• Part 1: Debt, discipline, and daring: Inside the Lopez Group’s high-risk bets 
• Part 2: The Lopezes, presidents, and the cost of dissent

In late February, inside a Makati boardroom, seven Lopez cousins argued over a secret. Not a family scandal, but a set of power deals worth well over a hundred billion pesos. On one side sat Federico “Piki” Lopez, the cousin who runs the group’s power and renewables businesses. Across the table were five relatives led by Eugenio “Gabby” Lopez III, the cousin long identified with ABS-CBN, who had decided they no longer trusted Piki to lead the family’s private holding company, Lopez Inc. 

On paper, the immediate trigger was simple enough: money for ABS-CBN. Gabby’s side wanted Lopez Inc. to inject about ₱2 billion of fresh family capital into the network, which has been struggling since it lost its broadcast franchise in 2020. Piki resisted, questioning both the structure of the rescue and who would benefit most from it. The dispute ended in a 5–2 vote on February 27, 2026. In a press statement, the Gabby side said the vote was “to remove him as Lopez Inc. president and CEO” and replace him with Gabby’s younger brother Raffy, with Piki and his brother Benjamin dissenting.

Within days, the fight moved to court. On March 11, a Mandaluyong City Regional Trial Court issued a temporary restraining order (TRO) halting any move to implement the February 27 board resolutions removing Piki and installing Raffy in his place; that TRO was later extended to Wednesday, April 1. The court has since issued a writ of preliminary injunction that not only bars enforcement of those resolutions, but also prevents Raffy from assuming the presidency and restrains any acts that would replace Piki as officer, director, or corporate representative in companies where Lopez Inc. exercises voting rights through its president, or otherwise alter the status quo while the case is pending. For now, Piki still sits as president of Lopez Inc. under that injunction, and First Gen says its operations continue “business as usual, with no disruption.”

But underneath that drama is a deeper grievance that cuts to the heart of how a modern family conglomerate should run.

In the last two years, First Gen Corporation — the Lopez flagship in power — has sold majority control of its gas plants in Batangas to tycoon Enrique Razon, agreed to pour tens of billions into Razon’s new “battery” projects in the mountains, and mapped out a separate ₱100-billion expansion of its main geothermal field in Leyte. Gabby’s camp says the family holding company, Lopez Inc., learned the full shape and implications of those moves largely the same way outsiders did: from press releases and news reports, not from early, frank discussions in their own boardroom. 

For readers who do not live and breathe corporate structures, a quick map helps. Lopez Inc. is the private family mothership. It owns 100% of Lopez Holdings Corp (the old Benpres) through four family holding companies. Lopez Holdings, in turn, holds big stakes in First Philippine Holdings (FPH), which is closely associated with Piki’s branch of the family, and in ABS-CBN, which has long been identified with Gabby’s branch. 

FPH owns 56% of First Gen, the listed company that runs the Batangas gas plants and the interim LNG terminal and that owns 100% of Energy Development Corporation (EDC), the geothermal arm now planning the Tongonan upgrade. Through FPH and First Gen, the Lopez group has also agreed to take a 40% stake in Enrique Razon’s pumped-storage hydro projects in Wawa and Ahunan. In simple terms, Lopez Inc. sits at the top of the control chain for the companies that sold gas assets to Razon, that are buying into his hydro “batteries,” and that are planning to spend ₱100 billion on geothermal expansion. 

That is why the Razon deals matter so much to this cousins’ feud. They are not small, routine contracts. They reshape what kind of energy company First Gen will be over the next 20 or 30 years, and where tens of billions of pesos of Lopez risk will sit. Over the past decade, as Meralco, Bayantel, Maynilad, NLEx and other ventures were sold or exited, power and renewables have come to account for most of the group’s remaining economic value. The controlling stakes in FPH, First Gen and EDC now dominate what is left at the center of the Lopez balance sheet. ABS-CBN, while symbolically powerful to the family, is a much smaller business in revenue and market value terms since it lost its broadcast franchise. And property such as Rockwell Land and other side bets are small in comparison. 

In that sense, the gas sale to Razon, the hydro “batteries” and the Tongonan expansion are not side projects — they are the future of what the Lopez name still controls. To Gabby’s side, being left out of the room while those moves were being designed is not just a technical complaint. It feels like being treated as bystanders in a group that still carries their name. 

