Joaquín hesitated. "Do you think that's a good idea? I heard the governor wants to place some of his protégés in new positions. Seems his plan is to leave his son here for 'experience,' so he can hand him the governor's seat later on."
Francisco blinked, startled by such open corruption, then chuckled. "I don't see a problem with that. The governor's already an old man. If his son needs to come to a place that's growing on its own just to 'gain experience,' then he must be very talented indeed." His tone carried a hint of dry amusement. "Offer the boy an honorary post—say, vice mayor. That way, the governor saves face, you stay in place, and he ends up owing you a favor."
Joaquín still looked unsure. "And what exactly do you want from this? You know my power isn't as great as you might think. The cabildo can block any policy I try to pass, so don't ask for too much."
Francisco smiled faintly. "Don't worry. I'm not after policies—unless, of course, it's illegal for private citizens to open orphan houses."
That caught Joaquín's attention. "An orphan house? Shouldn't you speak to the Church for that?"
"Of course not," Francisco said smoothly. "I don't want saints—I want minds. I plan to teach them the sciences of Germany, and you know how the Church feels about so-called pagan knowledge."
Joaquín leaned back, eyebrows raised. "And what about teachers? Without the Church's support, finding qualified instructors will be difficult. And if something goes wrong at that orphanage, you'll be the one held responsible."
Francisco nodded. "That's one of the reasons I came here. I want the cabildo to appoint someone to oversee the orphanage—a city official. I'll pay his salary. His job will be to handle anyone who endangers the children or harms the institution."
"So," Joaquín said thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the desk, "you want the state to share the responsibility."
"That's right," Francisco said. "That way, it benefits both your reputation and that of the cabildo. My family will handle the funding and select the subjects to be taught—we're investing because we need capable people. For teachers, I plan to hire two kinds: local literates or priests willing to teach modern knowledge, and—if all goes well—apprentices from Mutis."
Joaquín's eyes widened. "You mean José Celestino Mutis, the sage himself?"
Francisco nodded. "That's right. I'll send him a letter asking for his apprentices to come and teach."
Joaquín murmured in disbelief. "So you actually know the sage... Well, in that case, the only thing left is finding a house for the children. We've got a few abandoned properties that could—"
"Wait," Francisco interrupted. "I don't want to use an old house. I want to build a new one. That's actually the second thing I came for—I need two plots of land: one for the school and one for a warehouse."
"A new building?" Joaquín asked, startled. "Why?"
"Because I want it to be both a school and an orphanage," Francisco explained. "Children with families can study there, and orphans can live there. The structure will have two main sections—one for housing, with several rooms, latrines outside, and a closed area for bathing—preferably with a well. Then a second building, like an inn, just for meals. I'd hire local grandmothers to cook for the children."
Joaquín tilted his head, intrigued. "Sounds like the Hospicio in Bogotá, right?"
Francisco thought for a moment. "More or less—but bigger. Two floors at least, tall and rectangular."
"I see," Joaquín said. "And the school?"
"The second building will be for learning," Francisco continued, his hands gesturing as he imagined it. "Common children and orphans alike—no discrimination. One section for administration—teachers, rector, and offices—and another full of classrooms."
Joaquín frowned. "That's quite large. Do you have blueprints?"
Francisco shook his head. "Not yet. The idea came to me today." He briefly explained how the plan had formed.
Joaquín leaned back with a faint smirk. "You rich folk are really willful."
Francisco chuckled. "Maybe—but we're making good money with the cement factory, so we might as well use it."
Joaquín sighed. "All right. Leave that part for now. I'll have an architect meet with you in a few days, to calculate the space you'll need. Better that than choosing the land first and realizing it's too small later."
Francisco nodded. "Good. The second plot is for a warehouse—a large one. We plan to move our cement and alcohol shipments there and handle trade with Cádiz and the other provinces directly in Medellín. That way, buyers won't have to travel all the way to our estate, and our road won't stay clogged."
Joaquín rubbed his chin. "I've got land that might work—but more traffic means more people."
Francisco frowned. "More people?"
"According to our records," Joaquín said, "only half your clients stop in Medellín right now. The rest keep going to other towns for supplies. Some come early in the morning and leave by afternoon. Once your warehouse opens, they'll stop here—buy food, goods, and more. Medellín will get even busier."
The assistant nearby blinked in disbelief at how casually both men spoke of reshaping the town.
Francisco shrugged. "Not my problem. Why don't you just hire more people?"
Joaquín chuckled. "I'd like to, but since the governor plans to send his son here, I've been cautious. Hiring too many might make him feel threatened. Now that I know your backers will support me, I can finally expand."
Francisco smiled knowingly. "Then I'll invite Mauricio and Sofía to the event tonight in the plaza. You can talk to them yourself."
Joaquín frowned. "Event? What event?"
He turned to his assistant, who leaned in to whisper, "Sir, Carlos requested permission to distribute free alcohol today. You signed the approval yourself."
Joaquín laughed awkwardly. "Ah—right. Must've slipped my mind. Fine then, I'll go. I should taste those famous aguardientes I've been hearing about."
Francisco smirked. "They're not the same aguardientes you know. We use a completely different process—more refined, more productive."
"Even better," Joaquín said with a shrug. "Let's enjoy it. Remind me later to attend." His servant nodded.
"About the warehouse," Joaquín continued, "I assume you want it close to a water source?"
"Exactly," Francisco said. "We're also willing to pay the militia for protection. You can coordinate that."
Joaquín nodded. "In that case, I'd recommend Guayaquil. It's close to the Medellín River—plenty of water and near the workshops."
Francisco studied the map spread across the desk. "Good choice. I'll take it."
"You know it floods during the rainy season," Joaquín warned.
"We'll use cement to reinforce it," Francisco replied. "That'll hold."
Joaquín sighed but smiled faintly. "All right. I'll give your father a friendly price." He leaned back, gazing out the window at the distant hills glowing orange in the afternoon sun. "Honestly, I wonder what this place will look like in ten years. Medellín's changing too fast. Shame I'm getting old."
Francisco grinned. "You're not that old—not yet. You'll live to enjoy it."
Joaquín chuckled, waving him off. "Go on, get out. I've got papers to finish if I want to make it to the event. I'll have the cabildo handle the land transfer."
Francisco laughed as he stood. "Thanks. See you tonight."
Joaquín just waved him away, already buried in paperwork.