Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1911: 814: You Want to Be the Boss?

Capítulo 1911: Chapter 814: You Want to Be the Boss?

July 18, 1997, xico City Olympic Sports Park, Race Track Pavilion.

The air here was completely different from other venues.

No chlorine sll from the pools, no magnesium powder scent of the gymnastics hall, and no mixed odor of sweat and plastic from the athletics track.

Here, a more primal and stimulating sll filled the air—a unique burnt sll from high-temperature tires rubbing the track, mixed with a slight sweet tang of high-octane fuel fus, alongside the scent of money and steel.

Indeed…

Watching car races is a cerebral thrill.

The oval track shimred with a dark sheen under the scorching sun, and the stands were packed, the roar of the crowd almost lifting the semi-open roof of the pavilion.

This wasn’t F1, but the first-ti Olympic demonstration event “Prototype Car Endurance Race,” rougher, more direct, and better at showing a country’s industrial design, material science, and team collaboration skills.

Victor sat in the center box of the main grandstand, with the best view and one-way glass isolating most of the noise and prying eyes. Today, he wasn’t wearing formal attire; instead, he wore a deep blue xican national team sports jacket, the zipper casually open, revealing a simple gray T-shirt underneath, looking more like a fan imrsed in the race than a backstage chess player stirring the world.

But the presence of a few others in the box made the air so heavy it could practically be wrung out.

Alain Madlan, France’s Minister of Economy, Finance and Industry.

Count Carl Heinrich von Schwarzenberg, a mber of the supervisory board of the German industrial giant “Rheintall,” and an advisor to an important committee in the Bundestag.

Luca Rossi, the senior vice president of Italy’s largest private energy company “Eni,” with countless secret ties to the Mafia, incessantly wiped his shiny forehead with a handkerchief, unsure if it was because of xico’s heat or so internal heat of restless anticipation.

Sitting next to him was Diego Alvarez, an influential board mber of Spain’s largest bank, Santander.

This guy was quite amusing.

Because Spain didn’t co this ti… but the businessn did!

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The Spanish Royal Family disliked Victor, but the rich didn’t.

Also, there were the representatives from Switzerland and Sweden, their identities more obscure, more like high-level observers, their gaze shifting between the track and Victor, with the unique calmness of Northern Europeans.

These people, over the past two days, using extrely secretive yet efficient channels, received an “unofficial but extrely important” invitation to gather in this box under the guise of “observing the Olympic car race project.” They tacitly understood it was more than just a sports viewing.

On the track, the race had reached a fever pitch.

The xican team’s streamlined, fla-painted prototype car “Feathered Serpent 7” was locked in an intense struggle with a German car and a French car. The three cars roared and chased each other on the straightaways, and in the corners, the tires screeched, sending up blue smoke, the proximity so close it was suffocating. Each overtake and retake set off a tidal wave of cheers from the supporters of the corresponding nations in the stands.

“The gentleman’s team is very aggressive.”

French Minister Madlan finally spoke, his voice rising above the muffled engine roar that even the box’s excellent soundproofing couldn’t completely block. He chose his words carefully, with a subtle French complint, “The driving style reminds of certain legendary drivers of the seventies, bold, precise, and cost no object.”

Victor’s gaze still followed the fla-painted car on the track, only offering a light smile at these words: “It’s not cost no object, Minister Madlan. It’s the optimal choice after calculating risks and benefits. Our car is lighter, the material more heat-resistant, the brake system decays 17% less in consecutive corners than our competitors’. That’s why our driver dares to brake later entering corners and opens the throttle earlier on exit. This isn’t recklessness; it’s confidence built on advantage.”

His words were calm, and Count von Schwarzenberg’s brow furrowed tighter, hearing the underlying ssage: xico was not only showcasing its sports strength but also the industrial technology possibly already ahead of its ti supporting it.

“Impressive technical strength.”

The Earl’s voice was deep, with German directness, “especially in the fields of composite materials and thermal managent. I wonder if the xican side would consider deeper cooperation with European partners in these ‘civilian technology’ areas? For instance, joint developnt?”

Victor finally took his gaze off the track, scanning the people in the box, his look calm, yet instilling an invisible pressure on everyone.

“Collaboration is, of course, welco.”

He took a sip of chilled Tequila soda in front of him, “But collaboration needs a foundation, a common cognitive foundation. Earl, do you think Europe—I’m referring to those bureaucrats in Brussels, and those lords in Paris and Berlin still imrsed in past glory—are they really ready to face a partner like xico on equal terms, or even with a learner’s mindset in so areas?”

The atmosphere in the box instantly froze.

The words were too direct, almost a slap in the face.

Italian Luca Rossi gave a dry laugh, trying to smooth things over, “Chairman, business is business, in the face of interest, so past concepts can always be adjusted. The European market is large, with deep technological accumulation, xico has vitality, new technology, and even more… an astonishing execution ability. Combining the strengths of both sides could certainly create enormous value. For example, on the diterranean energy pipeline, or the North African solar power station project…”