The gas that became the bridge

To understand the current quarrel, it helps to translate the Razon deals in plain language.

First, the gas business. Santa Rita was commissioned in 2000, San Lorenzo followed in 2002, and both became anchor users of Malampaya gas when full commercial production began in 2002. Over the next two decades, the family added more capacity in Batangas — San Gabriel, Avion and the planned Santa Maria facility — turning our very own Malampaya gas and, later, imported liquefied natural gas (LNG) into electricity. Taken together with the interim LNG terminal, these plants became the Lopez “gas platform,” supplying a large slice of Luzon’s power demand.

In 2025, First Gen agreed to sell 60% of that gas portfolio to Razon’s Prime Infrastructure for around ₱50 billion. The deal covers the controlling stake in the gas plants and the terminal, while First Gen keeps 40% and stays on as partner and operator. In simple terms, the Lopezes cashed in a majority stake in their gas workhorse, brought in a deep‑pocketed partner, and freed up space on their balance sheet.

What makes the timing even more loaded is that the gas plants’ anchor customer, Meralco, is now operating on borrowed time with those contracts. The Energy Regulatory Commission has only granted interim extensions of the Sta. Rita and related power‑supply deals — first up to January 31, 2026, then again only until June 25, 2026 — explicitly as stop‑gap measures to keep the Luzon grid stable while longer‑term supply is rebid. Climate and consumer advocates have also warned that these extensions lock Meralco consumers into expensive LNG‑linked power, with generation costs from the Sta. Rita contract climbing and LNG now among the costliest resources in Meralco’s mix. In that light, selling 60% of the gas platform to Razon looks less like a random deal and more like a strategic way to share the risk of an expensive, contract‑uncertain fleet. (READ: The tycoons behind the Philippines’ dirty energy)

Razon, born in 1960 and educated at La Salle Green Hills and De La Salle University, is only a year older than Piki, who was born in August 1961 and finished grade school and high school within the same La Salle Green Hills system before heading to the University of Pennsylvania. They are not from different worlds; they are near‑contemporaries from the same elite Lasallian orbit who now find themselves reshaping each other’s core businesses.

But First Gen’s management’s explanation is straightforward: gas has been a reliable earner, but it is capital‑intensive, exposed to fuel price swings, and less fashionable in a world that wants cleaner energy. By selling 60% to Razon at a decent valuation, First Gen can recycle capital into the next generation of assets, while still keeping a big enough stake to benefit if gas remains relevant.

The ‘mountain batteries’

The second leg of the strategy is more unusual and harder to picture, so it has attracted less public attention even though the amounts are larger.

In early 2026, First Gen disclosed that it had agreed to acquire a 40% stake in Razon-led Prime Infra’s portfolio of pumped-storage hydropower projects — huge facilities planned in Wawa, Rizal and Ahunan, Laguna with a combined capacity of around 2,000 megawatts. These are not typical dams. They act like giant “water batteries”: when there is excess power on the grid, they pump water uphill; when power is scarce or expensive, they let water flow back down through turbines to generate electricity. 

The headline number was eye-catching. First Gen said it would commit about ₱75 billion for that 40% stake, with roughly ₱62.5 billion going directly into construction and equity for the projects over several years. Later reports say the effective commitment has been adjusted to around ₱61.9 billion, to be drawn in phases up to 2029. Either way, it is a very large sum, and not paid in one go. The structure involves an initial payment, then follow-on tranches backed by letters of credit, and further draws as the projects hit milestones. 

In layman’s terms, First Gen is using part of the ₱50-billion gas sale proceeds as an entrance fee to become a big minority owner of Razon’s mountain batteries, then promising to put in more money as the dams take shape. The 600-megawatt Wawa project in Rizal will use a new dam and a roughly 400-hectare reservoir to store up to around 6,000 megawatt-hours of energy a day, while the 1,400-megawatt Ahunan plant in Pakil, Laguna will lift water from Laguna de Bay into an upper basin about 500 meters up the mountainside. 

Both are targeted to be running before 2030 and have been tagged as energy projects of national significance, with Prime Infra now bringing in First Gen as a 40% partner putting in about ₱62.5 billion in construction equity. If they work as designed, they could become the long-duration batteries that keep Luzon’s lights on when the sun is down and the wind is still. But if they stumble, they turn into some of the most expensive engineering headaches the Lopez group has ever signed up for. 

