Chapter 149: That Time I Got Into the Oil Business in South America (4)

TL: Skye

One day, as Yu-jin was immersed in work as usual.

“Your Excellency, they’ve successfully struck oil in Block A-7.”

At the thoroughly welcome news, Yu-jin set down the pen in his hand.

“Really?”

“Yes. I just heard from CEO Harper.”

“How’s the quality?”

“Better than expected. The precise composition analysis won’t be available for another few days, but they’re satisfied with the initial samples. They say it’s good enough to be processed into marketable products using only the existing equipment at the Tortilla Refinery Plant.”

“That’s good.”

Yu-jin answered briefly, but inwardly, he was clenching his fist in triumph.

They had done it.

From establishing Black Oil to Chevron’s interference, the negotiations with Telsy, three months of construction in the middle of the jungle, and then weeks of drilling, it had been anything but an easy process, but they had finally pulled it off.

“Tell them to hurry up with the drilling at Block A-12 as well. And...”

Now that the crude was flowing, the next step was naturally refining.

Extra-heavy crude took a great deal of work to refine.

“The crude will be arriving soon, so tell Tortilla Energy to run the coker line at full capacity. We need to begin production the moment the oil arrives.”

“Understood.”

Isabella bowed her head and left.

Yu-jin leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

“How much money is all this?”

Of course, San Marcos held only a 20 percent stake in this oilfield development.

After all, out of the total $15 billion investment, San Marcos had put in only $3 billion, and it had contributed neither manpower nor technology.

But San Marcos held the exclusive right to refine the extra-heavy crude, so in practical terms, it stood to make a considerable profit.

In the long run, that was practically the same as earning returns rivaling those of the oil majors.

Then, three weeks later.

The first shipment of crude left the Orinoco Belt.

The extra-heavy crude pumped from Block A-7 traveled eighty kilometers through a pipeline to the port of Ciudad Bolívar. Thick, black crude filled the enormous storage tanks.

From the tanks, the crude was transferred onto an oil tanker.

At the bow of the 30,000-ton tanker Tortilla, the San Marcos flag fluttered in the wind.

Soon afterward, it entered Tortilla Energy Port near the Northern Oilfield.

From the port, the crude was transferred through pipelines to the Refinery Plant.

At the heart of the plant stood the coker.

A specialized refining unit imported from Korea. It broke down extra-heavy crude at temperatures exceeding 500 degrees Celsius, converting it into diesel, kerosene, naphtha, fuel oil, and other petroleum products.

The crude was fed into the coker.

Under intense heat and pressure, the viscous extra-heavy crude began to break down. The crude, once heavy as tar, emerged transformed into lighter petroleum products.

Diesel. Kerosene. Naphtha. Fuel oil. Asphalt.

A single type of crude produced a wide variety of petroleum products.

The products were sorted into separate storage tanks and would be put to use according to their respective purposes.

Gasoline and diesel were loaded onto tankers for export.

The first export destination was Venezuela.

It was ironic. Crude pumped from Venezuelan soil was refined in San Marcos, then sold right back to Venezuela.

It was a bizarre phenomenon born from Venezuela’s tragedy: possessing the world’s largest crude oil reserves while lacking the refining capacity to process them itself.

Tortilla Energy Port.

Yu-jin stood watching the export tanker depart.

The enormous tanker slowly eased out of the harbor. Its horn sounded.

Under the Caribbean sun, the tanker moved across the glittering sea toward the horizon.

Yu-jin murmured quietly.

“Now it begins.”

At his remark, tinged with anticipation for what Black Oil would do for San Marcos’s economy from here on, Isabella, standing beside him, answered softly.

“Yes. Now it begins.”

The two exchanged proud looks.

***

Time flew by in a blur.

The days were so hectic they barely had time to breathe.

Mayor Antonio and the civil servants of Choi City threw themselves into repairing the hurricane damage.

They rebuilt damaged beachfront facilities, repaired hotel exteriors, and carried out the second expansion project at the same time.

To keep tourists coming, the casinos and golf courses remained open as usual even while reconstruction was underway.

Antonio was out in the field from dawn every day, personally inspecting the recovery work, and thanks to his efforts, Choi City was being reborn larger and more beautiful than it had been before the hurricane.

Mayor Marco and the colleagues he had brought over from New York devoted themselves to Libertad’s redevelopment without a moment to spare.

Following the master plan, they simultaneously opened new roads, laid sewer lines, and moved electrical infrastructure underground.

While Korean construction firms raised the frames of apartment buildings, Mayor Marco revised the green-space plans, coordinated the layout of commercial districts, and reexamined traffic flow.

