A Profitable Venture

[Strat]

(OOC: This is a joint post between Strat and Tuva about the creation of a port north of Bourun)

Tarov, Tivot, 1000 hours, 10/07/17

A big meeting would soon take place, and Boryov Artemovich, CEO of South Tarov Constructions, was eagerly awaiting his potential client. He had just finished his coffee as someone knocked on the door.

Boryov’s secretary poked her head through the door. “Mr. Artemovich? A Mr. Polishchuk is here to see you.”

“Send him in.”

The door buzzed as it opened, and a grey-furred vulpine of about average height stepped inside.

“Welcome, Mr. Polishchuk! Please, take a seat,” said Boryov.

Maksym Polishchuk firmly shook the other man’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Artemovich,” replied the Ivlyan ambassador. “It’s a pleasure to be here.” Obligingly, he took a seat, his stiff upper back relaxing slightly against the cushioned chair.

Boryov approached a small table with a coffee maker on it, an assortment of sugars, syrups, and creamers sat next to it. “How do you like your coffee, Mr. Polishchuk?” he asked.

“Two sugars, one cream, if you’d be so kind,” Polishchuk replied appreciatively.

Boryov plopped in two sugar cubes into the black coffee, and poured a bit of creamer into the beverage. After stirring for a bit, Boryov handed the coffee to Polishchuk. “As you ordered!”

Polishchuk nodded his thanks, slowly sipping the beverage and sighing in bliss as he lowered in from his lips. Taking another sip, carefully avoiding any slurping sounds, his ears seemed to flick back slightly.

The CEO took his seat at his desk, and said, “So, Mr. Polishchuk, I’ll be blunt; this proposal of yours strikes me as bold, if I do say so. You’ve persuaded our government to implement tax subsidies for companies like mine, and that I must say is very commendable. But I must note that such a project would require much of my company’s capital to pull off.” He leaned back in his chair, his hands folded, resting on his bloated stomach. His eyes and ears wide open, scanning for any clues in his countenance.

But alas, he found few, if any. Acknowledging the first part of Boryov’s statement, Polishchuk smiled and set his half-empty cup on a small glass table nearby. “To be successful in Ivlya requires a certain amount of… negotiation ability,” he stated modestly. “And you also have payment coming from the Ivlyan government, not simply from within your own company. After all, such an endeavor is most definitely in the best national interests of my nation.” He returned the CEO’s gaze unyieldingly. “Aside from that, your company would receive a percentage off commerce to and from that port. This would be very profitable for both parties.”

The stocky man’s eyes lit up slightly, and pondered the Vulpine’s sentence. After a moment, Boryov looked to Polishchuk, and said, “You make a hard offer to pass off, Mr. Polishchuk. You have yourself a deal.” He stood up, and held out his hand.

The ambassador stood and grasped it, smiling slightly triumphantly. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Boryov.”

[Strat]

As Maksym Polishchuk walked from the meeting room, dusting off his hands in a celebratory manner, he reflected on his previous triumph this last week: convincing the Tivotian government to subsidize South Tarov Constructions. However, he had not immediately dealt with the brass…

“Client number 52, please enter.”

The intercom blared through the oddly cavernous waiting room to see the Foreign Commerce Authority head. Although he was number 52, Polishchuk was the only one in the cold space. He stood up and headed towards Mr. Artelius Horeticus, head of the FCA.

Horeticus looked up, stood and said, “Good evening Mr…?”

“Polishchuk,” the Ivlyan replied, extending his hand. “Ambassador Maksyn Polishchuk, representing the Principality of Ivlya.”

Horeticus shook the Ivlyan’s hand. “Oh yes, of course. You called the other day to set up an appointment, if I recall.”

Horeticus gestured to Polishchuk to take a seat. “Now, what would you like to propose to the Foreign Ministry today, Mr. Polishchuk?”

“Ah, yes.” After easing into his seat, Polishchuk leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “Mr Horeticus, as you may know, Ivlya only recently ventured into the realm of global politics. However, in terms of international trade, the Principality is not in the best position. Neighboring a Muslim theocracy and a communist dictatorship, with no borders to the sea…” he trailed off, and smiled wanly. “It’s not a very good position for such a state to be in. Now, my government had an idea that may be able to solve our problem and provide financial capital for your nation.” Polishchuk looked at Horeticus contemplatively. “Correct me if I’m wrong; Tivot takes a cut from its various industries’ and companies’ profits.”

Typing into his computer the proposal the Ivlyan made, Horeticus looked over to Polishchuk, saying, with a curt nod, “You are correct, sir.”