The bet is that as the Luzon grid becomes more crowded with solar and wind, these storage plants will be essential to smooth out supply and will therefore earn steady returns for decades. 

The geothermal field that won’t quit

The third leg of the strategy sits inside Energy Development Corporation. EDC operates a network of geothermal fields across the country, but its biggest complex is Tongonan in Leyte, which taps what is described as the world’s largest wet-steam geothermal field. 

In January 2026, EDC and First Gen confirmed that they are preparing a plan to invest up to ₱100 billion to upgrade and expand the Tongonan complex. The idea is to raise the complex’s rated capacity from about 637 megawatts to roughly 967 megawatts by 2029 through a mix of new plants, upgrades to existing units like Mahanagdong, new wells, expanded well pads, and more on-site battery storage. The detailed engineering and environmental studies are still underway, and regulators have yet to approve, so the figure is preliminary. But the direction is clear: squeeze more clean, “always-on” power out of a field that has already been running for over 40 years, and extend its life further. 

For a non-specialist reader, the easiest way to think about this is: gas has been the Lopezes’ workhorse, but geothermal is their old thoroughbred. The Tongonan plan is about training that thoroughbred for another long race, even if it means a very expensive regimen. 

Big new “green” risks

Put those three moves together and the picture looks like this: about ₱50 billion came in when First Gen sold 60% of its gas plants and LNG terminal to Razon’s Prime Infra and kept 40%. Roughly ₱61–75 billion is being committed over several years to buy a large minority stake in Razon’s pumped-storage hydro “batteries” in Wawa and Ahunan. Up to ₱100 billion more is being planned for a multi-year upgrade and expansion of the Tongonan geothermal complex in Leyte, targeted for completion around 2029. 

The net effect is that gas cash becomes the bridge to a more renewables-heavy and storage-heavy portfolio. Over time, the Lopez energy story looks less like “we sell gas power to Meralco” and more like “we run geothermal fields and own big water batteries for the grid.” That shift fits the story the Piki branch has been telling investors for years: that First Gen is a clean-energy company first, and everything else second. But it also makes the group more capital-hungry. Even if the gas sale money covers part of the early hydro payments, and even if Tongonan spending is spread until 2029, the Lopezes still have to find and service a lot of funding in between. 

For the cousins at Lopez Inc. not steeped in project finance, the numbers can feel dizzying. From their vantage point, they see a gas business that used to be fully Lopez now majority in Razon’s hands, new hydro projects where they are the junior partner in someone else’s platform, and a geothermal expansion plan with a price tag that dwarfs the group’s recent earnings. And then, on top of that, they are being asked to consider a ₱2-billion family cheque for ABS-CBN. 

They also know that the gas plants’ main Meralco contracts are on interim extensions only until mid‑2026, and that these LNG‑linked deals are controversial, so finding out after the fact that a business contemporary like Razon is now the Lopezes’ majority partner in that same gas platform only deepens the sense that they were spectators, not co‑authors, of a pivotal shift.

Secrets and a ₱50-billion deal

This is where the current cousins’ feud becomes more than just a clash of personalities.

Gabby’s side says that if Lopez Inc. is truly the family mothership, then its board is entitled to early, meaningful briefings on moves of this size. For them, “meaningful” means more than reading the same disclosures that small investors see on the stock exchange website; it means walking through the options before decisions are final, asking basic questions — why sell 60% of gas, why that price, why this much into someone else’s hydro portfolio, why now — and being satisfied that the risk fits what the family is willing to bear. 

In their telling, that did not happen. They say First Gen entered into transactions involving billions of pesos without informing Lopez Inc. and its board beforehand, and that many Lopez directors found out about the deals only through media and only after Piki was pressed for information. One large transaction, they say, was essentially a done deal when it was brought to the Lopez Inc. board and was slotted under “other matters” on the agenda, with only about an hour of discussion before approval; some have questioned the validity of that board approval. In that light, the majority’s move to oust Piki from the top of Lopez Inc. looks less like a sudden ambush and more like a vote of “no confidence” in how he has been wearing his many hats. 

