The Story of Building a Casino in South America (5)
Two weeks later, Antonio returned from the United States.
Exhaustion was written plainly across his face, but his eyes burned with a fierce, undimmed light. Like Guan Yu presenting an enemy general's severed head before the wine had even gone cold, he strode in with magnificent bearing and laid a thick sheaf of documents on my desk.
"I report, Your Excellency. These are the results of the first round of investment solicitation."
I scanned the papers.
Hilton Group
Marriott International
MGM Resorts
. . .
Names anyone would recognize — global hotel chains and casino groups — ran down the page one after another.
"I heard these companies operate primarily through franchise models. They're saying they'll invest directly and run the hotels themselves?"
"They appear to have judged this a sufficiently certain investment."
And I was celebrating too soon. I turned the page.
"Las Vegas Sands?"
A name I had never expected jumped out at me. Sands — weren't they the industry giant with a stranglehold on Macau and Singapore? They were investing in San Marcos, a potential competitor?
"I expected them to try to obstruct us. Instead they want to invest... How on earth did you pull that off?"
Antonio grinned.
"Isn't following the current of the times a businessman's most basic virtue?"
"The times, huh..."
"Truth be told, Las Vegas has been having a rather hard time of it lately."
"Las Vegas?"
"Yes. With the recent legalization of online gambling, a considerable share of the pie has been taken from them. So rather than continuing to center their business on casinos, they're looking to pivot toward integrated resorts. The San Marcos investment would be their first step in that direction."
"So Advisor Antonio read the current correctly."
"Not at all."
Antonio lowered his voice.
"It was only possible because Your Excellency laid such an excellent table. All I did was toss the bait you prepared."
Humble words — but I could tell Antonio's skill had been considerable. Regardless, the result was a complete success. With capital of this scale coming in, construction of the new city would proceed at a breakneck pace.
"Well done. We've gotten over a major hurdle thanks to you, Antonio."
"You flatter me. However..."
Antonio trailed off. He clearly had more to say.
"What is it? Is there a problem?"
"Yes. There's one obstacle."
"An obstacle?"
"The investors want to meet Your Excellency."
"What? Me?"
I tilted my head.
"Didn't you already tour the entire United States explaining everything?"
"Well... it's a matter I couldn't resolve on my own."
Antonio scratched his head with an awkward expression.
"What do they want?"
"Certainty."
"Certainty...?"
To my puzzled look, Antonio carefully explained.
"The investors who looked into San Marcos's situation... they harbor doubts about the regime."
"Doubts about the regime..."
"They're afraid that if the government changes, the terms might change with it."
Ah. Now I understood.
"So they're worried that if the government changes, their money will vanish into thin air."
"...That's a rather harsh way of putting it, but yes, that's accurate."
He wasn't wrong. In developed countries like the United States or Europe, it was common sense that existing contracts and policies were maintained even when administrations changed, and investors trusted that. But here in San Marcos, that wasn't so easy. Because...
Until recently, this was a dictatorship.
Honestly, a developing country that had also been a dictatorship — of course you couldn't trust it. Historically, it was all too common for a president to be suddenly executed by firing squad, and for the new regime to declare every previous contract void and nationalize everything. Just look at 1999, when Venezuela's Chavez government invoked resource sovereignty, declared the nationalization of oil, cement, and other major industries, and seized the assets of every American company that had entered the country. If that could happen in America's own backyard, their position was understandable.
"Hmm... I can see how they might feel that way."
"That's why they want to meet Your Excellency. They want to see with their own eyes how trustworthy the President of San Marcos is — how solid the regime is."
Antonio watched my expression as he added,
"What will you do? If you refuse, I'll find some excuse to put them off..."
"No. We're the ones in a hurry. If they need certainty, we should give it to them."
"Then...?"
"Set the schedule. Tell every last investor to come to Libertad. I'll meet them myself and put their minds at ease."
"Understood! I'll contact them immediately."
Antonio's face brightened.
After Eugene decided to meet the investors, Lucio, upon hearing the news, quite literally went berserk.
"What?! They dare to doubt His Excellency?!"
Lucio's bloodshot eyes locked onto the pistol at his hip.
"These goddamn Yankees! His Excellency personally granted them this opportunity, and they have the gall to test him? I'll go to the airport right now and put holes in their skulls!"
Antonio grabbed Lucio's arm in horror.
"They're investors! Guests who showed up carrying bags of money! If you do that, we'll be in real trouble!"
"Money or whatever — I cannot forgive anyone who lays a finger on His Excellency's dignity!"
"Please, just hold back! His Excellency already gave his permission!"
At the mention that His Excellency had permitted it, Lucio growled and took his hand off the gun. Still unappeased, he ground his teeth.
"This won't do. I need to teach them a lesson."
"...A lesson? What kind of lesson?"
