Working as a police officer in Mexico

Michael Galle's mouth twitched—this feeling of being disdained filled him with humiliation!

"Enough, go back. Don't let me catch you playing both sides, or else there are plenty of people waiting to take your spot as a minister!"

Donald's gaze carried an unmistakable warning.

Michael Galle left with a sullen face. As he departed, he gave the trash can near the door a hard kick. Standing at the top of the stairs, he waited for the Navy Department, Air Force Department, and others to come up before jumping out to confront them.

"You scared me, Michael. What exactly are you doing?" The Navy Department chief frowned and asked.

"Do you really think it's fine for an old man like him to sit above us? He treats us with utter disrespect. Even if we hold lower ranks than him, we still have our dignity. Can you stomach him abandoning our nation's interests just like that?"

Michael Galle became increasingly agitated. "How much money and manpower have we poured into the Southern drug traffickers? And now he wants to abandon it all, just because of a single threat? F***ing hell!"

He stomped his foot in frustration. "He's old, too old—somewhat cowardly and overly cautious now. At this stage, it's time for him to step down and let others take the stage. And moreover..."

"I've heard that his granddaughter is dating Victor. Don't you Intelligence Bureau guys know about this?"

He turned his ire on the Directors of the National Security Bureau, the Defense Intelligence Agency, the National Geospatial Intelligence Agency, and the National Reconnaissance Office. "Why is someone like him still our defense minister?"

"Enough!"

Ben Kofman from the National Security Bureau bellowed impatiently, "If you disapprove of Defense Minister Donald, you can go to Parliament and impeach him. Stop trying your petty tricks on us here."

Go to Parliament and impeach him?

Get publicly humiliated by the old man?

Michael Galle's face twitched, but he managed to spit out one sentence: "You'll regret this." Then he stormed off with a dark expression.

"There are always people who think too highly of themselves, believing they're the smartest in the room. If another US-Mexico War breaks out, who'll charge into the fray first? Would he step up and lead the way?" Ben Kofman scoffed coldly, "What a fool."

The meeting ended in discord, while, in the office—

Donald retrieved a brand-new phone from his drawer, tore off its packaging, inserted a SIM card, and then made a private call to Victor.

"Hello~" A lazy voice came from the other end.

The old Defense Minister let out a couple of low grunts. "It seems our esteemed General Victor has been enjoying all the adulation so much he's still lying in bed."

There was silence on the other end for a moment before a chuckle came through. "Mr. Donald, my subordinates are quite competent. They manage military and local government affairs thoroughly. Compared to the idiots and cronies in the Pentagon and the White House, my life is, naturally, much more comfortable."

A direct jab.

Donald couldn't come up with a retort. After all, the White House was indeed filled with slackers and even interns...

"I'm not here to trade barbs with you. I just wanted to remind you about the dangers of intercontinental missiles…"

"No need to remind me. Those things are harmless if no one covets our interests. Then, they're merely hunks of scrap metal. But if someone doesn't want us to live peacefully, then it's mutual destruction. Some things might not need to be used, but they must at least exist. Wouldn't you agree?" Victor rose, phone in hand, stretched lazily, and drew the curtains open. The green hills and clear waters outside reflected strikingly before his eyes.

It lifted his spirits considerably, though his head still throbbed a little. After wrapping up work yesterday, he'd slept straight through until now, yet he had a nagging feeling that he'd missed something important.

"What do you want?" The old man fell silent briefly before asking.

Victor chuckled with satisfaction.

"Just make the arrangements as you see fit. After all, in the future, I'll be calling you grandfather just like Belsaria does. You wouldn't want your grandson's country to end up without any benefits, would you?"

Grandson?

Country?

Donald's face twitched, and he squinted. "Are you saying you'll let Belsaria's son inherit Mexico?"

"The child born between Belsaria and me would be the rightful heir. Of course, if you'd like, I could ensure at least two sons, one of whom would bear the surname Rumsfeld."

It was an all-too-familiar tactic.

Doesn't it resemble what Liu Che said to his beloved aunt before becoming Emperor? "If I marry Ah Jiao, I'll house her in a palace of gold!"

This promptly flattered Princess Liu Piao of Chang'an to no end.

But everyone knows how things turned out later.

History is littered with tales of leveraging external familial power and issuing empty promises—it's an endless cycle repeating daily.

Clearly stirred, Donald couldn't help but get excited upon hearing this.

The Vieri family ruling alongside the Rumsfelds?

Oh, wow!

What a game-changer!

Humans are inherently selfish.

Especially when faced with such a tempting prospect—like a mirage, it appeared insubstantial, but Donald found himself itching for a taste.

"I'll handle it. Stay low-key for now and don't stir up any trouble. Also, the sponsorship for the Southern Alliance has been canceled. There will be no further aid. Should the need arise, I'll bolster US-Mexico military cooperation, such as intelligence sharing."

"That would be ideal."

"Hmm, don't act rashly these days."

The old man gave a few more words of caution before hanging up.

Victor smiled and promptly placed a call to Belsaria in faraway Germany. The two exchanged heartfelt sentiments. She had gone to Germany for further studies after resigning due to the media firestorm surrounding the "Media Building" incident, where one of her suitors met an untimely end.

The public pressure was intense, and the timing was perfect for her to go abroad and focus on academic growth.

Meanwhile, Victor maintained a diligent routine of two calls a day—once in the morning and once at night. Occasionally, he even flew to Mexico to see her. Women require attention and warmth; otherwise, they might just run off with someone else.

Victor was truly a master of time management.

After wrapping up the call, Victor exited his room and saw his mistress, Krista Schroeder, making breakfast. A meal was already laid out on the table, while their son lay in a baby carriage beside it. Victor walked over, pinched the little one's cheek, and was greeted with the baby's joyful giggles.