Casare returned to the National Palace, and before the car had come to a complete stop, he jumped out and walked straight to Victor's office.
In the deep of night, his heavy footsteps echoed.
At the corner of the top floor, he met the Deputy Director of the Special Service and personal guard: Rohus Mishi, who whispered to him, "The Supreme Leader isn't in the best mood, be careful yourself."
Casare nodded, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. After hearing "come in" from inside, he pushed the door open. It was very dark inside; Victor was not sitting behind the desk but was standing by the large floor-to-ceiling window, looking at the sparse lights of Mexico outside.
He was wearing a simple shirt, his figure appearing somewhat solitary in the dim light.
Casare closed the door and stood at the entrance, his voice low: "Boss."
"Is it done?"
"Yes, Tatiana committed suicide."
Victor did not turn around; only his shoulders seemed to tense slightly.
After a few seconds, he slowly opened his mouth, his voice showing little emotion: "She... chose it herself?"
"Yes." Casare answered cleanly, hesitated a moment, "Cuauhtémoc is somewhat falling apart."
Hearing this, Victor finally turned around, his face expressionless but something extremely complex surged in his eyes—fatigue, regret, even a fleeting bewilderment—ultimately settling into a profound heaviness.
He remained silent, walked to the desk, his fingers unconsciously tracing the tabletop.
"Noted." He finally uttered these three words, his voice somewhat hoarse.
Casare looked at him, hesitated for a moment, but still asked the important question: "Boss, Cuauhtémoc… how to handle it?"
Victor's gaze fell to a picture frame on the corner of the desk, containing a photo of the three of them—Victor, Casare, Cuauhtémoc—in front of the Tijuana Governor's Office, full of youthful vigor and smiling brightly, the background showing the remnants of smoke from recent battles. His fingertips lingered on the frame for a moment.
That was their first photo together after conquering the major fortress in the North.
"Let him rest." Victor's voice regained its usual calmness, but with a decisive firmness, "Relieve him from all his duties, he needs time."
Casare nodded, not surprised by this decision.
Victor picked up the frame, his fingertips rubbing the cold glass surface, looking at Cuauhtémoc's smile in the photo, his gaze growing deeper and elusive.
"Why?" He seemed to be asking Casare, asking himself, and asking the past within the photo, "Why must it always be this way? Is position really more important than the road we walked together, the blood we shed?" He paused, his voice carrying an indescribable exhaustion and timelessness, "Mexico… it outweighs us all, sitting in that position is not about enjoying life."
He put down the frame, letting out an inaudible sigh.
Casare stood silently, understanding the weight in Victor's words. This wasn't a false sentiment; it was the genuine perplexity and heaviness faced by those at the pinnacle of power over betrayal and loss.
"People change, Boss." Casare said softly.
Victor looked up at him, nodded, "Arrange a quiet place for him to rest, with dignity. Let Mexico remember their contribution, not the ending."
"Meeting tomorrow, all ministerial-level must attend."
"Understood." Casare accepted the order, turned, and left the office, gently closing the door.
In the room, only Victor remained, along with the photo on the desk that captured the friendship of old brothers. He picked it up again, staring at it for a long time.
…
The next day, the ministerial meeting at the National Palace started on time.
Victor sat at the chief position, without any preamble, directly addressing the main topic: "First resolution: Due to health reasons, Cuauhtémoc will suspend all related duties effective immediately, to be handled temporarily by the Minister of Education, Anatoly Lunacharsky."
As his words fell, the meeting room instantly descended into silence, several ministers involved with Tatiana turned pale, their eyes flustered, shifting uneasily in their seats.
After he announced the resolution, he didn't immediately proceed to the next agenda item but leaned slightly forward, hands crossed on the table, his gaze slowly sweeping across each seated minister, the air in the meeting room seeming to solidify, everyone sensing an invisible pressure.
Victor's eyes finally rested on those with flickering gazes, his tone low but imbued with indisputable strength: "Now, there are some things we need to have a good talk about."
Before his words finished, the meeting room door quietly opened, Director of Internal Affairs Bureau George Smiley entered with several stern-faced staff, walking straight to Victor's side, slightly bowed, handed over a list: "Supreme Leader, the list has been confirmed."
Victor did not take the list, only slightly lifted his chin, indicating a gesture.
The Internal Affairs Bureau Director understood, turned to face the ministers on both sides of the long table, opened the list, his voice cold as metal, devoid of inflection:
"Deputy Minister Jose Mendoza."
The named Deputy Treasury Minister's face instantly turned ashen, lips quivering, instinctively wanting to stand up to defend himself.
"Deputy Minister Carlos Rodriguez."
The Deputy Minister of Safety Affairs' forehead instantly broke into cold sweat, hands tightly clenched into fists on his knees, fingers turning white.
"Director Emilio Sanchez."
The Director of the National Oil Company Management Bureau visibly stiffened, terror filling his gaze.