Piki’s answer is more technical, and for many readers, it needs some unpacking. 

 Under Philippine securities rules, when a listed company is working on a deal that could move its share price, only a small circle of insiders are allowed to know the terms before they are disclosed to the market. If those insiders, or people they tip off, buy or sell shares while in possession of that information, they can be accused of insider trading; regulators can impose fines, freeze accounts, and even pursue criminal cases.

In that world, “telling the family” is not as simple as calling a cousin and chatting over lunch. If some Lopez relatives hold shares in First Gen or Lopez Holdings personally or through their own vehicles, and if they are not officers or directors of First Gen, then giving them detailed advance information can turn them into unofficial insiders. If they trade, or even if regulators suspect they traded on that knowledge, they could be dragged into investigations they did not sign up for. So when Piki says he was trying to avoid “insider trading risk” by keeping the circle small until deals were properly disclosed, that is not just an excuse. It reflects real anxieties around how to reconcile market rules — which demand strict control of secrets — with family expectations — which demand open sharing within the clan. 

The latest press release from the “71% majority bloc” adds another layer. They say that when they moved to audit First Gen’s transactions, they were met by a non-disclosure agreement (NDA) from Piki’s camp that would have prohibited them from using any adverse information gathered in any complaint. The majority refused to sign that NDA and now say they will push for an audit without such conditions “for the protection of all shareholders.” For them, it is another example of “opaque management style” that breaches proper governance. For Piki’s defenders, it can be framed as an attempt to contain legal risk while allowing some access to documents. 

The problem is that both sides are right on different planes. Gabby is right that a family holding company should not find out about life-changing bets only from press releases, or be asked to sign away its right to act on whatever an audit finds. Piki is right that some secrets, if whispered too widely or weaponized in the wrong way, can put that very family at legal risk. 

To see why the Lopezes are stuck in this bind, it helps to look back at another time when they used confidentiality and process as shields — this time, not against one another, but against a hostile outsider. That story starts, and ends, in the old Meralco Theater.

When the Lopezes said no

In May 2008, Meralco’s annual stockholders’ meeting was supposed to be a routine affair. Instead, it turned into a 12‑hour siege that became one of the most closely watched corporate dramas in recent Philippine history. On one side was the Lopez family, then still in control of Meralco. On the other was Winston Garcia, the brash head of state pension fund Government Service Insurance System (GSIS), armed with letters, lawyers, and a mandate to challenge the Lopezes on everything from electricity rates to “self‑dealing” contracts.

I chronicled how that fight unfolded. Garcia demanded an advance copy of Meralco’s audited financial statements days before board meetings. He wanted to pore over the power‑supply contracts between Meralco and Lopez‑owned generation companies, and even the insurance arrangements for Meralco’s assets. When he could not get all the documents he wanted, in the form he wanted, he complained in public that he was being stonewalled, that transparency was lacking, and that the Lopezes were using Meralco to favor their own plants at the expense of consumers.

Meralco’s management and the Lopez camp did not simply hand everything over. They offered briefings instead of free copies, said some contracts could be reviewed only on site, and required confidentiality agreements from GSIS’s lawyers before they could inspect sensitive documents. They insisted on procedures, not free‑for‑all disclosure. They argued that in a deregulating power market, supply contracts and pricing formulas were commercially sensitive and could not just be photocopied and taken home.

The climax came when the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) issued a cease‑and‑desist order in the middle of the shareholders’ meeting, telling Meralco to stop the election of directors and let the SEC supervise the canvassing of disputed proxies. Acting corporate secretary Anthony Rosete read the order on stage, then — backed by a Lopez‑dominated board — declared it “null and void.” The meeting went on, the proxies were counted, and the Lopez side walked away with enough votes to keep control of the board for one more round.

At that time, I framed the central question this way: was this fight really about protecting investor rights and transparency, as Garcia claimed? Or about who controls the board, as the Lopezes’ actions suggested? The answer, as often in Philippine corporate life, was “both.” Garcia wrapped his campaign in the language of transparency and lower power rates. The Lopezes wrapped their defiance in the language of jurisdiction, procedure, and protecting the company from a hostile takeover.

