Chapter 1545: Chapter 719: You Just Haven’t Been Beaten Yet!
As Michoacán trembled under an iron-fisted raid, the temporary command center in the capital, Morelia, saw the audit team’s pen finally track the tangled web of funds and customs docunts to target a “key objective” in Sakapu Town (Zacapu).
The “Hernandez Family” and their “New Continent Foreign Trade Company”!
On the surface, this company was engaged in daily goods and appliance import-export between xico City and Sakapu, with seemingly flawless accounts.
Yet, under the microscope of the audit office professionals, deliberately blurred product categories, declared values drastically inconsistent with transport costs, and frequent, large abnormal monetary flows all pointed to the company’s true business—smuggling.
Weapons, ammunition, controlled chemical precursors, and even “small parcels” discreetly shipped for certain “special clients” flowed silently into Michoacán through their channels.
This family has been entrenched in Sakapu for decades, with tangled connections; the old mayor of the town is the brother-in-law of the family head, and they even placed a distant nephew in the state police departnt.
They believed their roots were deep and their influence vast, even during a ti of great scrutiny, only temporarily restraining themselves, thinking that the storm couldn’t touch their “small temple.”
They were wrong.
Felix, with solid evidence and a preliminary network sorted out, didn’t hesitate. He didn’t notify local police, bypassed the possibly infiltrated state police system.
“Two battalions, night raid, target Sakapu Town, Hernandez Family manor, take down every single person on the list!”
In the dead of night, Sakapu Town was silent, save for the occasional barking of dogs. On the town’s edge, the expansive, brightly lit Hernandez Family manor was like an independent kingdom.
Suddenly, the low rumble of engines shattered the night’s tranquility.
Military trucks and armored personnel carriers, like predators in the night, silently and swiftly surrounded the manor.
Fully-ard soldiers leapt off, beams of tactical flashlights piercing the darkness, locking onto every entrance of the manor.
“Action!”
No warning.
What need is there for warning?
Demolitionists directly blasted open the manor’s lavishly decorated main gate with explosives.
“Boom—!”
The loud noise startled the entire manor.
“What’s going on?!”
“What’s going on??? Who the hell knows what’s going on!”
“Who’s attacking?!”
“Quick! Call the police!”
Chaos erupted within the manor.
Soldiers poured in like a tide, precisely controlling every room, corridor, and vantage point; resistance was weak, with several bodyguards trying to draw guns imdiately shot down with precision.
Family mbers, rudely awakened from their dreams, were dragged out in pajamas, faces of terror, cries and curses rang out in unison.
The family head, Diego Hernandez, a man over fifty, bloated and only wearing a silk robe, was dragged out of the master bedroom by two soldiers.
He struggled, disbelief and rage written across his face, yelling at the leading lieutenant officer:
“What are you doing?! Do you know who I am?! Let go! I am a legitimate businessman! I know your Commander Espinoza! I know State Governnt Secretary-General Rodriguez! You’ve got the wrong people! Let go! I want to make a call! This is illegal!”
The leading lieutenant grabbed Diego’s collar.
“Do you know Jesus?”
This left the other party stunned.
“It’s useless who you know now.” He shoved Diego hard and commanded the soldiers, “Take everyone on the list! No one is to be left out!”
The soldiers moved rapidly; whether they were elderly collapsed in fear, screaming won, or youth trying to hide, as long as they were on the list, they were roughly handcuffed and shoved into waiting military trucks.
The entire operation was clean and swift. In less than forty minutes, over 70 mbers of the Hernandez Family, along with several core bodyguards and company accountants, were all rounded up and cramd into sealed cabins like sardines in a can.
The convoy didn’t return to town nor head to any known police station or military camp but drove directly into the pitch-black wilderness outside town.
The wheels rolled over gravel roads, finally stopping by a dried riverbed nad “El Arroyo Creek.”
Soldiers jumped out of the vehicles, forcibly driving everyone out. Over seventy people were herded, gathered into a relatively flat sandy area in the center of the riverbed.
They looked disheveled, shivering in fear at the gun-toting soldiers around them.
Diego Hernandez seed to have realized sothing; his last psychological defense crumbled entirely, and he scread hysterically: “No! You can’t do this! I have money! I’ll give you money! Release my family! Everything was done by ! It’s got nothing to do with them, I beg you, follow the law! Judge us! You can’t do this!”
Oh wow, now you know to want the law.
I talked law with you, you played tricks with , now OJBK, flip the table, nobody’s playing anymore, now you’re afraid.
No one paid attention to him.
Several soldiers unemotionally lifted two M60 general-purpose machine guns, swiftly setting them up on a dirt slope by the creek, the ominous barrels aid at the huddled crowd below.
Crying, pleading, cursing erupted like a terrifying night-ti scene… right out of a horror movie.
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