How I Built a Power Company in South America
Electricity in San Marcos was critically scarce.
How scarce? Production covered barely seventy percent of demand. The shortage had been building for roughly three years—ever since Eugene took power and threw the country into full-throttle national development. International investment poured in, factories multiplied overnight, and massive oil refineries and chemical plants rose from the ground. The power grid simply could not keep up.
So Eugene poured an enormous budget into commissioning two nuclear reactors from Korea. There was just one problem. Even with the site selected and every permit in hand, the plants would take four years to build.
Electricity is oxygen to industry.
For a man who wanted to retire a single day sooner rather than later, four years was more precious than gold. Eugene issued sovereign bonds and launched the Economic Development 6-Year Plan. Its opening move: the founding of the San Marcos State Power Corporation and a nationwide solar build-out.
Of every kind of power plant on earth, solar was the fastest to get online. And Latin America, with its relentless sunshine, was prime real estate for photovoltaic generation. Involving American firms would mean steep bid prices, true—but they had already secured ten billion dollars. Flush with cash, San Marcos posted the tender through the U.S. Department of Commerce with no shortage of confidence.
Tempe, Arizona.
The conference room at First Solar—America's largest solar panel manufacturer—had the atmosphere of a funeral parlor.
"What happened with the Southeast Asia bid?"
The division director's question sent the team lead's gaze to the floor.
"...I have no excuse. We lost it."
"Why? Technology? Durability?"
"Price. The Chinese outfits undercut us at dumping levels. They came in at half our bid."
"Christ. This is a nightmare."
The director clutched his head in both hands. Between the Drumpf administration's withdrawal from the climate accord and a tidal wave of cheap Chinese panels, American solar companies were on the brink of collapse. Aggressive tariffs were the only thing keeping Chinese modules out of the country, and that was barely enough to stay afloat. The growth of years past was a pipe dream. At this rate, layoffs were next.
"Subsidies are gone, too. If only some giant project would drop in our lap..."
That was when the conference room door burst open and an employee stumbled in.
"D-Director! A bid just posted—it's a national-scale project!"
"Where?"
"The Republic of San Marcos."
"San Marcos?"
The director's reply was flat. Developing-country prices were a known quantity. Technology, efficiency—none of it mattered. Money was everything. American firms like theirs would be window dressing, and the contract would slide straight into Chinese hands. That was how it always went.
This time was different.
"We can't win it anyway."
"No, sir. This time the contract is limited to American companies."
"What?"
The director shot to his feet.
"How big?"
"Two billion dollars."
"T-two billion dollars?!"
His chair toppled backward with a clatter.
"Where does a country that small even get that kind of money? Don't tell me it's a tied-loan bid."
"No, sir. The terms specify payment in a lump sum!"
In that instant, every pair of eyes in the room caught fire.
"Pack your bags! No—book the plane tickets first!"
"To where, sir?"
"Where do you think? San Marcos! We have to land this. I'll brief the CEO myself—you people get to the airport now!"
And First Solar was not alone. SunPower, SolarCity, Next Energy—the same scream tore through every major solar company in America. Not long after, Libertad International Airport was a madhouse. Salesmen from the country's top photovoltaic firms poured in by the dozen.
We have to land this. No matter what.
If we miss this one, who knows how much further the stock will drop.
And it's a lump-sum payment. In dollars, no less.
Infrastructure deals in developing countries were almost always financed with foreign loans or run on credit. Which meant you had no idea when—or if—you'd ever get paid. This was different. Anyone dropping two billion dollars in a single payment was a whale, plain and simple.
So they set to work on the next order of business.
Bribes.
Grease a few palms, skim a little off the top, and the impossible becomes possible. That was the unwritten law of the developing world. It was one of the reasons Chinese solar companies had conquered the planet—price, yes, but also because they understood that law down to the bone.
The moment they touched down in Libertad, the American firms unleashed their lobbyists.
SunPower's man, moving with a secrecy that would have made a 007 operation look sloppy, found his way to the private residence of Aman, Senior Secretary for Industry.
"And why, exactly, did you ask to see me?"
"Mr. Secretary, this is a small token of our sincerity. We hope you'll look kindly on us going forward."
Aman did not open the box. He stared at the man with undisguised contempt.
"I agreed to this meeting because you said you had questions about the bid. What do you think you're doing?"
"...Excuse me?"
"Take this and get out. Immediately. Otherwise I will call the army."
"N-no, wait—what's in here isn't ordinary—"
"That will be all. A few gold bars, I assume."
"...If you'd prefer, I can come back with a larger box."
