Working as a police officer in Mexico
Chapter 898 - 474: Why Doesn't the Troop Eat Breakfast?!

Casare jogged, followed by guards and his secretary.

"Minister..."

"Good day, Minister!"

All the staff he passed stopped in their tracks and greeted him warmly.

In early February, through a show-of-hands vote in the Military Council, he was appointed "Minister of Social Security and Military Logistics and Armaments." Rank: Admiral!

Also acting as Mexico's Prime Minister!

Of course, while he didn't hold military power, just hearing this string of departmental titles made it obvious he wielded more than a little clout.

On the global warrant issued by the United States earlier, he ranked second, right behind Victor, with a bounty of 47.9 million US Dollars!

Truly an oddly precise sum.

Casare nodded affably at them and sprinted toward the tallest building.

"Boss, you called for me?"

Knocking on the door before entering, he smiled and asked Victor.

"Take a seat, wait for me to finish signing these few documents." The Emperor gestured to the couch beside him.

Upon hearing this, Casare nodded, sat down nearby, and began vigorously rubbing his knees.

After roughly four to five minutes, Victor signed off on the last document, clicked his pen closed, and said casually, "I heard you're preparing to get engaged to your little girlfriend?"

The other party's face showed a hint of "bashfulness." "Yes, after the world supermodel contest in San Francisco in April, she'll get engaged to me."

Speaking of this, his expression revealed some happiness, "By then, she'll retire from modeling and move behind the scenes."

This was previously agreed upon; after all, the wife of the second-in-command of a nation can't just wear bikinis for everyone's viewing pleasure, can she?

What kind of decorum would that be!

"When the time comes, I'll make sure it's a grand celebration for you."

Casare stood up, the flesh on his face trembling with gratitude. "Thank you, Boss."

Victor pressed his hand downward, signaling that there was no need for thanks.

"The US-Mexico War—the United Nations is prepared to intervene, intending to mediate the war between us. I plan to send you for the negotiations."

"No problem, Boss. Leave it to me," Fat Casare replied, pounding his chest loudly and resolutely.

"But I'd like to ask, how far should we push the talks?"

"Should we demand the Yanks return the land they've gobbled up?"

Upon hearing this, Victor momentarily paused in the act of lighting a cigarette. He raised his head and said, "Are you not afraid of Americans going all-out against you? Clinton is easy to bully, but if the blame for losing territory falls on him, he'll definitely resort to playing X-war tactics. At that point, even the countries that sympathize with, pity, or support us in the United Nations will think we're being ungrateful!"

Casare thought for a moment and realized this logic was spot on.

How obsessed are Americans with saving face?

After having their dignity smothered and ground into the dirt, if you further humiliate them at the United Nations, you might just provoke them to risk it all.

X-war, looming right ahead!

(Would that mean we're heading straight to the final chapter?)

"However, negotiations are about bargaining. We'll first demand the land; if they refuse, then we'll step back a little. But remember, we must let them see our anger!"

Casare nodded hard and pulled out a pocket-sized notebook where he jotted down his Boss's remarks.

Do you think...

Anyone can become the Boss's trusted confidant?

Of course not, it's all about loyalty and obedience—skills?

Skills aren't worth a damn!

"Boss, is there anything non-negotiable?"

Victor squinted, leaning slightly forward, half his face cloaked in the shadow behind him, resembling a... villainous character.

Oh, and he wasn't a good guy either.

The good guys? They'd long been taken out.

Only bad people can deal with bad people!

Whooosh~

He exhaled a graceful smoke ring, floating upward before dissipating above his head!

"What do you think about stationing troops in America?"

Casare sharply raised his head!

In his pupils...

There was a trace of sheer horror!

...

World news runs a dime a dozen...

Victor dominates half of it.

After threatening to "bomb Wall Street," Hong Kong stocks, US stocks, and even the price of rear ends all plunged uncontrollably.

In HK, media outlets wrote a shocking headline in bold red-black font:

"North America: Dog Eats Dog! Yanks Love Eating Crap!"

Immediately, the headline cornered the market; reportedly, the only thing that rose that day was media revenue.

Asian countries, particularly Thailand and the Philippines—the traditional "two-faced crowd"—recently pulled back their flags and ceased making noise, whereas South Korea and Japan, zealous lackeys, were busy worldwide touting the "Mexico Threat Theory."

They demanded that all nations impose sanctions on Victor, even freezing his overseas assets.

But...

Nobody paid them any attention.

The name Victor was so notorious that even the village grannies in the East Mountain Area knew of him.

North America has its own "Anti-American Warrior."

And amid this "oil sizzling over flames" atmosphere...

The United Nations spokesperson announced that on March 12—just two days from now—peace talks would be held in Havana, Cuba's capital!

In an instant, the world's attention was seized.

Peace lovers were hopeful!

Conspirators sneered in disdain!

Ambitious minds schemed restlessly!

At once, pressure descended upon Field; if anything should happen to either party during the event, the impact on Cuba would be immense.

But if the event were successfully hosted, the hidden benefits for its alliance would be even greater.

This was the key reason Field had agreed to take on the challenge.

Three hours after the United Nations announced the event, Havana's police department received a threatening phone call, promising to assassinate the Mexican delegation!

Terrified, the police swiftly escalated the matter, and higher-ups ordered an immediate resolution.

By 11 PM that night...

Avispas Negras (Black Wasps)—Cuba's Special Forces—stormed a residential district and arrested an 18-year-old young man who was fast asleep!

The moment they slapped him awake, his world collapsed!

A squad of elite soldiers aiming weapons at him scared him so badly he literally wet himself.

When he was taken away in the car, he quickly spilled everything.

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