He and his colleagues walked the construction sites every day as if being over seventy meant nothing, and more often than not, they fell asleep at night in front of the blueprints.

But there was someone working even harder than they were...

“We need a six-day workweek...!”

Yu-jin.

Seven days a week, twelve hours a day.

In practice, aside from the time he spent washing, eating, and sleeping, he had to devote his entire day to work.

There was no helping it.

He had piled up a mountain of things that needed to be done.

He was, of course, ultimately responsible for the redevelopment of Choi City and Libertad. On top of that, he had to oversee Black Oil’s oilfield operations, expand Tortilla Energy’s refining lines, maintain amicable relations with Venezuela, prepare rotations for the troops deployed to the Strait of Hormuz, make sure the migrants at Tortilla Farm had no complaints, and keep relations with the United States on track as well.

Hundreds of pages of documents had to be processed every day, and a Cabinet Meeting was held daily.

Isabella worked the same hours as Yu-jin, assisting him every step of the way.

She woke at five every morning to organize Yu-jin’s schedule, review reports from each ministry, push the Senior Secretaries to keep moving, and coordinate diplomatic engagements.

With the top two people in the government working like this, naturally, the Senior Secretaries beneath them had no choice but to work without rest either.

It had never happened yet, but if any of them dropped the ball, there was no telling when they might find themselves dragged off to Tortilla Farm.

And with every ministry head working that hard, it was only natural that the civil servants followed suit.

Everyone was busy. Everyone ran themselves ragged. Everyone cut back on sleep to keep working.

And after racing forward in that frenzy, they suddenly found the year drawing to a close.

Presidential Palace, main conference room.

“Your Excellency, we will begin the year-end report.”

Today was the day of the annual year-end review.

Isabella first called upon Resa, the Senior Secretary for Natural Resources and Tourism.

“Senior Secretary Resa, please begin.”

Resa rose from her seat and stepped in front of the screen.

“Senior Secretary for Natural Resources and Tourism reporting.”

The current state of San Marcos’s energy industry appeared on the screen.

“I’ll begin with the Northern Oilfield.”

It was San Marcos’s own oilfield, operated directly by Tortilla Energy.

“This year, crude production at the Northern Oilfield averaged 520,000 barrels, a 30 percent increase over last year. Due to rising international oil prices, annual revenue reached approximately $18.9 billion. The net margin, including profits from the sale of refined petroleum products, came to a total of $13.8 billion.”

At the earnings from the Northern Oilfield, practically San Marcos’s cash cow, Yu-jin and all the Senior Secretaries nodded.

“Next is Black Oil.”

The screen changed. A map of the Orinoco Belt appeared.

“Block A-7 has now entered full-scale production. Current daily output is approximately 70,000 barrels, and once the facilities stabilize, that figure is expected to rise to 150,000 barrels by the first half of next year. Block A-12 is currently being drilled, with production expected to begin around the middle of next year.”

Resa advanced to the next page.

“As everyone knows, San Marcos’s share of Black Oil consists of the profits from its 20 percent equity stake and the margins from its Refining Monopoly. This was the first year of operations, so only Block A-7 was reflected in the figures, and production began partway through the year. Even so, we earned approximately $500 million in equity profits and roughly $400 million in refining margins, for a total income of $900 million.”

Yu-jin asked.

“What are the projections once both A-7 and A-12 are fully operational?”

“Once both blocks are running at full capacity, we expect annual equity profits of $2 billion and refining profits of $1.6 billion, for a total of more than $3.6 billion.”

The considerable figure sent a murmur through the conference room.

Considering that the entire national budget had been only $300 million six years ago, the difference was staggering.

“Next is tourism, but I think it would be better for Mayor Antonio to report on that himself.”

At Isabella’s direction, Resa took her seat and Antonio stood.

“I’ll begin with the current state of Choi City.”

An aerial photograph of Choi City appeared on the screen.

The hurricane damage had been repaired, and the second expansion had been completed. There were more hotels than before, and the beachfront facilities had all been renovated.

“Choi City received approximately 4.8 million visitors this year. Visitor numbers declined during the first half due to the hurricane, but recovered rapidly in the second half. With the effects of the second expansion, we expect to surpass six million visitors next year.”

“And revenue?”

“Total revenue was approximately $18.5 billion. Hotels and resorts accounted for $13.2 billion, restaurants and shopping for $1.5 billion, and other tourist activities for $1 billion.”

Antonio brought up the next set of figures.