What matters for today’s story is the pattern. Faced with an aggressive shareholder demanding documents and information, the Lopez camp responded by controlling who could see sensitive contracts, controlling how they could see them — through briefings and on‑site review rather than casual photocopies — and requiring confidentiality agreements for outsiders who were “strangers to the transaction.” In 2008, that instinct served as a shield against a perceived politically motivated attack. In 2026, the same instinct — to keep information inside a small, trusted circle until the formal disclosures are out — is now cutting across branches of the family itself.

The same reflex, turned inward

Seen against that Meralco backdrop, the current Lopez Inc. feud feels less like a sudden outward eruption and more like an old reflex turned inward. Back then, the person complaining about access to information was an outsider shareholder, GSIS, asking why it was not getting the courtesy due a big investor. Today, the people complaining are insider shareholders, 3rd generation cousins at Lopez Inc., asking a similar question: why are they not getting the courtesy they believe is due to the family that still owns the group.

Back then, the Lopez response was to remind Garcia that there were proper channels, that he was free to attend briefings, and that his own lawyers had to sign confidentiality undertakings before handling certain documents. Today, Piki’s answer is to remind his cousins that there are securities laws, that transformational deals must be processed through the formal boards of listed companies, and that sharing too much too soon can turn relatives into accidental insiders. 

In both cases, the Lopez side leaned heavily on process and confidentiality to manage risk. The difference is that, in 2008, the risk they feared was a government‑backed shareholder using inside information as a weapon. In 2026, the risk Piki says he fears is insider‑trading liability and regulatory trouble if information flows too loosely up to Lopez Inc.

The irony is hard to miss. In Meralco, the family defended tight control over sensitive contracts and was accused of secrecy and “self‑dealing.” In the Razon deals, the energy cousin (Piki) is defending tight control over sensitive deal terms and is being accused of secrecy and breach of trust — this time by close relatives whose names are on the list of owners and directors. 

Two hats, two sets of duties

At the center of this is a structural problem that goes beyond personalities: the same person is wearing two hats that do not always sit comfortably together.

With one hat, Piki is chair and CEO of First Philippine Holdings and First Gen. These are listed companies with thousands of public shareholders, subject to the rules of the Philippine Stock Exchange (PSE) and the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC). In that world, his fiduciary duty is to act in the best interests of the company and all its shareholders, Lopez and non-Lopez alike. Material deals must be approved by the proper boards, disclosed promptly and fairly, and handled in ways that do not give some investors an unfair trading advantage. 

With the other hat, he is president of Lopez Inc., the private family holding company that sits above Lopez Holdings, FPH, First Gen and ABS-CBN. In that world, his duty is to act in the best interests of Lopez Inc. and its shareholders — the cousins themselves. That includes protecting the long-term value of the family’s holdings and keeping the Lopez Inc. board reasonably informed about major moves that will change the risk and reward profile of their assets. 

Most of the time, these hats point in the same direction. A deal that is good for First Gen’s shareholders is usually good for Lopez Inc. as a controlling owner. But when it comes to information — who sees what, and when — the duties can collide.

If he pulls the Lopez Inc. board deep into the details of a live, non-public negotiation at First Gen, he risks turning some relatives into “tipped” insiders. If any of them, or their personal vehicles, trade shares around those dates, they could be exposed to accusations of insider trading. If he keeps the circle tight and waits until disclosures are public before briefing Lopez Inc., he protects everyone from that regulatory risk — but he also makes the family holding board feel sidelined. For cousins who still see Lopez Inc. as “our” company, that feels like a betrayal, especially when the transactions in question are as big and strategic as the Razon deals and the Tongonan expansion.business. 

In that sense, both camps have a point. Piki is right on the law: the days when a patriarch could quietly call relatives to share market-moving secrets are over, and regulators do not care about bloodlines. Gabby is right on governance: a controlling family holding company deserves more than press-release knowledge of deals that will effectively rewire its biggest asset, and if Lopez Inc. cannot even insist on a proper, timely briefing, then what is its role beyond being a dividend mailbox?

The real gap: no rules for a modern family

The uncomfortable truth is that this is not a story of one cousin being right and the other being wrong. It is a story of a group that modernized its energy portfolio faster than it modernized its family governance. 

