Chapter 153: That Time I Invested Overseas (4)

TL: Skye

Just three weeks after fundraising for the Tortilla Fund began.

The fund, whose initial target had been $15 billion, far exceeded that goal and raised $29.8 billion.

Thanks to its world-leading fertility rate of 3.7, San Marcos now had a population of roughly 9.4 million.

Excluding young children and the elderly left a working population of around 6.7 million.

That amounted to the insane sum of approximately $4,448 per working person.

Considering that the average salary in San Marcos was just over $600, each person had effectively contributed slightly more than seven months' wages. But there were other reasons this had been possible.

First, the people of San Marcos had encountered the concept of interest for the first time in their lives.

Tortilla Bank's average lending rate was around seven to eight percent, while savings accounts and installment savings paid roughly four to five percent.

They were by no means high rates because of Yu-jin's private economy revitalization policy, but the reaction of the San Marcos people upon discovering the existence of interest for the first time was astonishing.

“Money can multiply itself?”

The concept of interest was entirely new to them.

As a result, the people diligently put money into installment savings whenever they received their paychecks.

The second reason was the low cost of living.

From production to distribution.

Tortilla Foods was a versatile food company capable of handling everything from farm to table, making food prices among the lowest in the world. And thanks to the private economy revitalization policy, nearly all goods were produced domestically, keeping prices remarkably low.

To give an idea, a two-kilogram robalo (sea bass) caught by Tortilla Seafood cost two dollars.

A sack of corn cost less than three dollars.

Prices unimaginable in Korea.

Thanks to that, not a single person in San Marcos went hungry.

People could afford even relatively expensive products like computers and smartphones if they stretched their budgets a little, thanks to government subsidies under the National IT Distribution Program.

All of this was possible thanks to oil from the Northern Oilfield being refined domestically.

Did they have to pay for private education, then?

San Marcos provided free education and free school meals, and there were no private tutoring academies at all.

On top of that, unlike Korea, even housing was inexpensive, so disposable income was relatively high.

Most importantly, the people of San Marcos had no concept of luxury.

Luxury goods?

What are those?

Cars? Don't they just need to run?

Jewelry? Pretty seashells are lying all over the beach. Can't we make necklaces out of those?

Gold? Isn't it just a yellow, shiny rock?

Whiskey? His Excellency said alcohol was bad for you.

Why would anyone play golf, anyway?

They could just play soccer!

Amazingly, that was precisely how the people of San Marcos thought.

The reason this way of thinking had taken root was simple.

Everyone had been poor under President Juan.

Granted, corrupt officials who lived off their connections to those in power had lived well, but they were the smallest of minorities.

They amounted to less than 0.001 percent of the population.

Even their idea of living well merely meant eating three proper meals a day and having the occasional snack.

More than ninety percent of the population had lived in constant anxiety because they did not have enough food for their next meal.

That life had continued until Yu-jin took power, and it had now been only a little over five years since they had finally begun to live comfortably.

They had not been living comfortably long enough to become steeped in luxury and pleasure.

In other words, aside from food and daily necessities, they had saved everything they earned.

All that dormant money poured into the Tortilla Fund, raising the enormous sum of $29.8 billion.

“...The response is better than I expected.”

“They are your people, Your Excellency.”

“Good. We'll add $30 billion from the government budget and establish a sovereign wealth fund totaling $60 billion. Then let's get started at once. Tell Senior Secretary for Foreign Affairs Sophia to finalize the contract with Venezuela.”

“Yes. I will tell her to return with the contract signed, no matter what it takes.”

Isabella's eyes were blazing.

***

Caracas. The Venezuelan Ministry of Construction.

Senior Secretary for Foreign Affairs Sophia sat across from the Venezuelan minister of construction.

A thick contract lay on the table between them.

It was a comprehensive infrastructure construction contract worth a total of $50 billion.

Two highways, one port, two power plants, and a 5G network. San Marcos would take over every project China had abandoned.

