Isabella nationalize the Gold Industry

Isabella returned to Mateo Vargas's modest office in the heart of San Aurelio’s industrial district as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the smog-streaked streets.

Mateo sat across from her, his arms crossed and his gaze wary but curious. Around them, a few other workers' representatives had gathered, their grimy faces illuminated by the dim glow of a single overhead light. Isabella had insisted on this meeting being small and private. For what she was about to propose, she needed trust, not spectacle.

“Señor Vargas,” she began, her voice steady but deliberate. “I’ve seen enough today to know that Montesoro’s gold industry, as it stands, is built on suffering. That must change. It will change.”

Mateo raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“My father’s policies—his quotas, his disregard for the lives of workers—were wrong. I won’t defend them, nor will I continue them. Instead, I offer you something new: a partnership.”

The room grew still, the workers exchanging skeptical glances. Mateo leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “A partnership? What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means nationalization,” Isabella replied, her voice firm. “The gold industry and the fruits of your labors will no longer serve only the elites. It will belong to the people of Montesoro. The government will take control, and the profits will be shared with those who earn them—starting with the workers.”

The reaction was immediate. Murmurs rippled through the room, some skeptical, others cautiously hopeful. Mateo, however, remained impassive, his sharp gaze fixed on her.

“And what about the conditions?” he asked. “Sharing profits is one thing, but it won’t mean much if people are still dying in those mines.”

“I promise to improve safety standards,” Isabella replied. “Proper equipment, protective gear, medical care for those injured or ill. No more child labor. And no more deadly quotas.”

She paused, letting her words sink in. “I understand this won’t happen overnight, but I’m committed to making it happen. And I want you, Señor Vargas, to oversee these changes. As head of the district’s operations, you would ensure that the workers' needs are met and their voices are heard.”

Mateo blinked, clearly taken aback. For a moment, the hardened laborer seemed almost ****, his skepticism giving way to something that looked like hope. “You’d put a working man in charge of the mines?” he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

“I would put someone who understands the struggle in charge,” Isabella corrected. “Someone who knows what it’s like to work in those tunnels, to breathe that dust, to watch comrades fall. Who better to lead than someone who has lived it?”

The room was silent, the workers watching their leader for his reaction. Mateo leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. Finally, he spoke.

“And what do you expect in return, Presidente?”

“I need the workers’ cooperation,” Isabella replied. “We cannot afford a shutdown, or be held hostage by the owners of the mines and factories. Montesoro’s economy is fragile, and the gold industry is one of its lifelines. I’m asking the workers to trust me—to continue operations while we make these changes together.”

Mateo studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded, a slow and deliberate gesture. “You’re asking for a lot of trust, Presidente. Yet… you dare to sit in front and talk to us, something that your father never did. If you keep your word, you’ll have our support.”

A wave of relief washed over Isabella, though she kept her composure. “Thank you, Señor Vargas. Together, we can make Montesoro stronger—not just for the elites, but for everyone.”

As the workers filed out of the room, their expressions a mix of hope and cautious optimism, Isabella allowed herself a moment to breathe. The road ahead would be difficult—she would face resistance from the elites, sabotage from foreign interests, and the ever-present threat of the guerrillas. But for the first time, she felt she had taken a step toward something real, something meaningful.

Mateo stood, extending a hand. “You’ve made a bold promise, Señora Isabella. Let’s see if you can keep it.”

She shook his hand firmly, meeting his gaze. “I will,” she said, her voice unwavering. “For a better Montesoro.”

Lose [Jade Mask], Gain [Worker's Support], Change in World Standing