Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1639 - 750: The Great Banker Heist (2)
Chapter 1639 -750: The Great Banker Heist (2)
I’m about to die, and you’re asking me if the wind is cold?
He took a deep breath, as if trying to cram air into his lungs, “If these parasites refuse to loosen their grip on the nation’s throat, refuse to give the soldiers at the front the slightest chance to breathe, then let’s all go down together. I would rather personally bury this decaying Empire, than allow it to be drained dry by these Vampires, dying silently in humiliation and betrayal!”
“Execute the order!”
…
Half an hour later, in a temporarily set-up communications room in the White House, the sounds of urgent phone conversations and suppressed arguments rose and fell.
Chief of Staff Rove had just hung up a phone call and reported to Little Bush: “Mr. President, the First National Bank refused. Their board chairman said this is blatant robbery and tyranny, and they will never bow to force. They have already contacted their legal team and their contacts in Congress…”
“Bang!”
Little Bush slammed his fist on the table, interrupting him.
“Good! Very good! The first tough nut!”
“Lawyer? How many bullets can a lawyer withstand?!”
“Take their representative, that guy named David, to the room next door! Let the FBI prep the interrogation records… no, interrogation is not needed.”
He glanced at the private military captain standing by: “Go, execute.”
The private military captain hesitated for a moment, seemingly indecisive, but under Little Bush’s undeniable gaze, he snapped to attention: “Yes, sir!”
A few minutes later, a stifled gasp was faintly heard from the room next door, followed by a clear but not loud gunshot – “Bang!”
The communications room instantly fell into a dead silence; all personnel stopped their activities, faces turning pale, with some starting to uncontrollably tremble.
Little Bush acted as if he hadn’t heard the gunshot. He picked up another vibrating phone and directly pressed the speaker button.
A frantic voice came from the other end, belonging to another highly influential bank CEO: “Bush! You’re insane! Do you know what you’ve done?! You’re…”
“Listen!” Little Bush spoke into the microphone, his voice terrifyingly calm, but beneath this calm was a surging volcano, “David was just executed for treason, and his bank is about to be declared illegal. Now, tell me your choice: announcement or becoming the next one.”
The voice on the other end abruptly stopped, leaving only heavy breathing.
“You have fifty seconds.” Little Bush looked at his watch, coldly saying.
“I… I need to discuss with the board…”
“Forty seconds.”
“God…”
“Thirty seconds.”
The other end was thoroughly silent, only the sound of chattering teeth could be heard.
“Twenty seconds.”
“… We… we will make the announcement…” The voice finally broke down on the other side, with a sobbing tone, “We will comply immediately! Please don’t…”
“Good.” Little Bush hung up the phone directly.
He raised his head, looking at the communications room’s other stunned staff, his gaze sweeping across each screen and microphone.
“Keep dialing. Report the previous process, unchanged, to the next one.”
Sure enough, Victor was right, capitalists need to occasionally see some blood.
Slaughtering pigs…
But the system of Meili Soft itself is just a bunch of “pigs,” should they slaughter themselves?
What Little Bush did, in fact, is to sever himself from his class!
Betraying the class certainly has no good outcome.
This “Banker Heist” happening deep in the White House, personally directed by the President, proceeded in a bloody yet efficient manner, advancing at an incredible speed in the next few hours.
This news wasn’t hidden at all and soon spread out.
Initially, it was shock and even greater anger, but when a living, influential bank representative truly turned into a cold corpse, when the Sword of Damocles of “treason” and “asset freeze” truly hung overhead, the “courage” of capital began to rapidly wane.
Pleading calls started voluntarily reaching the White House, reaching any contacts they could find.
Carefully worded but clearly intended announcements began to be forced out from the headquarters of major banks, being transmitted to their branches through telex and early internet.
“Given the current special circumstances of the nation, with a patriotic spirit to support frontline soldiers and maintain societal stability, this bank has decided to automatically defer housing mortgages, personal consumption loans, etc., of all active military personnel, and direct relatives of deceased or missing soldiers, until…”
Little Bush stood in the communications room, listening to the continuous reports from his subordinates about the “results” coming in, but his face showed no joy, only cold numbness and deep exhaustion.
He succeeded, momentarily prying open the bankers’ tightly held purse in a way he never envisioned.
But he knew, from this moment on, he was already branded as a “Tyrant,” a “Madman,” a “Capital Traitor.”
He tore apart the game rules, using the most extreme means, exposing power and violence blatantly on the stage.
He looked out the window, the Sky over Washington remaining gray and desolate.
“Are you satisfied now?” he mumbled, not knowing who he was asking.
Defense Minister Green approached him, whispering: “George, Gree City is lost. Some of the defending forces surrendered.”
Little Bush’s body barely perceptibly swayed; he closed his eyes, took a deep breath.
“Got it.”
He spoke with a near-void tone.
Suppressing the internal “rebellion,” winning this dirty financial coup, yet losing a crucial frontline city and the soldiers’ trust.
