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Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 675 - 391: We Surround North America!_2
This... this isn't good.
"Of course, there's something I need to trouble you with..."
"What... what is it?"
Victor glanced at Cuauhtémoc, who was sitting beside him. The nominal President of the First Republic smiled; his injuries made his voice hoarse, beyond repair, "We need a batch of loans for building up Mexico."
Malcolm Lewis sighed in relief, thinking it was nothing serious, "No problem..."
"But we don't want to pay it back."
What?!
You're freeloading!
No, are you robbing us?
His face fell, "This is not according to the procedure, I... I'll be sued, and my limit is only 2.6 million British Pounds. Anything above that price needs headquarters' approval."
"Then we'll split it into several loans, each of 2.4 million British Pounds. That should be fine, right? After each deal, we can give you a 100,000 British Pounds commission, plus a kickback sufficient for you to move elsewhere. How does Mexico sound to you? Beautiful scenery, and we're willing to offer you protection."
Cuauhtémoc smirked, "Of course, you can also refuse, no problem. We are very democratic."
Click~
Victor next to him clicked the safety on his revolver and as it clanked crisply, Malcolm Lewis began to sweat profusely.
As the president of the North American Branch, he had the authority to give out loans. It would just involve setting up a shell company—simple, but they were dragging him into murky waters, and it terrified him.
"8 million British Pounds, that's our final concession, haha."
That amount still sent a shiver down Malcolm Lewis's spine; 8 million British Pounds—he could never earn that much on his own. Of course, his heart was stirred...
Victor and Cuauhtémoc were in no hurry, just quietly watching him.
Finally, after four or five minutes,
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He spoke up.
"I... I also need some money for the higher-ups."
If you don't take it, and I don't take it, what will Mr. Smith take?
"Of course, let's see how much money can be approved. If it's below 50 million, I can give you 5%, and above 50 million, you get 6%. You handle the money on top, how's that?" Cuauhtémoc said.
As long as he succeeded, he would be a millionaire at the very least!
For a salaried worker, nothing is undoable as long as the compensation is high, especially when you're part of a consortium that regularly makes unauthorized loans.
Every year, there were a ton of bad debts.
As long as operations were covert, what's the harm in setting up a few more shell companies? If caught, just run!
"No problem!"
"Then we have a pleasant cooperation ahead of us. I look forward to your good news. Tell Buckingham Palace, three days – if they don't give the money in three days, I'll execute the captive."
Hearing this, Malcolm Lewis trembled, nodding hurriedly before gulping down his coffee and awkwardly followed his secretary out.
The room was left with just two people.
"We seem like kidnappers," Cuauhtémoc said with a smile.
Victor stood up, took a bottle of wine with a string of English writing—unintelligible but likely expensive—from a cabinet behind him, poured the coffee into a cactus plant, then filled his glass and gestured to Cuauhtémoc who waved his hand, "Tatiana doesn't allow me to drink alcohol. I need to recuperate."
"What a good man."
Victor chuckled, "Our biggest difference from kidnappers is that they don't have firepower as fierce as ours. If possible, I would like to kidnap the Queen and sell her underwear to Amin—he seems to fancy it."
This made Cuauhtémoc laugh.
Slowly, his smile faded, and he sighed.
"Victor, Mexico is disconnecting from many countries in Europe and Latin America; even many regions label us as terrorists. It's hard to get things done because of this."
"The economic policies implemented domestically satisfy the grassroots, but other layers have a lot of hostility towards us. Some think we're engaging in communism..."
In the propaganda from Europe and America, that ideology is cannibalistic!
Although many people in Latin American region are doing it, how many have succeeded? Only Cuba, right?
And they're confined to that small piece of land.
Any hint of it elsewhere, and they'll snuff you out.
The class struggle is bloody.
Just like the Philippines, power and money are held by a hundred or so families. Where's the chance to emerge?
"Communism or capitalism, whatever makes people's lives better suits Mexico. But I know, the United States has been a long-term blood-sucker. If we don't resist, we are just their pigs, ready to be milked at their convenience. Although now we have bad relations with them, if you look closely, they're still quite decent. They have a bunch scared to wage war against us!"
"Our missiles can reach their Hua's Mansion!"
"We can collapse Wall Street's economy for three days!"
"We can force those elites, who light cigars with bills, to live in fear of our caliber."
"Do you think they dare to fight us to the death?"
"Moreover, the United States blockades us, but aren't we also blockading the United States? The cargo ships passing through the Gulf of Mexico this semester decreased by 31% compared to last year. What does that imply? In this region, we play the role of their gatekeeper. If we close the gate, their goods have to take a long detour, costing several times more. Do you think in the long run, we're offending them, or are they offending their own class?"
"We have nothing to lose, and the United States, dressed in Adidas, dare not enter a homeland skirmish with us."
"Too much money, too scared," Victor mused.
Cuauhtémoc felt this theory was indeed correct.