He emerged from the interrogation room.
Casare's face still bore a look of shock.
The information divulged by Raul Salinas was utterly mind-shattering.
He pressed the button on his radio.
Zzzzt~
After some interference, Raul's voice came through.
"The Salinas Family had been cooperating with Aviles, the very first drug lord of Mexico, 50 years ago, when my father was still a member of parliament."
...
"We were getting more than 1.6 million US Dollars a year in revenue back in 1967, and with that money, we bribed other officials and steadily expanded the family's power."
"We weren't the first to collaborate with drug traffickers, but we won't be the last either, Mexico is beyond saving! Beyond saving! Beyond saving!"
...
"We never care who is in charge of the Mexican Drug Cartels, as long as our cut doesn't decrease each year. Whoever can make money for us is the leader!"
...
"And do you really think it's only us behind this drug trafficking group? Impossible! Ha ha..." Raul Salinas's mocking laughter emanated from the radio, like a duck's quack, "Besides us, there are Americans! We work for them...the CIA is..."
He didn't finish his sentence when a series of thuds were heard.
That was the boss knocking him out.
The General's voice, detached, came from the radio, "Cut out that last line."
Casare's brows trembled intensely as he remembered Raul lifting his head, staring at them with dead eyes — he knew then that he must be telling the truth.
His own family had also been farmers.
As a child, he watched his father sigh over their fields, unable to understand why the golden, appetizing corn couldn't fetch a good price.
As he grew up, he came to realize — Mexico serves as America's dumping ground, and local farmers could only plant other cash crops. Yet, he still harbored aspirations for that country.
Because...
It was paradise.
He had naively hoped to live to 100 to receive the insurance payout, then emigrate to the United States, where his descendants could become Americans. But now you're telling me that the country of my dreams is engaging in such deeds?
Suddenly, it felt as though the entire sky had collapsed.
...
Raul Salinas was kidnapped in broad daylight at a Mexico City café, an incident known by almost all the important figures.
And three days later.
On the outskirts of a small village near Mexico City, someone discovered a male corpse tied to a tree, with a message written on it: Please respect the law! Respect the civilians!
The farmers were terrified and hastily called the police. When the police arrived, they realized the corpse was none other than Raul Salinas.
They reported the matter immediately.
Carlos didn't come, but his secretary did. Looking at the nearly decomposed body, even the secretary couldn't help but hold his nose.
"He's been dead for about three days, and he obviously suffered abuse before dying," the forensic examiner said.
The Secretary-General sighed deeply. Things were really going south.
Just as he was about to leave, the police captain stopped him and handed him a letter, "This was found on Mr. Raul's body, I haven't looked at it."
Provocation?
The secretary raised his eyebrows, but being a germaphobe, he took out a disposable glove from his briefcase and accepted the letter.
Upon returning to the Official Residence.
In the office.
Carlos Salinas, with his back to the door, eyes fixed on the family portrait on the wall where the three brothers were shoulder to shoulder, smiling happily. Back then, Carlos Salinas still had hair.
"Sir," the secretary called softly.
"What is it?" Carlos Salinas asked, voice trembling despite trying to suppress it, clearly clutching at straws of hope.
"It's Mr. Raul Salinas."
Carlos let out a long sigh...
"There's also a letter, found on his body." The secretary placed it on the table, and seeing no response, slowly retreated out.
As the door closed, the office darkened.
Carlos Salinas looked up, he was actually in tears? He walked to the desk and opened the envelope, his hands trembling.
On it was written a single sentence: Please die along with your drugs, don't cry, you're next. — Nemesis!
Only an idiot would leave a real name.
"Victor!" Carlos clenched his fist, crushing the piece of paper, feeling the mockery washing over him, clenching his teeth.
...