When the Lopezes rebuilt after the Marcos years, they did what most business clans did: they set up layers of companies — Lopez Inc. at the top, Benpres (now Lopez Holdings) in the middle, various operating companies like Meralco, ABS-CBN, First Gen, Maynilad, Bayantel and NLEx at the bottom. That structure allowed them to pool capital at the top, use a listed vehicle as a “big tent,” and pursue big bets in regulated industries. It did not force them to spell out, in writing, how information should move between the family’s private board and their public companies.

In 2008, that lack of written rules meant the Lopezes responded to Garcia’s demands on instinct: defend the board, protect documents, require confidentiality, worry about jurisdiction later. In 2026, it means Piki must improvise a line between what he can safely share with Lopez Inc. and what he must keep inside First Gen until the PSE filings are out. His cousins, meanwhile, are left to guess where that line is, and to wonder if “insider trading risk” is a legal argument or a convenience.

It does not have to be this way. Other family‑controlled groups that grew into listed conglomerates have begun to formalize the blurry zone between “family” and “public.” They do this in two main ways. 

First, they define who the true insiders are at the family level. Instead of treating every cousin as a potential tippee, they specify that certain positions — foe example, directors of the family holding company — are treated as insiders for regulatory purposes. Those people sign wall‑crossing agreements when they are briefed on live deals and accept automatic trading blackouts on relevant shares until after the information is public. In exchange, they get structured, timely access to information so they can fulfill their own duties as stewards of the family’s stake.

Second, they write down the protocol for big-ticket transactions of the “transformational” kind. For example, if any listed subsidiary is negotiating a deal above a defined size or strategic impact, the family holding board must be briefed at specific milestones — before signing a term sheet, before final board approval, before public disclosure. The briefings can be high‑level at first, but they are not optional or purely symbolic. They become part of the rhythm of governance. 

If Lopez Inc. had such arrangements in place, this moment might look very different. Instead of arguing in court about whether the 5 cousins who voted to oust Piki were properly briefed, they could be pointing to a paper trail: when the First Gen deal team crossed the Lopez Inc. directors over the wall, when the blackouts started, when the formal votes were taken, etcetera. Instead of hearing “we were kept in the dark,” you might be hearing “we were told early, and we still disagreed, but at least the process respected us.”

Why this story matters beyond one family

It is tempting to see all this as just another teleserye about a rich clan. A tycoon cousin, a media cousin, a hundred-billion-peso misunderstanding. The Lopezes themselves have been dramatized so often that it is easy to forget how much of the country’s infrastructure, energy supply and information flow has run through companies that carry their name.

But if you strip away the surnames, the questions they are wrestling with are not unique. As more family conglomerates, in the Philippines and beyond, build renewable energy platforms, list subsidiaries, sell stakes to global funds, and align with big partners like Enrique Razon, the old way of doing things — decisions whispered over family lunches, deals explained after the fact, no clear lines between what is “family business” and what is “everybody’s business” — starts to creak.

The Lopezes are simply hitting the wall earlier and more publicly because they are trying to do many things at once: push into capital-hungry geothermal and storage, live up to a clean-energy narrative, keep a politically exposed newsroom alive, find outlets for their entertainment shows and telenovelas, navigate the still-evolving media landscape, and manage a web of listed and unlisted entities that grew out of another era. It is not surprising that the law, the regulators and the cousins are pulling them in different directions.

In that sense, the fight at Lopez Inc. is not only about whether Piki was too secretive or whether Gabby was too demanding. It is a test of whether an old family group can learn to live with its own success: to accept that some secrets really must be kept, that some relatives really must be treated as insiders under the law, and that trust in a modern conglomerate is built as much on clear rules as on shared childhood and history. 

The last time the family faced a siege over information, they stood together in the Meralco Theater and defied an outsider. Two of the second-generation patriarchs were still alive and calling the shots. This time, the argument is happening in their own boardroom, where third-generation Lopez family members now sit. How they resolve it will say a lot about what kind of Lopez group emerges from the age of gas, geothermal and “mountain batteries” — and whether the next generations will inherit not just assets, but a way of governing them that matches the risks the cousins are now willing to talk. – Rappler.com

Lala Rimando wrote about Philippine business, and managed newsrooms, including Newsbreak, ABS-CBN, Rappler, and Forbes, for over 25 years. She’s now based in La Union, taking care of her mom with dementia, and working on the multimedia biography of the late John Gokongwei.