Working as a police officer in Mexico

Mexico City.

Popovich rarely attended events.

He welcomed the delegation of investors from the United States.

But his expression was very stiff…

His younger brother, Aldous Wendell, stood beside him with his head lowered, appearing somewhat at a loss and still displaying a faint trace of a slap on his face, glancing sideways at his elder brother, hardly daring to breathe loudly.

This guy had directly signed contracts with over a dozen companies in Washington, U.S.A, such as granting the Fed exclusive agency rights to Mexican currency, including putting up the central railways, subways, and airports as mortgages to the renowned American company, JPMorgan!

It wasn't yet known as JPMorgan Chase, as it hadn't merged yet.

Centex Corporation acquired a vast tract of land—from Mexico City to the neighboring town of Isipata—spending a total of… 2.2 million US dollars!!!

Approximately 70 square kilometers of land!

Roughly 3 US dollars per square kilometer.

This couldn't even be considered a bargain price, it was practically given away.

It couldn't possibly be this cheap.

And this was near Mexico City!

This real estate company would build a "Mexican-American community" here, introducing the HOA system, primarily for developing residential areas exclusively for white people.

Yes, that familiar term: racial segregation!

In this new white community, Americans had their own police stations, taxation systems, and even independent military!

No sane person would agree to this.

This had essentially turned Mexico into a semi-colony…

It was like a piece of dogskin plaster stuck on one's rear, impossible to scrub off.

Mexican judiciary bodies could not file cases against Americans, and without a special invitation, Mexicans could not enter this area.

That same Aldous Wendell agreed to all of these outrageous conditions!

Popovich had already thought…

Once Victor went south and it was time to rewrite history, he definitely had to brand him a "traitor."

It would be odd if he weren't furious. If it weren't for this being his own younger brother, he'd have killed him right there.

But as the contract was written, it wouldn't be easy to back out.

The Americans were all smiles now, but if you were to upset them, if they couldn't deal with Victor, couldn't they deal with you, Popovich?

"Play the national anthem! Raise the flag!"

Everyone in the square stood up, and the American representatives also respectfully stood, barely concealing their grins.

As the passionate music played, the tune "Mexicans, Answer the Call of War" resounded amongst the crowd, a song set against the backdrop of the US-Mexico War.

Mexico faced the reality of ceding much of its territory, and nationalistic fervor surged within the country. President Antonio López de Santa Anna announced a national competition to gather new national anthem lyrics. The poet Francisco Gonzalez Bocanegra wrote the lyrics, and Jaime Nuno Roca composed the music, expressing the people's outrage!

But at this event…

A shameless song of martyrs played!

Some high-ranking officials from the Institutional Party below felt ashamed, their heads bowed, their right palms facing down on their left chests, and tears seeped out.

Not everyone was a traitor.

The Americans...

Once again stood in Mexico City, proclaiming "victory"!

Bang!

Suddenly, a crisp sound followed by gasps, a stunned Popovich frantically looked up, only to feel a gust of wind come through, causing the flagpole to topple over!

It broke in the middle!

"It broke! It broke, get out of the way!!"

"Ah!! Run!!!"

The several dozen-pound flagpole crashed down, striking two spectators who hadn't managed to run far, literally exploding their heads, which wasn't an exaggeration.

"Help...help!!" A woman kneeled on the ground, trembling as she covered a young victim's head, crying loudly.

Popovich went white as a sheet in an instant, shuddering and collecting himself, "Quick! Save them!"

He collapsed in his chair.

His right eyelid quivered as if powered by an engine.

This didn't seem like a good omen.

He felt extremely uneasy inside.

The "meeting" at the square also ended in a farcical manner, as Popovich had no choice but to accommodate the Yanks.

He shook hands with Lisa Halman, a close friend of Diane Rodham from the Democratic Party, also a member of the presidential campaign team.

This woman looked at Popovich, her face adorned with a fake smile, "Don't worry, with the U.S. Military's intervention and help, Victor will at least not heavily bomb Mexico City."

Seeing her hypocritical smile, Popovich felt a bit nauseated!

He even thought that if Victor knew there was an "American Concession" here, he might be even more displeased!

He might even drop some bombs!

"Let's hope so."

"I have other matters, I will have my brother take good care of you."

Lisa Halman smiled and nodded politely, watching Popovich leave. As this guy stepped down the stairs, he missed a step, tumbling clumsily from the third step from the bottom.

As people around helped him up, there was no blood, but a large bump swelled on his head, the pain secondary to his embarrassment.

"Doctor! Call a doctor…" a bodyguard yelled beside.

"What doctor! Let's go!"

Popovich scolded the security guard and fled, clutching his head. Hadn't he been embarrassed enough?

It was like being a defeated dog.