Sophia signed first, followed by the construction minister.

“To the prosperity of both our nations.”

“To the friendship between our nations.”

Camera flashes erupted as the two shook hands.

When the news broke, China immediately protested.

[Venezuela's unilateral seizure of assets violates international law, and we condemn it in the strongest possible terms. We will respond using every legal means available!]

But the Telsy administration refused to back down.

[China has already been amply compensated through all the crude oil it bought from us for next to nothing. A $60 billion loan? You took more than that in oil, so what are you talking about?!]

To be frank, it was utter nonsense.

If one could insist on such a thing, what was the point of contracts or interest?

But Telsy had no shame about it.

She knew that the more openly anti-Chinese her rhetoric became, the higher her approval rating rose.

And Telsy's calculations proved correct.

Once the statement was released, anti-Chinese sentiment began taking root among the Venezuelan people.

In truth, Venezuelans did not have a particularly favorable image of the Chinese. No, to be honest, it was a bad one.

The Chinese construction companies that had arrived through the Belt and Road Initiative did not employ locals.

They ate among themselves and worked among themselves. They even brought almost everything except food over from China.

Almost no money flowed into the Venezuelan economy.

Fine. If that had been all, the Venezuelans could still have tolerated it.

After all, they had come to build infrastructure.

The problem was their attitude.

The Chinese already took immense pride in their country.

So how would such people behave when they came to impoverished Venezuela?

Looking down on people was a given, and they behaved as though they owned the place.

That behavior carried over into restaurants as well.

“Bring us three servings of asado.”

They sat at a table and ordered with a flick of a finger, paying no attention to the other customers.

The restaurant owner, apparently accustomed to it, carefully plated the asado and sides and set them on the table.

“Why are the portions so small? In China, we'd get twice as much for this price.”

Jose endured the Chinese customers' fault-finding. In an unprecedented recession like this, he could not afford to lose even a single customer.

“What's wrong with this meat? Isn't it tough? Make it again.”

Even in the face of their absurd complaint, he grilled a perfectly good asado all over again.

“Bring us some more shrimp. The shrimp are the only thing worth eating here.”

“You'll have to pay extra for the shrimp...”

“For something like this? There's plenty right over there.”

The Chinese customers picked up an entire platter piled with shrimp and carried it to their table.

“Those bastards...”

Ordinarily, Jose would have endured it.

He could not afford to lose a customer.

But not now, when anti-Chinese sentiment had reached its boiling point.

Clatter!

Finally unable to take any more, he emerged from the kitchen holding an enormous ladle.

“You fucking bastards!”

Then he brought it down on a Chinese man's head.

Claaaaang~

It rang out, clear and sweet.

The Chinese man passed out on the spot.

The man beside him tried to spring to his feet at the utterly absurd sight, but...

Claaaaang~

Before he could fight back, Jose's divine ladle technique cracked him over the skull.

That left only one Chinese man.

“Get out.”

Jose spoke in a low voice.

“Never come back to this restaurant. No, get out of this country.”

“Hey, what do you think you're...”

“Would you like a beating, sir? Would you?”

Jose raised the ladle.

The Chinese man's face went deathly pale when Jose, who was more than twice his size, threatened him.

One of the kitchen staff even emerged holding the kitchen knife they used to prepare meat.

“I-I'm leaving...”

Only then did the obnoxious customer gather up his companions and scurry out of the restaurant.

A shower of applause from the other customers followed him out.

Incidents like this were not confined to Jose's restaurant.

Rocks were hurled into Chinese company offices, Chinese-owned general stores had their windows smashed and were looted, and gangs began hunting for Chinese people in the streets.

“Are you Chinese?”

“No. I am Korean.”

“Say ‘I hate the Communist Party’ in Korean.”

“......”

“This bastard's Chinese. Get him!”

As the situation grew dire, the Chinese government urgently ordered the evacuation of its citizens.

