11 a.m.
Charles Grassley met with President Cuauhtémoc at the National Palace, expressing his desire for peace and his hope for stability in North America.
11:30 a.m., entered the closed-door talks.
With no reporters present, Charles Grassley bluntly expressed his desire to meet Supreme Leader Victor.
Casare and Cuauhtémoc exchanged a glance, and the former smiled, saying, "The negotiations will be entirely in my hands!"
Charles Grassley's eyes flashed, but he didn't insist, only smiled and nodded.
But when he saw the "Mexico 12 Treaty," he jumped up immediately.
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"
"This demand is practically splitting the United States completely. We can't accept such a treaty, officially ceding and restoring the territories seized by the U.S. in the 1848 Guadalupe Hidalgo Treaty, including but not limited to California, Nevada, Utah, most of Arizona, western New Mexico, western Colorado, southwestern Wyoming, the Panhandle of Oklahoma, and parts west of the Rio Grande in Texas. Do you know how many square kilometers of land that is?"
Charles Grassley shouted, slapping the table.
Casare was also defiant, slapping the table, "Don't you fucking scare me. I've followed the Supreme Leader in campaigns north and south. What scenes haven't I seen? Even the American paper tigers like you pretend to be your mama in front of me?"
"Don't pull me!"
Cuauhtémoc pulled at him from the side, while Casare pointed at the Yanks in front of him, "I tell you, if you don't want to sign, fine, get back, we'll fight face-to-face again, I'd like to see how many of you bastards have to die!"
!!!!!
So strong? Brother?
Wasn't it said Casare always wore a cheerful smile?
But I have to say… really MAN!
Admiral Maxwell Therman and Charles Grassley turned beet red from his confrontations.
Four years ago, Mexico was a country that could be brought to its knees with economic sanctions. Four years later, it has become more unstoppable!
Charles Grassley took a deep breath, "We have to continue talking…"
For more than eight hours following, each side took turns in the spotlight, exchanging sharp words, with neither dare to drink a sip of water, fearing they'd miss something spectacular.
7:27 p.m.
The meeting room doors opened, and a fatigued Charles Grassley emerged with the negotiating team members.
"They're out, they're out!"
A reporter shouted in the break area and dozens or even hundreds of people rushed over with their equipment. They had been here awhile too.
"Mr. Speaker, I'm from The New York Times… oh shit, don't blind me with your ceiling light!" A blonde female reporter cursed, looking back.
"Mr. Speaker, I'm from the Washington Post…"
"Here's the Daily Mail…"
Seeing so many reporters, Charles Grassley cursed inwardly, it was definitely these dog-like Mexicans who crafted this mess!
The swarm of reporters waiting, aiming to break them down psychologically.
"Thank you, please move aside." Security personnel cleared the reporters.
"Mr. Speaker, could you tell us how the talks went? Did both sides agree on a ceasefire date?"
Charles Grassley and his group remained silent with grim expressions, squeezing through to get into the car outside, heading for the state guesthouse.
A while later, only then did Casare and others exit.
The journalists readied their short guns and long cannons targeting him.
Fat Casare laughed heartily, "Don't worry. I'll answer everything, one by one."
The smile was as warm as spring, completely different from the negotiation atmosphere inside.
Cuauhtémoc stood silently by his side, yet his eyes revealed a hint of amazement. Casare was growing fast, truly becoming a very mature politician.
Meanwhile, in the United States, the journey was silent.
But Charles Grassley's expression wasn't particularly grim. Fighting for interests is work, surrendering is life, damn it, I've committed treason already, what's there to be angry about?
Surprisingly, Deputy Commander of Central Command Admiral Maxwell Therman had a similarly calm demeanor.
"Are you not angry?" Charles Grassley asked.
"Should I be angry?"
The other counterasked, looking at his astonished expression before shaking his head, "The ultimate choice isn't mine, but yours. I just expressed some anger, that's all. More importantly, if we truly want to detonate nuclear weapons, the domestic financial groups won't allow it."
These words were right.
If you detonate, Mexico detonates too, then what would our corporations earn money from?
Sell body bags?
Or sell sanitary pads?
Capital is inherently weak, and by coincidence, the United States is ruled by capital from top to bottom. Norman Schwarzkopf is just a brute who rose through force, unable to rise to the occasion, like the old ministers of the Tang Dynasty viewing Wu Zetian, thinking she was an old woman whom you could endure until she passes away, but who knew the older she got, the sharper she grew…
"Sigh." Charles Grassley sighed.
The rest of the journey was without much conversation.
After arriving at the state guesthouse, after having a meal, they returned to their rooms to rest, but Charles Grassley still tossed and turned, knowing, Victor would undoubtedly see him!
Sure enough, around ten in the evening…
There was a knock on the door, he opened it, and it was a stranger, a guesthouse attendant, "Sir, Supreme Leader wishes to see you."
"Hold on, I'll change clothes."
The attendant nodded.
Charles Grassley changed into a shirt before coming out, "Let's go."
Following him downstairs via another elevator, and there was a back door, behind which were two Cadillacs parked.
Through the car window, he vaguely saw a familiar face.
When opening the car door…
"Admiral Maxwell Therman!!!" he exclaimed in surprise.
And the latter's expression was also difficult, squeezing out a smile, "Mr. Speaker."
Charles Grassley sat down with a richly expressive face.
Good God…
You slap tables threatening to bomb Mexico, and I thought you were some righteous figure, turns out you're the same as me!
This immediately dissolved a lot of Charles Grassley's internal guilt.
Humans are such creatures…
As long as someone shares their "misfortune," they feel balanced.
The atmosphere in the car was awkward…
"Cough, cough…"
Eventually, Charles Grassley spoke first, "Um… when did you join…"
Admiral Maxwell Therman quietly understood, obviously knowing he's being asked when he defected!
"Last August."
Charles Grassley raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly, "So you're a veteran."
The remark carried a hint of sarcasm, hurting the other's heart, Maxwell fired back, "One has to run faster, or the ones behind won't even get a taste of hot shit!"
After saying it, he felt it was wrong.
Damn…
This implies running so fast is to taste some hot shit?
Charles Grassley looked at him oddly, but didn't retort.
All are traitors, who cares about timing?
Do you think you're Liu Lu, thinking sticking a sanitary pad on your mouth makes you a better person?
Both fell silent, simply watching the view outside the car.
...