That morning, the three largest newspapers in the Republic of Venez arrived at the palace thirty minutes apart.
The first to come was El Sol Nacional. A servant placed it on the breakfast table with a practiced, respectful motion.
EL SOL NACIONAL
NATIONALIZATION: A BOLD STEP TOWARD ECONOMIC SOVEREIGNTY
Photo: President Ricardo Guerrero inaugurating the first fully state-managed steel plant. Behind him, workers applaud, a banner reading "For the People."
Editorial
Decree 47 has officially taken effect. From today, all oil, mining, and strategic utility assets are in the hands of the state. This is not expropriation, as certain parties accuse. This is restitution. The restitution of the people's rights to wealth that has been extracted by foreigners for over a century.
In his speech to workers yesterday, President Guerrero affirmed: "We will no longer be suppliers of raw materials. We will become a nation that processes its own wealth, for the welfare of our children and grandchildren."
This step is not without difficulty. The government has prepared a fair compensation mechanism. The negotiation team is led directly by the Finance Minister and supported by international legal experts. Everything is conducted with transparency, within the bounds of applicable law.
The impact is already visible. State revenues are projected to increase by 40 to 60 percent in the first year. Infrastructure, education, and health budgets will receive funds that previously flowed abroad.
Of course, there are those who are displeased. Those who have lost privileges. But revolution is not a ceremonial event. Revolution is the transfer of power from a handful of people to the masses. And President Guerrero, El Revolucionario, has once again proven that his promises on the stage were not mere sweet words.
The people support this! History will record: this is the nation's turning point.
Mother didn't touch the paper. She poured tea into her cup with movements too precise, too controlled.
The second newspaper, La Voz del Pueblo, arrived half an hour later. I saw it in Isabella's hands as she entered the dining room. Her expression changed when her eyes caught the front-page photo.
LA VOZ DEL PUEBLO
THIRTEEN THOUSAND: THE VICTIMS BEHIND NATIONALIZATION
Photo: A man sitting on a sidewalk, a cardboard sign reading "Looking for Work" on his lap. Behind him, a mine gate stands firmly shut.
By: Doña Esperanza
The word "nationalization" sounds beautiful. In newspapers, in speeches, on banners: "Economic Sovereignty," "Wealth for the People." But on the ground, in mining towns and plantations, that beauty comes at a price. And that price is paid in tears.
Yesterday, the foreign mining company whose assets were nationalized announced mass layoffs. The contracts of 13,000 workers were declared "no longer relevant to the new ownership structure." They went home empty-handed. Tomorrow, perhaps another 10,000. The day after, who knows how many.
We spoke with some of them.
"I worked here for twenty years," said Señor Ortega, a former mine mechanic. "My son is still in elementary school. My wife sells empanadas at the market. If I don't have a salary, we're finished."
"They say this is for sovereignty," said Doña Rojas, a former administrative worker. "The sovereignty I feel now is not being able to pay my rent."
The government has stated it will absorb some of the workforce into the newly formed state companies. But how many? When? While they wait, 13,000 families must survive on dwindling savings or mounting debt.
At the union office, local leaders spoke of the "compensation package" offered by the old company: three months' wages, then nothing. "That's not enough for half a year," one said. "Especially for those with dependents."
We at La Voz support economic independence. But independence must not be built on the suffering of ordinary people. If nationalization makes workers lose their jobs, then how is it different from the old regime that only cared about numbers on paper?
The government must act quickly. Not only with promises. But with real programs: retraining, temporary assistance, recruitment priority in state companies. And most importantly: honest communication. Don't let the workers hang between hope and despair.
Thirteen thousand people. That is not a number. Those are human beings.
I read the piece to the end. Isabella stood beside me, not moving. Her hands were at her sides, clenched.
"You already knew?" I asked quietly.
"Heard from an adjutant this morning," she replied. Her voice was flat, but there was a crack at the end of the sentence. "Before this paper came."
"Father already knows?"
"Since last night."
I folded the newspaper. Didn't know what to say. Thirteen thousand people lost their jobs overnight, and her family's name was in every paper.
The third arrived latest. El Independiente.
I saw it when Professor Juan entered the study for our history session. The newspaper was rolled in his hand, and the way he placed it on the table—not thrown, not carefully placed—told me its contents were different.
EL INDEPENDIENTE
NATIONALIZATION: BETWEEN SOVEREIGNTY AND RISK
Photo: A comparison chart of state revenues before and after nationalization, with "estimated" marked on all figures.
Analysis: Dr. Emilio Herrera, Faculty of Economics, Caracia University
Decree 47 is now a fact. It cannot be denied that in the short term, state revenues will increase dramatically. Oil and mining companies that previously sent profits abroad will now flow entirely into the treasury. Figures circulating among economists: revenue increase between 40 and 60 percent in the first year.
But the question is: for how long?
Thirteen thousand mine workers lost their jobs overnight. That is only the first wave. Foreign companies will not stay idle. They will apply pressure from within through layoffs, and from without through arbitration lawsuits. Their lawyers have been preparing documents since last week.
Then there are the diplomatic risks. Brittonia has issued an official statement calling the action "unilateral and unfriendly." They threaten to take the case further. They also hint at the possibility of withdrawing investment from other sectors—sectors that have absorbed thousands of local workers.
If the lawsuit is successful, the compensation the state must pay could double the short-term gains. And if investments are pulled, other jobs will be threatened.
The government must answer these questions with data, not rhetoric. The people have the right to know: what is the real cost of this sovereignty? And who will pay it?
We do not reject nationalization as an idea. But ideas must be tested against reality. And the reality now is 13,000 unemployed, frightened investors, and foreign warships patrolling off our coast.
***
I read that article twice.
Professor Juan sat across from me, not telling me to open my history book. He just watched, waiting.