Chartered flights from Beijing landed at Caracas Airport, and the remaining Chinese hurriedly packed their belongings and headed there.

Meanwhile, the Venezuelan response to San Marcos was explosive.

[Our brother nation San Marcos will complete the infrastructure China abandoned!]

[Food aid, jobs, and now infrastructure. Is Yu-jin Choi a god?]

[China only took our money and left, but San Marcos is actually building it]

[I wish Yu-jin Choi were our president]

[At this point, San Marcos really is our brother nation]

Of course, behind the rise of pro-San Marcos sentiment that began with this anti-Chinese fervor was the invisible hand of the Five Thousand Corps planted in Venezuela by the SIA, but no one suspected a thing.

Only the facts that San Marcos was a brother nation and Yu-jin Choi was a god dominated the internet.

But even as every preparation proceeded smoothly, one group faced a surprisingly serious problem... Tortilla Construction.

***

Tortilla Construction headquarters in central Libertad. The top floor of the eleven-story building.

CEO Jeong Min-sik placed the Venezuelan infrastructure construction contract on the table and began to speak.

“This will not be an easy project.”

The executives tilted their heads, their expressions puzzled.

Tortilla Construction was nothing short of a San Marcos legend.

Starting with the construction of highways across the country, it had participated in nearly every project, including Choi City and New Town.

Its technical capabilities improved by the day, and although its heavy equipment and workforce fell short of those of global construction companies like Bechtel, it could hold its own against the major construction firms of most countries.

But the source of Jeong Min-sik's concern lay elsewhere.

“Because there is no way the Venezuelan workers will perform as well as we expect.”

Only then did the executives grasp the source of Jeong Min-sik's concern.

The Venezuelan worker priority hiring clause.

It was one of the conditions imposed by the Telsy administration.

The contract required Venezuelans to be given priority in hiring for the infrastructure projects. For Telsy, who needed to create jobs to shore up her approval rating, it was a natural demand.

The problem was the quality of the labor force.

Jeong Min-sik knew that the work ethic of San Marcos laborers was among the best in the world.

Hardened at Tortilla Farm and toughened on highway construction sites, they were supermen who rose before dawn, breezed through twelve-hour workdays, and even sang military songs as they worked.

The New Town construction site alone was proof of that.

No matter how much they trained the migrant workers brought over from Venezuela and had them work alongside the locals, a considerable gap remained in both skill and diligence.

Some had even been unable to keep up with the pace, split off from the San Marcos workers, and gotten into fistfights with them.

Of course, the two groups had grown friendly over time, and having them work in mixed teams had improved matters considerably.

But they still fell short of native San Marcos workers.

This time, however, they would have to recruit workers locally in Venezuela.

Raw, untrained Venezuelan labor.

Naturally, the quality of their work could not possibly be the same.

The executives began offering their opinions.

“We need to focus on training. How about making at least two weeks of preliminary training mandatory?”

“Let's strengthen on-site supervision. If we fill every foreman position with San Marcos personnel, we can keep the work on schedule.”

“How about adding incentives to the pay structure? We could award bonuses whenever progress targets are met.”

Every suggestion had merit.

They were ideas worthy of Tortilla Construction executives, but Jeong Min-sik remained unsatisfied.

None offered a fundamental solution.

As the discussion continued, Carlos, the finance director with the least connection to the issue, spoke up.

“Why don't we simply take the Venezuelans working at Tortilla Farm?”

The conference room froze.

Carlos shrugged as though it were no big deal.

“They're refugees, so they're still Venezuelan nationals in every legal sense. That means the Venezuelan worker priority hiring clause shouldn't be a problem. Besides, they've been trained at the farm and conditioned for hard labor, so their diligence and skill are guaranteed to some extent.”

“......”

Jeong Min-sik looked at Carlos.

Then he said,

“Director Carlos.”

“Yes.”

“As of tomorrow, you're promoted to executive director.”

He gave Carlos a two-rank promotion.

*****

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