“Good. Well,” he continued, refusing to lose any momentum, “the government’s idea would be to establish a port connected to the Yurikolov River, which would be located…” from the folds inside his jacket, Polishchuk produced a very professional outline depicting the whereabouts of the hypothetical seaport “…right here. Now, the main problem is that Ivlya has a practically nonexistent navy, and rarely has had much activity in terms of oceanic trade. Which is where, Mr. Horeticus, Tivot comes into play.” He paused. “Or rather, South Tarov Constructions.”

Furiously typing, Horeticus almost didn’t catch the last thing he said, but thankfully his mind filled in the blanks to a reasonable degree. He stared at the computer for a moment, apparently awaiting a response. A ding could be heard, and Horeticus turned to Polishchuk with a smile. “Interesting proposal, sir! I will call up my superiors about this, and will arrange a meeting for you to meet them. May I ask for the map to scan so that my superiors have it for their viewing?”

“Of course,” Polishchuk replied easily, handing the Tivotian the cartograph.

“Thank you kindly.” Horeticus placed the map on the scanner in the back of the room, and it began the slow process of converting the paper into a digital copy. While the scanner was doing its thing, Horeticus informed Polishchuk of when and where he needed to be for the meeting. After a while, the machine finally finished, and Horeticus handed Polishchuk the map back.

“Here you go, and thank you again.”

“The pleasure is mine,” the ambassador graciously waved the thanks off as he pocketed the map. “Good day to you.”

“You too, sir. Take care.” Horeticus went back to playing Legend of Zuldo as soon as Polishchuk’s back was turned.

[Strat]

Tarov, Tivot, 0900 hours, 10/02/17

A tall lanky man with the name tag “Trikolovich” stepped out of a door to the right, and scanned the room for Maksym Polishchuk. From what he was told, Polishchuk was a grey-colored vulpine, but no other description was provided. Thankfully, there was only one vulpine in the lounge.

“Good day, Mr. Polishchuk! I was informed by Mr. Horeticus of your proposal for a port north of Bourun, and I would like to discuss an agreement with you. So, what would you propose would make this venture worthwhile for Tivot?”

Polishchuk noted the man’s name tag and mentally thanked his past self that he had studied up on Tivotian officials. “Minister Ivan Trikolovich, isn’t it?” He rose from his seat and shook Ivan’s hand.

“Of course,” Ivan replied. “Please follow me to my office.” The two went through the door Trikolovich entered through, which brought them to a hallway with a series of elevators. The minister approached the third one, and while waiting for the elevator to get to the bottom floor, engaged in small talk with Maksym. Shortly, the elevator doors opened, and upon entering Ivan pressed the button for the top floor. The elevator zoomed up the building, it having a window to view the city of Tarov. Slowly the skyline shrank below them, and soon enough a small cloud could be seen in the distance. The elevator dinged to inform the inhabitants they were at their destination, and the two stepped out and made their way to Trikolovich’s office. “Quite a view, isn’t it? You know, this right here is why I strove to become a minister. I saw this view from the mountains as a child, and knew immediately I wanted to grow Tivot.”

Polishchuk didn’t allow the slight pressure headache he’d developed to show. “Indeed. It’s both impressive and inspiring.” After a moment of comfortable silence, the Ivlyan turned towards Ivan. “Of course, Minister, this appointment was not scheduled to admire the view. After all, time is money.”

“Of course, let’s get down to business. Please, have a seat.” He gestured towards the chair opposite his, while also sitting down himself. “So, from what I’ve been told from Mr. Horeticus, your proposal was to build a port city north of Bourun, along the Yurikolov River. What do you offer the government of Tivot in return for building such a megaproject?”

“Financial capital, Minister,” he replied. “By contracting South Tarov Constructions for the building of the dock and giving them a percentage of all profits made, in addition to registering Tivotian boats for the purposes of Ivlyan international trade, your government stands to make a reasonable profit on this endeavor. Of course,” he added, “it would be far easier to convince STC to aid in this endeavor if the government implemented tax subsidies for companies and businesses of that kind.”

Ivan eyed up the vulpine, and mulled over what he said, scratching his beard in the process. He calculated a few things in his head, double checking the numbers, and ultimately came to a conclusion, which resulted in a rare smile. “Excellent proposal, my good sir! Feel free to contact South Tarov Constructions any time you see fit. I’ll take care of the governmental aspects of this, but I am certain my colleagues will be most pleased with this project.”

Polishchuk nodded. “Thank you, sir. May the spirit of cooperation between our two nations continue.” With a handshake and smile, the two parted ways.

[hr]
Tarov, Tivot, 1100 hours, 10/02/17

As Polishchuk had nestled comfortably in a cab heading for the airport, he pulled out his phone and tapped a few buttons. After a few seconds of ringing, a woman’s voice answered. “Yes?”

“Viscountess,” the ambassador reported, a note of triumph creeping into his voice, “they’ve accepted the offer.”