Working as a police officer in Mexico

Yucatan Island.

National Palace.

The seat of the Southern Drug Dealer Government regime. To show their so-called legitimacy—or perhaps their defiance toward Victor—they had also named their institution the National Palace.

And the interior was extravagantly luxurious!

A suffocating air of decadence filled the space, with a giant poppy flower sculpted entirely out of nearly a hundred kilograms of gold prominently displayed in the center of the hall. It was the epitome of excess and depravity.

If Victor saw it, his eyes would absolutely light up.

The drug traffickers were just ridiculously wealthy!

Top floor.

President Elvis Salinas sat pale-faced in his chair, his arms limp, bloodshot eyes staring blankly at the chaotic mess on the floor—scattered documents, cigarette ashes, even shattered glass.

He... he had been abandoned!

Someone from The Pentagon called him, informing him of Donald's decision: The U.S. Military would no longer provide any support and would be withdrawing their advisors as well.

It was like a thunderbolt on a clear day!

The only reason he could sit in this position was because of the backing he had. Now that they were pulling out, didn't this mean...

Am I just a discarded pawn?!!

Bam!

Just as Elvis Salinas sat there panicking, at a loss for what to do, the office door was violently kicked open. Four or five armed men wielding AKs stormed in.

He instantly jumped up in fright, shouting harshly but with no real authority, "Georgia, what are you doing?"

A hulking, broad-shouldered man with a menacing face stared at him coldly, his eyes like those of a venomous snake, his voice raspy. "Elvis, stop pretending. You're finished. It's time for you to vacate the President's seat."

Georgia, the current leader of the Gulf Group and the garrison commander of Yucatan Island, had been involved in the underworld since the days when Abrego was smuggling electronics. By the time he was in his teens, he had already killed and desecrated bodies, a classic "second-generation trafficker."

A man of ruthless means and treacherous character.

He had long been displeased with Elvis Salinas as President. Now that the Americans were gone, he could rip off the mask and proclaim himself king.

"I... I..."

In his panic, Elvis blurted out, "I was elected by Congress."

The room fell silent for a moment before erupting into laughter.

Georgia yanked the AK47 in his hands and sprayed gunfire at Elvis!

"Stop!!" a furious voice shouted from behind.

But the bullets relentlessly riddled Elvis, tearing apart bookshelves and glass along the way. Elvis Salinas collapsed to his knees, then fell heavily to the ground, his glaring eyes refusing to close even in death.

Arturo Desena, nominal Defense Minister and actual overseer of Los Zetas, stormed in furiously. He shoved Georgia against the wall, the latter looking slightly humiliated at being manhandled. "You son of a bitch!"

"Go ahead, shoot me," Arturo yelled, pointing at his own head. "What the hell are you? Pulling guns and knives in my presence!"

"Who gave you permission to kill Elvis!!"

He was both angry and exhausted. Why was he surrounded by such morons?

Sure, the American withdrawal meant their "company" would struggle to keep running. But by killing the "accountant" America had sent over, wasn't that essentially telling everyone their organization was a pile of crap not to be touched?

And what would the Americans think?

They might not be able to deal with Victor, but couldn't they make trouble for the South?

The two groups glared at each other, a hair's breadth from erupting into violence.

Georgia sneered, spitting on Elvis's corpse. He glanced at Arturo Desena. "If our Gulf Group hadn't taken you in, your Los Zetas would've been blown to bits like dogs under Victor's bombardments. What are you so arrogant about?"

"Bastard! Say that again!"

"Fuck your mother! Gulf scum, dare to repeat that?"

The soldiers under Arturo Desena's command from Los Zetas cursed back angrily.

They had been pushed south from the North, having desperately defended during the "Steel Plant Battle." Their tactics were solid, but they were no match for the Northern Army's firepower, which obliterated them.

This was always a sore spot, but now, being openly ridiculed, they couldn't endure it.

"Georgia!"

"Watch your tone. Do you even realize what you're saying?"

Arturo Desena smashed a fist into the bookshelf, glaring maliciously at Georgia as if he might kill him at any moment.

In the end, Georgia backed off slightly. Shouldering past one of the Los Zetas soldiers blocking his way, he strutted away nonchalantly with his men. As he reached the door, he paused and added, "From now on, the presidency belongs to me."

Arrogant!

So fucking arrogant!

Arturo Desena's facial muscles twitched uncontrollably. Glancing at the lifeless Mr. President sprawled on the floor, he took a deep breath, but rage still pounded at his temples.

Endric Vinicius, who had rushed to the scene, jumped up in agitation upon seeing the carnage. "Why did this happen? Why??"

"What's the point of saying that now?" Arturo Desena cut him off impatiently. "Announce it to the public. Say that Elvis Salinas died suddenly of illness."

"And who will take over as President? Are we really going to let Georgia have it?"

Endric cautiously glanced at his expression and lowered his voice. "Georgia already has over 20,000 men under his command. His ambition is swelling. From the way he gunned down the President, it's clear he's not a man of principles. If we let him or his people take power, our interests will be stripped away."

"He's an idiot, without the slightest sense of the bigger picture."

"And... are you sure he won't come for us next?"