"I would not accept it if you rolled up with a truck full of gold. Try this once more and you will not only be disqualified from the bid—I will personally see to it that you tour a prison cell on charges of attempted bribery."
The lobbyist fled in utter panic.
Next Energy's man was bolder.
In a dictatorship, the intelligence chief is the one who actually holds power.
He requested a private audience with Director Lucio. When that was refused, he simply waited in front of the SIA headquarters gate.
"Director! Next Energy! If we win this solar contract, we will take very good care of you after you retire! A Swiss numbered account—"
Lucio, seated in his car, rolled down the window and looked the man dead in the eye. The gaze was so cold the lobbyist nearly wet himself.
"I work this post ready to bury my bones in this country. You want me to sell out the fatherland for a few dollars? Get lost. Show your face again and I will turn you into fertilizer for the cornfields. No one will ever find you."
Crushed by the killing intent, the lobbyist staggered backward and landed hard on his rear.
First Solar's lobbyist, meanwhile, went straight for the surest line of all.
If you're going to spread money around, you spread it on the line that goes all the way to the president. Anywhere else is a waste.
He requested a private meeting with Isabella—the regime's number two, the woman they called the president's shadow.
"Madam Chief of Staff. A token of First Solar's regard."
Isabella opened a box of considerable size, found a diamond necklace inside, and let out a faint laugh.
"It's pretty."
"I'm glad it pleases you. If you would look favorably on this bid, we could arrange something even more—"
"Tell me, Director. Are you familiar with the laws of San Marcos?"
"The laws?"
Isabella snapped the lid shut. Her voice went cold.
"When a bribe is given or received in a manner that harms the people, both the giver and the receiver are sentenced to life imprisonment without parole."
"...!"
"Well? Shall we continue? Or will you take your necklace and leave quietly?"
The color drained from the director's face. He scrambled out of the office in such a fluster he forgot the necklace entirely.
That night, the lobbyists sat over drinks with hollow expressions.
"Unbelievable. Is this even possible?"
"There's a developing country where kickbacks don't work?"
"And the intelligence chief actually started lecturing me about patriotism over money. Is he insane?"
Bribes didn't work. Connections didn't work. Which left only one conclusion.
"So they want us to compete on merit."
Only then did they realize San Marcos was no easy mark.
A few days later, the Ministry of Industry held an official project briefing. Eugene, having heard that lobbyists were making the rounds, had ordered a crystal-clear explanation of the bid.
Hundreds of corporate representatives packed the grand conference hall as Aman, Senior Secretary for Industry, took the microphone.
"Thank you all for making the journey."
He surveyed the room with an easy, unhurried expression.
"Truth be told, I don't know much about solar power. A rather embarrassing admission for the head of the Ministry of Industry, I suppose."
"......"
"Which means I haven't much to say, so I'll keep this brief and clear. San Marcos wants exactly two things."
He held up two fingers.
"First: efficiency. On this land, where the sun shines year-round, we want every last watt you can wring out of it."
That much was obvious. The real point came next.
"And the second condition—the most important one—is speed."
"...Speed?"
Aman's eyes flashed.
"Whoever can build us a power plant the fastest and the most reliably will receive a decisive bonus in the scoring. That is all."
The briefing was over almost as soon as it had begun. Short, blunt, and done. The look in the executives' eyes had changed. Bribes were useless. Connections were useless. The only thing that would decide this fight was who could build faster.
From that moment, every company in the room began working through the night, tearing up construction schedules, hunting for any way to shave time off the clock.
What they did not know was that one of their competitors was a particularly vicious piece of work.
Perfect Solar headquarters.
Through a haze of cigarette smoke, CEO James Miller stared down at a map.
"Boss, what San Marcos wants is speed. Two years? No—if we don't finish inside a year and a half, we don't have a shot."
James shook his head.
"A year and a half? First Solar will match that. We need to cut it further."
"That's physically impossible! Panel production alone takes six months!"
James grinned.
"Then we just don't manufacture them."
"Sir? What do you—"
"The panels bound for Ghana. Where are they?"
"They're scheduled to load onto the ship tomorrow."
"Call them right now and stop it."
"Boss, you're not thinking—"
"I am. We break the Ghana contract and divert that entire volume to San Marcos."
"But the cancellation penalty—"
"San Marcos is paying in a lump sum. Ghana wants to stretch the money out over ten years. Why would I keep that contract? I'd rather eat the penalty and go all in on San Marcos."
"Even so, there could be a credit problem."
"Credit? You build a power plant in San Marcos in six months, that is credit. The whole world will be watching us."
James's eyes burned.
"Get on the phone. Put in a bid that says we'll finish in six months."
And so began a race against time unlike anything in the history of the solar industry.