cough up five hundred million in political donations and buy a billion dollars' worth of Treasury bonds. In the long run that number would hit ten billion. At this point, the man was printing money with his mouth.
Now that was a real gangster. Who else even came close?
"Ugh. It's not like I can punch him."
A sigh slipped out on its own. A fortune had gone out the door, but at least the immediate fire was out.
We've buttered him up this thoroughly. He'll at least meet us at USMCA-level terms, right?
We'd evened out the competitiveness, so the oil exports would continue. In the long run, it was a profitable deal.
"Well, it worked out. Tell Director Lucio to invite this Antonio fellow. The man worked hard — I'd like to at least buy him a meal."
"Yes. I'll pass the word through Director Lucio."
With that weight off my shoulders, it was time to start chipping away at the backlog of state business. A few days of being jerked around by Drump, and the work had piled up into a mountain.
Still need to build a national civil registry, still need to build highways, still need a medical system... health insurance... founding a bank... more hotels... Why does the work never end no matter how much I do?
That was when Sophia, the Senior Secretary for Foreign Affairs, came running in, white as a sheet.
"Y-Your Excellency!"
Oh, for the love of—
"What. What is it now?"
Gasping for breath, Sophia dropped a bombshell.
"The U.S. State Department wants... a summit. And they say he's coming to San Marcos in person."
"...Excuse me?"
I couldn't believe my own ears.
"Drump is... coming here?"
"Yes."
"W-when?"
"In five days. He'll stop in Florida first, then fly in on his presidential aircraft."
Good lord.
"Th-this is no time to sit around. We need to prepare to receive the President of the United States. Isabella, gather the senior secretaries. Right now."
"Yes."
But it didn't take long after we started preparing the protocol for a U.S. presidential visit to realize something.
"Ah... right."
San Marcos had never held a summit in its entire history. Naturally, it had no experience with one either.
"Can't we just do it the way other countries do...?"
"Absolutely not. The other party is Drump. There's no telling what he'll pick a fight over."
Then, suddenly, a face flashed through my mind.
"Ah!"
I spun toward Isabella.
"Chief of Staff, where is Ana right now?"
Ana — the younger sister of Javier, who had been both a victim and a perpetrator of the terrorist attack.
"Miss Ana is... staying nearby, recovering after her discharge."
"Bring her here. Immediately."
"Pardon?"
"I'll explain later. Hurry."
A short while later, a bewildered Ana was ushered into the conference room.
"Ana. How are you feeling?"
"Much better, thanks to your consideration. But... what is this about?"
I didn't waste time getting to the point.
"I heard you once worked in the White House during Drump's first term... is that right?"
"Ah... yes. That's true, but..."
Ana trailed off, hesitant.
"It was just an internship. All I did was make copies, pour coffee, and help with the filing."
"I also heard you went along on overseas trips?"
"I tagged along, but I didn't really do anything there either."
Good enough. In our current situation, even that made her an irreplaceable ace. You could search all of San Marcos and not find a single person who'd even toured the White House. Someone who'd actually worked there — and in the Drump administration, no less — was more than we could have hoped for.
"I'm appointing you Protocol Secretary. We need your help."
"B-but I only worked there for four months!"
"President Drump arrives in five days. If we're going to receive him without a single mistake, we need what's in your memory."
"D-Drump?"
"So please. We need you, Ana."
"But..."
"I'll have to decline your refusal. You said it yourself last time — you'd do anything to atone. This is your chance."
Faced with an invitation she couldn't argue against, Ana nodded, her eyes steeling over.
"In that case... yes. I'll do my best."
From the moment Ana was more or less forced into the post, the Presidential Palace went on emergency footing.
"The carpet color is far too tacky. It needs to be a deeper red. Switch it to something closer to burgundy, immediately."
"Why is the honor guard's spacing like this? Please pay closer attention."
"How should we handle the meal? Traditional San Marcos cuisine, perhaps...?"
"President Drump is famously picky. Prepare a well-done steak, french fries, and Heinz ketchup. Stock Diet Coke by the case."
The Ana we'd taken for a quiet, well-mannered girl tore through the Presidential Palace like a fish that had found water. She checked Drump's expected movement routes down to the minute and even fussed over the lighting angles in the banquet hall.
"Your Excellency, I'd recommend a red necktie. President Drump favors red, so it will create a sense of psychological rapport."
"And when you shake hands, you absolutely must not let him dominate you. He has a habit of yanking the other person's hand toward himself. If you lose your balance, the photographs will look absolutely ridiculous."
Thanks to her, San Marcos's slapdash protocol system began to look halfway respectable in a mere three days.
And five days later, Air Force One, with Drump aboard, touched down at Libertad Airport.