"Your thoughts?" he asked finally.
I pointed to the last sentence. "Foreign warships. That's the most dangerous part."
"Not the tens of thousands of workers losing their jobs?"
"That's dangerous too. But warships…" I paused, searching for the right words. "Warships are the beginning of something bigger. If they come, Father will be in trouble."
Professor Juan took a cigarette from his jacket pocket but didn't light it. He just rolled it between his fingers.
"You read carefully," he said.
"I read all of them."
"And?"
I exhaled. "They all talk like this is finished, like it's final."
"But?"
"But this is just the beginning." I pointed at the newspapers. "No one knows how Brittonia will respond yet. No one knows if other companies will pull their investments too. No one knows if thirteen thousand will become a hundred thousand." I stopped.
Damn. I'd said too much.
Professor Juan looked at me for a long time. Then he smiled faintly—not a happy smile, but one that said I know something you don't yet know.
"You are indeed intelligent… but you know," he said quietly, "back at the university, I had students like you. One or two every batch. Too smart, too quick. And always—" he stressed the word, "—always in danger."
"What… danger?"
"The danger of thinking that because you can see the problem, you can fix it." He set the cigarette on the table. "The world doesn't work that way. Sometimes you can see everything clearly—every piece, every gap, every possibility—and still do nothing. Because you're not the one holding the pieces. You're only the one watching the board."
I stared at him.
"You know about chess?" I asked.
He smiled. "I know about many things. But that's not important."
"Then what is?"
"Surviving." He stood, walking to the study window overlooking the garden. Outside, Eleanor was chasing Fantasma through the rose bushes, laughing loudly. "You can see all the dangers. You can predict all the worst possibilities. But if you don't survive long enough to do something about them, what's the point?"
I didn't answer.
He turned to me. "Now, open your history book. Page thirty-four. We'll learn about an empire that fell not because of enemies from without, but because they were too busy fighting among themselves within."
***
That night, I did something I hadn't done since moving to the palace.
I entered Father's study without permission.
Not because I wanted to sneak around or search for secret documents. But because his door was half open, and I saw Father sitting alone behind his desk, his face lit by a small desk lamp, his right hand holding a nearly empty glass of whiskey.
On the desk, the three newspapers were spread open. El Sol Nacional with its optimism. La Voz del Pueblo with its photo of a man on the sidewalk. El Independiente with its cold graphs and piercing analysis.
I knocked softly.
He looked up. His eyes were red—not from crying, but from lack of sleep.
"Mateo," he said. His voice was hoarse. "Come in."
I entered. The room felt different at night. Smaller. Darker. The maps on the walls no longer looked like grand plans, but like reminders of things not yet achieved.
"Have you spoken with Mother?"
He paused. His hand stopped over the glass.
"Not yet," he said finally.
"You promised yesterday."
He stared at me. Then, slowly, he set down his glass. "You're right. I forgot."
I was certain he hadn't forgotten.
"Did Father read the newspapers?"
"Yes."
"They say tens of thousands of people."
He let out a long breath. "I know. I called the Labor Minister this afternoon. We'll absorb as many as possible into state companies, but it takes time."
"How many can be absorbed?"
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer. "Father, El Independiente says Brittonia has already prepared a lawsuit. If they win, the compensation could be larger than the profits we gain."
Father looked at me. His eyes narrowed. "You read El Independiente?"
"Professor Juan brought it."
He was silent for a moment. Then, instead of being angry, he gave a small smile. "Professor Juan… That man never stops teaching, does he?"
I didn't understand what he meant, but I didn't ask.
Father stood and walked to the window. Outside, the city lights twinkled as usual. But down there, perhaps 13,000 families weren't sleeping tonight.
"Do you know what my advisors told me?" he said without turning. "They said this is a tactic. The foreign companies deliberately fired the workers to pressure us. They want us to retreat. They want the people to be angry at us, not at them."
"But the people are still angry, Father."
"Yes." He turned. "And they have the right to be angry."
I looked at him.
"Father," I said, "you once talked about a new vase, about cleaning up the shards. I didn't fully understand, but now I see that the shards have hurt people."
He didn't answer for a long time. Then: "You're right. But sometimes, to make a new vase, you have to be willing to be cut by the old shards."
"But Father," I stepped closer, standing beside him at the window, "what if it's not you who gets cut? What if it's the thousands of people who never asked for a new vase?"
Father looked at me.
A long time. A very long time.
Then he exhaled—a very long breath, like air escaping a balloon that had been stretched too far. "When did you become so wise, Mateo? I don't feel like I'm talking to a child anymore…"
I didn't answer. I just stood beside him, looking at the same city lights.
"Tomorrow," Father said finally, "I'll talk with your mother. Truly. Not as the Head of State and his wife, but as husband and wife."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
It was frustrating not to be able to say more. But perhaps this was enough.
***
The next day, before Father could speak with Mother, the news came.
I heard it from adjutants whispering in the hallway, from the sudden stop of typewriters in offices, from the way servants brought coffee with trembling hands.
Brittonian warships.
Two destroyer-class vessels had been sighted off the eastern coast. Not yet in territorial waters, but close enough to be seen from the port lighthouse.
In the study, phone calls rang without pause. I saw adjutants come and go with pale faces. Carlos Mendez arrived before the sun had truly risen, followed by generals and admirals who never came to the palace all at once.
I didn't enter the study this time.
I just stood in the hallway, listening to the silence behind closed doors, and wondered: was this what Professor Juan meant by "surviving"?
Not fighting. Not surrendering. But surviving—living long enough to see how this story ended.
Fantasma appeared from around the corner, jumped into my lap, and began to purr.
I stroked his coarse fur. His yellow eyes looked at me with something that—perhaps only in my imagination—looked like understanding.
He purred louder.