Capítulo 1645: Chapter 752: No One Is Irreplaceable! (Part 2)
For the United States, he lost his father’s protection, endured trendous pressure both internally and externally, and even bore the na of “Tyrant.” And now, he might have to lose his family, his last foundation and solace.
Jeb did not avoid his gaze, but that look not only contained the cold decisions of the family but also held a hint of barely perceptible pain. He knew how hurtful these words were, but this was reality—the Bush family could not sink together with George.
After a long silence, Little Bush looked up.
“Finished?”
Jeb pursed his lips and eventually nodded.
“Then get out.” Little Bush’s voice was deep and hoarse, without any emotional fluctuations. He picked up the cup of coffee, which was now slightly cool, turned around, and faced the window again, leaving his back to his brother.
Jeb looked at his brother’s back, opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say sothing, but ultimately said nothing. He silently turned around, leaving the Oval Office with heavy steps.
The door was gently closed.
When Little Bush was the only one left in the office, he still stood there, his back rigid.
He raised the coffee cup to his mouth, only to find that his hand was shaking so badly he couldn’t drink. The cup edge clashed with his teeth, making a slight “clack” sound.
Jeb Bush, filled with anger and grievances, violently pulled open the heavy wooden door of the Oval Office.
He almost stumbled out, his inner storm keeping him from calming down; he didn’t even notice the person standing outside the door.
Carl Rove, Chief of Staff, holding a stack of docunts, was evidently waiting to report to the President.
Seeing Jeb erge, especially with his livid and contorted face, he imdiately understood what had happened inside the office. Rove’s face also showed signs of weariness, the dark circles under his eyes revealing that he too was under imnse pressure. As Little Bush’s closest advisor and long-ti friend, he was almost a co-conspirator on this “crazy” path, naturally feeling hostility from all sides.
Jeb saw Rove, and the anger in his eyes instantly found a tangible target.
In his view, it was people like Rove, the “people by his side,” who day in and day out implanted those radical ideas in his brother, leading George step by step toward an abyss of breaking away from the entire capitalist world, ultimately implicating the family.
He let out a clear cold humph from his nostrils, raising his chin slightly. The inherent arrogance of a scion intertwined with the indignation of the mont, making him unwilling to even maintain basic etiquette, planning to walk past Rove indifferently.
However, just as he was about to brush past Rove, Rove subtly moved a step, blocking his path.
“Jeb.” Rove’s voice was not loud, deliberately kept calm, even carrying a touch of barely detectable fatigue.
Jeb abruptly halted his steps, his sharp gaze slashing at Rove’s face like a knife, his tone full of mockery: “What? Carl, what great advice does the Chief of Staff have? Is it to convey the next step for your President brother’s plan to settle accounts with us ‘Vampires’?”
Rove did not get angry at this obvious hostility; he just looked deeply at Jeb, his gaze complex and difficult to decipher, containing understanding, helplessness, and a deeper layer.
He gently shook his head, lowering his voice further, ensuring only the two of them could hear: “No, Jeb. In fact, regarding the relatively direct economic asures George has taken, I personally hold a reserved attitude. I oppose this crude plundering; it’s like drinking poison to quench thirst.”
“Oppose?”
Jeb seed to have heard the biggest joke, letting out a sneer, “Save your hypocrisy, Carl! Without people like you fanning the flas beside him, how would my brother have turned out like this? A madman wielding a knife at his supporters! An idiot destroying even his own base! If the Bush family sinks with this wreck…”
His emotions surged again, his chest heaving, the latter words stuck in his throat due to extre anger and a near hopeless sense of powerlessness, turning into a series of rapid breaths.
“Jeb!” Rove interrupted him, his tone abruptly turning serious and urgent. He stepped forward half a step, closing the distance with Jeb, his sharp gaze eting Jeb’s eyes, “What use is there in voicing these unproductive complaints and accusations now? Can it salvage the situation? Can it preserve your oil field and board seats?”
His words were like a basin of cold water, abruptly poured on Jeb’s head, instantly choking his fury.
Rove took the opportunity to press on, speaking quickly, his voice low as if whispering: “Listen, if I were you, I wouldn’t be wasting ti venting emotions here now but would be using all resources, trying everything to find a way out for the family—a real escape route that can preserve core strength when dropping to the worst-case scenario!”
“What do you an?”
Rove’s gaze swept through the empty corridor, ensuring there were no others, then refocused on Jeb’s face, speaking aningfully: “The xican newly appointed deputy governor in Indiana, Angel Urenia, I rember, you have a pretty good personal relationship with him? Back in the Washington club, you used to play golf together quite a bit, right?”
Jeb Bush’s pupils contracted abruptly.
Urenia! This figure, once long active in Washington’s power circle, now siding with the xicans, scorned by many as an “Arican traitor”! Rove bringing him up at this mont was a clear and earth-shattering hint!
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