Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1643 - 751: Ah Men, Believe in Victor! (Part 3)
Capítulo 1643: Chapter 751: Ah Men, Believe in Victor! (Part 3)
Do you dare to try me? Even if your consortium’s power is huge, in the occupation area of Mexico, if you are a dragon, you have to coil, and if you are a tiger, you have to lie down!
“Wait! Angel, please wait!”
Samuel’s voice was obviously urgent, fearing that he would really hang up the phone, “I understand your position, but please believe that what I bring… is the intention of ‘cooperation.’ Some visionary people believe there is a foundation for cooperation between us!”
“Cooperation?” Urenia deliberately paused, as if pondering the meaning of the word, and then slowly said, “Want to talk cooperation? Fine. Then come find me in Gree City, and we will talk face-to-face.” He emphasized the words “come find me,” taking a very high stance.
“As for the time…” Urenia deliberately stretched his tone, with an air of superiority, “My schedule is very full, you know, rebuilding a state is not easy. However, for the sake of ‘old friends,’ I can squeeze out some time. But remember this, Samuel, show your sincerity. I’m not one of those politicians in Washington you can fob off with empty promises, nor do I have time to play guessing games with you. If your ‘cooperation’ remains just words, or if you have any hidden agendas, next time, you won’t even be able to make this call, understand?”
“I understand.” Samuel’s voice lowered, tinged with a sense of suppressed humiliation, but mostly a helpless compromise in the face of reality, “I will arrange for it soon, bringing sincerity to meet you in Gree City.”
“Good. Contact me when you arrive. Goodbye, Mr. Samuel.” Urenia finished speaking and decisively hung up the phone without waiting for a response from the other side.
Listening to the busy signal coming through the receiver, Urenia slowly leaned back in his makeshift chair, exhaling a long breath of stale air.
He lit a Mexico-made cigar, the spicy smoke inhaled into his lungs, bringing a sense of stimulation.
He knew that vultures like Samuel Rockwell, who could sense the change in wind direction and attempt to gamble early in the new order, were certainly not just one.
Little Bush’s reckless actions in the White House had already completely torn apart the already fragile consensus within the United States’ ruling elite.
And he, Angel Urenia, a person once regarded as a traitor by former colleagues, had now become someone they had to curry favor with, even plead with.
This feeling… was really damn good.
…
Listening to the merciless busy signal coming through the receiver, Samuel Rockwell’s facial muscles twitched violently a few times. He slammed the satellite phone in his hand onto the ground, and the expensive custom phone shattered instantly, pieces scattering everywhere.
“F**k! That Mexican dog! What is he so proud about!” Samuel growled, veins bulging on his forehead as his chest heaved with anger.
He felt he had never suffered such humiliation in his life, especially from someone he once could handle easily, who now turned into a “leader” and a traitor!
In the study, the atmosphere was heavy.
But it wasn’t just Samuel sitting there. His father, the family head, Old Rockefeller, and several of his brothers, sat around with serious expressions.
Though Old Rockefeller was advanced in age, his back remained straight. His gray-blue eyes appeared deep, reflected by the flickering flames of the fireplace. He quietly listened to his youngest son’s outburst, with no waves on his face, until Samuel stopped, panting. Then he spoke in his usual calm tone:
“Samuel, control your emotions. Even being a dog, you should see whose dog you are being. Is it the same to be a guard dog for a beggar about to starve or a hunting dog for an emperor holding the power of life and death?”
He leaned slightly forward, his gaze locking onto his son’s face, “Put away your unnecessary temper. Now, we are the ones in need of help; we need to find a way out with him, even a new step up. Recognize your position.”
Samuel was pricked with a guilty conscience by his father’s gaze, and the anger that had nowhere to vent was forcibly suppressed, making his chest feel stuffy. He could only slump back into the high-backed armchair, his fingers unconsciously picking at the expensive mahogany armrest.
Old Rockefeller shifted his gaze from Samuel, scanning over each of his sons present. Their faces were filled with anxiety, unwillingness, and even a trace of undisguised fear.
He slowly continued, “Little Bush, that Texan cowboy, is increasingly dissatisfied with us. He feels we are holding him back, that we are ‘not patriotic enough.’
He said mockingly, “He thinks we are deliberately dragging our feet in arms supply and have reservations about subscribing to the ‘Patriot Bonds.’ Especially those key companies under us—”
Old Rockefeller paused, naming several entities capable of influencing the U.S. defense and energy lifelines, “He implied that the next-generation main battle tank production line of ‘Rockwell-Martin’ should be ‘nationalized’ to ensure frontline supplies. There are also several financial institutions we control through Switzerland and the Cayman Islands, and the Treasury Department has begun hinting at requesting us to voluntarily disclose all overseas assets for ‘war loans’…”
Each point spoken made the other Rockwell family members’ faces grow paler.
These were the family’s foundations, the core interests accumulated over generations. Little Bush’s actions were no mere pressure but blatant seizure.
“He is driving us to a dead end!
“Samuel’s eldest brother, Richard, known for his steadiness, couldn’t help but stand up abruptly, his voice hoarse with excitement, “Father, we cannot sit and wait for death! But going to Gree City is too dangerous. You only recently had heart surgery and cannot risk it! Let me go, I will represent the family to negotiate with Urenia!”
Old Rockefeller lifted his eyelid, glancing at this nominal heir of his, with a barely perceptible trace of disappointment in his eyes. Richard had courage and responsibility, but in the face of such a tectonic shift, he seemed somewhat lacking in perspective.
He failed to see the deeper significance of this meeting; it was not just a negotiation but a gesture, a significant probing.
His gaze slowly moved over his other sons; some remained silent, some had flickering eyes, while others, like Samuel, carried unextinguished anger.
A surge of immense fatigue and sorrow filled him. He had fathered more than ten sons, devoting resources to nurture them, hoping they would continue the glory of the Rockefeller family in this New Continent. Yet now, facing a crisis unseen in a hundred years, none possessed the insight and resolve needed to turn the tide.
He sighed softly, a sigh that seemed particularly heavy in the silent study as if it bore the end of an era.
“Someone must die on the road to preserving the family.” Old Rockefeller’s voice was soft but struck everyone’s heart like a hammer. “If my death can earn the family a place in the new order, then the trip to Gree City is worth it. If I simply die on the road, at least it shows we tried to struggle, instead of sitting in New York, this grand tomb that might soon be destroyed by a storm, waiting for others to take everything from us.”
He gestured to stop Richard, who was about to persuade further, his gaze becoming firm again: “No more words needed, do what needs to be done.”
The sons exchanged looks and nodded softly.
…
