Capítulo 1452: Chapter 689: You Really Have a Problem with This?
In the following two days, representatives of the Garrett family, the Johnson family, and several other important power families from Texas also arrived one after another.
They were greeted with the sa high-level reception, personally welcod by senior officials from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and stayed at the most luxurious hotel near Constitution Plaza.
Their schedule was packed and highly aningful. Accompanied by staff in crisp uniforms, these visitors from Texas toured the historic center of xico City in a luxury bus.
But the most important part of their itinerary was visiting the “xico Anti-Drug morial” located near Paseo de la Reforma and the towering “Anti-Drug Hero Monunt”.
Inside the morial, under eerie lighting, were displayed photos showing the horrific consequences of drug trafficking, various confiscated weapons, and the personal effects and nas of soldiers and police officers who sacrificed their lives in the war against drug lords.
The guide’s voice was deep and compelling, narrating the grueling struggle of the xican people against drug cri over the past decades, emphasizing the current governnt’s unwavering resolve to “eradicate this cancer and restore order”.
The solemn atmosphere of the Anti-Drug Hero Monunt and the countless inscribed nas further ford a silent yet imnsely powerful deterrence.
These power players, accustod to wielding influence in Texas, found the atmosphere palpably oppressive as they walked through these halls.
Many among them had family businesses that were intricately linked with border smuggling, the black market for energy, and even drug trafficking.
They were shrewd individuals—how could they not see through these tactics?
The idea was to make them learn their lesson.
Evening, July 11, 1995.
The largest banquet hall in the National Palace—Golden Hall (Salón Dorado).
The enormous crystal chandeliers illuminated the entire hall as if it were daylight.
The long dining table was covered with a snowy white tablecloth, adorned with glittering silver cutlery and crystal glasses. Waiters, dressed in neatly pressed uniforms, moved swiftly among the guests.
The power players from Texas were dressed in their most formal evening gowns or tailcoats, while their companions wore their most precious jewels, yet everyone’s expressions appeared sowhat unnatural.
Led by the ushers, they found seats marked with their nas, each sitting straight and upright as if they were attending a crucial exam rather than a banquet.
Their conversations were kept to a low murmur, filled with caution and scrutiny in their gaze.
The evening began with a brief toast from President Lunaczarski, who once again, on behalf of xico and its people, expressed welco and gratitude to the “esteed friends”.
Then, the banquet comnced.
There were ticulously arranged performances during the al.
The xico National Folkloric Ballet perford the passionate Jarabe dance, and Mariachi bands played lodious traditional tunes.
Yet neither the joyous music nor the vibrant skirts of the dancers could truly dispel the invisible tension lingering among the Texas guests.
They all knew that the real protagonist of this banquet had yet to make an appearance.
Halfway through the banquet, the side door opened, and the music lowered suitably.
Victor appeared.
His steps were steady, with a slight smile on his face, instantly drawing the attention of the entire room, causing the atmosphere in the Golden Hall to montarily freeze before a more enthusiastic applause erupted.
Cole Brelock was the first to rise and extend his hand, “Mr. Victor, good evening!”
Victor paused, shook his hand with a asured grip, his smile unchanged, “Cole, I hope the banquet hasn’t disappointed you.”
“Of course not!” Cole hurriedly replied, his tone almost anxious.
Victor nodded slightly, his gaze shifting to the others beside him, offering only a slight nod without lingering.
Eventually, he walked to the main table to his seat, and the atmosphere of the banquet seed to regain so sense of “normalcy,” yet that intangible pressure continued to loom over the entire Golden Hall.
These power players from Texas understood that the real mont determining their fate would co after the feast.
The banquet concluded promptly at nine o’clock.
The waiters began to quietly clear the tableware, while the guests followed prearranged cues, rising in small groups for pleasantries and preparing to leave.
“Mr. Brelock, Mr. Garrett, Mr. Johnson…” spoke the staff mber politely, “Mr. Victor wishes to have a brief private eting with you, please follow .”
The nad core family mbers felt a simultaneous shiver in their hearts, exchanging a knowing glance—the real show was about to start.
They were led through luxurious carpeted corridors to a relatively small yet more private study deep within the National Palace.
The room was lined with towering bookshelves, and the air slled of cigars and old books.
Inside the room, Victor sat on a high-backed single sofa, while President Anatoly Lunacharsky stood behind a massive desk, his expression slightly solemn.
The few power players from Texas stood firm, the room’s atmosphere so oppressive it was almost suffocating.
President Lunacharsky cleared his throat and spoke first, his tone officially mild:
“Gentlen, first of all, thank you again for the tough and wise choices you’ve made for the peace and stability of the Texas region. xico will not forget the contributions of friends.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the group, “And for this reason, to maintain this peace and stability in the long term and to avoid future misunderstandings and chaos, there are so matters we need to clarify together.”
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