“These are the tax revenues collected from the city. Combining the special casino tax, corporate taxes on hotels, tourism taxes, and other sources, Choi City generated a total of $1.2 billion in tax revenue this year.”

“$1.2 billion...”

Yu-jin let out an impressed murmur.

It might not match the oil business, but it was hardly a bad number.

More importantly, unlike the oil industry, Choi City created an enormous number of jobs.

It simply brought in less money. Its overall economic impact was every bit as significant as that of the oil industry.

“You’re doing excellent work, Mayor.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.”

Isabella nodded and called upon the next presenter.

“Senior Secretary Aman, please begin.”

Aman, the Senior Secretary for Industry, rose from his seat.

“I will report on matters under the Ministry of Industry.”

Employment and industrial statistics appeared on the screen.

“This year, San Marcos recorded an unemployment rate of 1.2 percent. That can effectively be considered full employment.”

Aman pointed to the graph. At a glance, it showed unemployment steadily declining each year until reaching an all-time low this year.

“In addition, the average operating rate of the Libertad Industrial Complex is 94 percent. It is effectively running at full capacity, and some industries are even operating night shifts. The automobile assembly plant is nearing completion, and we expect the nuclear power plant to be completed by the end of the year after next.”

Aman advanced to the next slide.

“Next are our export figures. Excluding petroleum products, total exports amounted to approximately $18.7 billion.”

“$18.7 billion?”

Yu-jin sounded mildly surprised.

He knew exports had been booming, but he had not realized they had reached that level.

“Yes, Your Excellency. Textiles and food products accounted for a large portion of those exports.”

Aman read the export figures by category.

“Textile exports, $9.8 billion. Cement and construction materials, $3.1 billion. Agricultural products, $2.2 billion. Steel products, $1.8 billion. Other manufactured products, $1.8 billion.”

“The textile companies have really been pulling their weight. Senior Secretary Aman, keep a close eye on things and make sure they don’t run into any unnecessary difficulties.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Your Excellency!”

Aman took his seat.

Finally, Isabella called on Ricardo.

“Senior Secretary Ricardo. Please give us the overall year-end figures.”

Ricardo stood and opened a thick report. Pride was written across the Senior Secretary for Finance’s face.

And for good reason.

“This year, San Marcos achieved a GDP of $86 billion.”

They had achieved far more than expected.

For a moment, the conference room fell silent.

Eighty-six billion dollars.

When Yu-jin had first become Acting President, GDP had been less than $18 billion.

In other words, the economy had grown nearly fivefold in just six years.

Average annual economic growth of 33 percent.

An unbeatable rate of economic growth with virtually no precedent in world history.

Ricardo displayed the final slide.

A pie chart showed the structure of San Marcos’s economy.

“Looking at GDP composition, oil and refining account for 28 percent, manufacturing 18 percent, construction 15 percent, agriculture 12 percent, tourism 11 percent, finance and services 9 percent, and other sectors 7 percent. We are developing a healthy economic structure that does not rely excessively on any single industry.”

“GDP per capita must have risen considerably as well.”

Ricardo closed the report and said.

“Yes. Excluding the migrant population, it is approaching $10,000. However, because most of the profits accrue to the state, individual incomes remain relatively low. The average wage is still only around $600.”

“Hmm. I suppose it’s about time we started thinking about distribution.”

“Personally, I think it is still too early, but if Your Excellency decides otherwise, the people will be very pleased.”

“Very well. We’ll give that issue some careful thought.”

“Yes, understood.”

Yu-jin looked around at everyone.

“You’ve all worked extremely hard. We’ve been able to come this far because every one of you has put in so much effort.”

The people who had run alongside him for six years all wore proud expressions.

“But we still have a long way to go. We can’t afford to relax until GDP per capita surpasses $20,000.”

The Senior Secretaries nodded.

“I’m counting on all of you again next year.”

Applause erupted throughout the conference room.

“Yes, Your Excellency!”

The meeting ended, and the Senior Secretaries filed out.

Left alone in the conference room, Yu-jin stared at the figures still displayed on the screen.

‘We’ve really come this far.’

Just a little more.

If he pushed himself just a little harder, he could retire.

Just as he steeled himself to work even harder toward that goal, the conference room door opened and Panther came bounding in.

“Raaawr!”

Panther rubbed his head against Yu-jin’s leg with a low rumble.

“Did you come to congratulate me too?”

“Grrr.”

Yu-jin stroked Panther’s head.

“I’d like to play with you more, but Dad has to work right now. I’ll play with you tonight.”

“Purr, purr.”

Yu-jin rose from his seat and murmured.

"I'm Still Hungry."

*****

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