"They don't know His Excellency's greatness and they're running wild, so I'll personally educate them."
Lucio's chilling smile sent a shiver down Antonio's spine.
"Don't worry. I won't have them shot."
"No — I'm telling you that would be a disaster!"
Two days later, at a state guesthouse near Libertad Airport. The day before their audience with Eugene, the investment delegation that had flown in from the United States was recovering from the journey.
A knock came at the door.
"Who is it?"
When they opened it, men in black suits filled the hallway. At their center, Lucio spoke in a tone that was polite yet impossible to refuse.
"I am Lucio, Director of the San Marcos Intelligence Agency. Before you meet His Excellency, I wished to show you San Marcos's true face, so I have come to find you separately."
"Hmm? This wasn't on the itinerary."
"You won't regret it. If you're going to decide whether to invest in San Marcos, shouldn't you know what's where?"
"...Ahem. That's true enough."
And so the investors boarded a bus following Lucio. Outside the windows, jeeps packed with armed soldiers tagged along as if providing an escort. The investors, taking it for a ceremonial honor guard, were quite pleased — until they arrived at a massive farm in the central mountain range, a long way from Libertad: Tortilla Farm.
"This is... a farm, isn't it?"
"That's right. This is Tortilla Farm, the pride of the San Marcos government. In yield per unit area, it rivals the highest in the world."
The investors who stepped off the bus couldn't close their mouths. In a cornfield that stretched beyond the horizon, thousands of laborers worked like a swarm of ants. Their eyes were vacant, but their hands moved with the precision and speed of machines. Not a single person was slacking off or taking a break — it was diligence bordering on madness.
"Why on earth did you bring us here?"
Adel Sand, chairman of the Las Vegas Sands Group and the de facto representative of the investors, asked. Lucio answered with perfect composure.
"Do you know who those people are?"
"How would I know? They're just farmers, aren't they?"
"Half of them are gang members who used to sell drugs. The other half are corrupt officials who embezzled state funds."
"...!"
The investors' faces went white. Gangs? Corrupt officials? Those farmers who looked so simple and honest?
"The moment His Excellency took office, he rounded up every cancer on society and reformed them into diligent workers, just like that."
Lucio said it with pride.
"W-we should tell the UN..."
One investor cried out as if screaming. But Lucio snorted.
"Tell the UN and do what, exactly? For all it looks like this, this is actually one of the higher-paying jobs even within San Marcos. The workers are quite satisfied."
Lucio's gaze swept over the investors.
"I brought you here to show you His Excellency's magnificent governing power — the ability to recycle even garbage. I wanted you to understand that in San Marcos, there is no such thing as impossibility, and no such thing as a work stoppage."
A threat that wasn't quite a threat.
"There's something I want to show you on the way back."
Following Lucio's guidance, the bus headed into Libertad as darkness settled over the city. And the scenery outside the windows completely upended their expectations.
Under glittering streetlamps, citizens strolled the streets freely. Even a young woman walking alone — no one laid a hand on her. And it wasn't just one. Dozens of women were out on the night streets.
"Is this... possible?"
Even in Las Vegas, the back alleys late at night were dangerous. And this was Latin America.
"Barely a year ago, Libertad's public safety was rock bottom. But now, as you can see, it has become one of the safest places in the world."
Lucio whispered softly.
A short while later, on the bus circling back through Libertad, a heavy silence hung in the air. In that silence, they quietly ran the numbers. And they soon realized.
This country is insane.
San Marcos's regime held power comparable to the Kim dynasty of North Korea. Worried the government might change? Not a chance. This regime would never fall. How could an iron-fisted rule collapse when America had its back and every internal enemy was shipped off to a cornfield or a coal mine?
Policy continuity disappearing as a risk? Impossible. Those who knew the regime sitting on the northern half of the Korean Peninsula felt it instinctively. This government would be inherited, generation after generation.
And that meant...
This... this is a winning board.
An investment so safe even President Drump would guarantee it...
If this takes off, even if it doesn't become another Dubai, it'll be another Macau.
This investment was going to make money.
The next morning, in the reception hall of the Presidential Palace, Eugene greeted the neatly dressed investment delegation. Thinking he was in the weaker position, he put on his gentlest smile and was about to offer a handshake.
"Welcome. Thank you for coming such a long way..."
"Your Excellency!"
Someone called out to Eugene. It was Adel, chairman of the Las Vegas Sands Group.
"...Excuse me?"
"We'll transfer the investment funds immediately! Just designate the sites! We want to sign the contract today — right now, if possible!"
The other investors rushed to shout over each other.
"Hilton will participate as well!"
"MGM here! If you'll just give us a spot, we'll build the finest resort facilities!"
An absurd situation. Eugene stared at them with a dazed expression.
What? Why are they suddenly like this?