Chapter 1311: Chapter 636: The World Is Wrong, Not Me!
The “disappearance” of Medellin was like a boulder thrown into the calm lake of international affairs, instantly stirring up waves.
Initially, it was just the suspicion of technicians when map service providers discovered abnormal interruptions in data flow from the Medellin area, halting satellite image updates.
Then, the Colombian Government erupted; their liaison stations and safe houses in Medellin completely lost contact, not even basic radio silence could be counted, it was an outright, frightening “blank.”
Panic spread like a plague.
“What did the Mexicans do in Medellin?!”
Phones were almost exploding at Mexico’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs, with emergency hotlines from London, Paris, Berlin, Moscow… all activated with only one target: Mexico City.
However, all they got in response was busy signals.
They angrily smashed several phones.
Dammit…
Can’t you answer the phone during a war?
People still manage to find time for hookups!
Lines at the Mexico Presidential Palace, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Department of Defense…all official external lines were busy or simply left unanswered.
This was not a technical failure but a deliberate and thorough blockade.
This intentional silence was more alarming than any statement.
Terrifying speculations were growing wildly among intelligence agencies and diplomatic circles of various countries: nuclear strikes? Large-scale biochemical weapons? Ethnic cleansing? Has Medellin been completely wiped off the map?
Damn!
Victor, damn your grandma’s leg!
All around the world, people were trying to dial that silent phone, attempting to pierce through the fog of radio silence enveloping Medellin.
As chaos unfolded outside, Victor’s convoy drove into a heavily guarded, tranquil manor in the suburbs of Mexico City.
After sending his wife back to the National Palace, he and Casare arrived here.
On the surface, it appeared to be a high-end sanatorium, but in reality, it was the highest-level detention place, the Sini District Manor!
Victor stopped in front of a heavy solid wood door, and Casare silently opened it for him.
The room was spacious and bright, tastefully decorated, but it had an isolated air.
Cuauhtémoc sat in an armchair by the window, his back to the door, gazing out at the meticulously trimmed, but lifeless garden.
He wore casual clothes, his figure still tall, but the aura of controlling everything was gone, leaving only a heavy sense of twilight.
Victor entered the room, and the door gently closed behind him.
He remained silent, simply standing in the center of the room, his gaze fixed on Cuauhtémoc’s back, as a suffocating weight filled the air.
Casare stood at the door like a shadow, eyes cast downward.
After an indeterminate amount of time, Cuauhtémoc’s dry voice sounded without turning: “Victor, why have you come, to…see your old friend?” His words carried not extreme anger but deep exhaustion and calmness. He raised his head, “I’m like a bird trapped and losing freedom here now.”
His words sounded somewhat uncomfortable.
Victor’s expression showed no fluctuations; his voice was equally calm, “Tatiana chose her path, a path leading to destruction. She believed flying your banner could shake the foundation, naive!! childish!!”
Cuauhtémoc’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
He slowly turned around, his once eagle-sharp eyes now bloodshot, staring at Victor intensely, filled with complexity, pain, and questioning, finally turning into one sentence, “She…just wanted to help me…” he said in a hoarse voice.
Victor’s voice suddenly elevated, like a drawn blade, slicing through the stillness of the room: “Help you? With rebellion?!!”
He took a fierce step forward, pointing out the window:
“This is our Mexico! The Mexico we bled and fought to painstakingly rebuild from ruins!”
Victor’s chest heaved violently, “Under your banner, she incited rebellion, fractured the nation, shook the foundation! Is this helping you?! What does Tatiana want to help you with? Helping you regain the presidency? You already are one! Or gaining more power?! You’re already the third-most powerful person in this country! Above all! What more do you want?!”
“What the hell is in your head!”
He approached Cuauhtémoc, his sharp eyes seemingly penetrating the twilight at the depth of Cuauhtémoc’s soul: “Is it that chair in the Presidential Palace? Or the highest balcony of the National Palace?! Tell me! Cuauhh! How great is your ambition? So great that you want to watch this country plunge back into the flames of civil war, watch everything we once fought for crumble to pieces, to be satisfied?!”
Victor’s roars echoed in the luxurious room, shaking the air as if trembling.
Cuauhtémoc’s face was extremely unpleasant, Victor’s stark questioning was like knives, shattering his last pitiful excuses and self-deceptions.
His lips quivered, but he couldn’t produce any sound.
“Wake up!!!” Victor shouted, “It’s just ambition!”
In this moment of tension.
“Boss.” Casare’s steady voice abruptly broke the suffocating silence.
Victor quickly turned his head toward him.
Casare lowered his voice, yet it was exceptionally clear: “Colombian Government’s emergency hotline, direct from the President’s office, managed to bypass our shielding to connect to me after much struggle; they’re very urgent, repeatedly inquiring about the situation in Medellin.”