Working as a police officer in Mexico

Cuauhtémoc nodded and got into the car.

He finally understood the saying, "The rise and fall, honor and disgrace, rest on one person!"

He leaned back in his seat, "Gómez~"

The new secretary sitting in the passenger seat quickly turned his head, wearing glasses, young and alert.

"When we get back, check to see if there are any reliable imperial titles in ancient Mexico. If not, look throughout Latin America."

"??? Sir, do you want to study history?"

Cuauhtémoc did not answer him, his gaze through the window looking off into the distance.

He would just use the honorific title "Mr. Victor" when necessary!

If he was to be Emperor, he had to "invite" himself; this die-hard lackey was determined to do so!

Nobody could stop him, not even Jesus coming down would be first!

No, there was another opponent.

Casare Gonzalez!

That guy's ass-kissing skills were impeccable; he had to surpass him when it mattered.

"Achoo!"

In Tijuana, at the Security Department building.

Casare sneezed, picked up the remote control, and turned up the temperature of the air conditioner; he had dark circles under his eyes. With the boss out, all responsibilities fell on him, putting a lot of stress on his mind.

He was afraid the boss would return and find he hadn't done well.

He was the "Executive Deputy Governor" after all.

"Huh?" He suddenly picked up a procurement application on his desk, submitted by the external department. Mexico was, after all, an "import" country with no complete industrial system.

In truth, not even a pen tip could be manufactured.

Of course, after the "North American Free Trade Agreement" was signed later, the Canadian dogs above and the American eagles below would pull the Mexican pests up into the skies!

A more complete and diverse industrial system wouldn't be in place until the year 2000.

If you didn't sign this "traitorous" agreement, the old bosses wouldn't want to play with you; if you wanted to develop industry on your own, absolutely not allowed!

Therefore, post-Millennium industries including petrochemicals, electricity, mining, metallurgy, and others were all controlled by Americans.

And Victor, who was in charge of the northern territories, didn't move against the big American capital yet—it wasn't time, but small capitalists' factories were constantly being squeezed, absolutely not allowing Yanks to play Emperor Emeritus here.

So many things were imported from other parts of Eurasia; the procurement department held significant power.

But...

"Importing 1.2 million bullets from India?" Each word was familiar to Casare, but strung together, damn, it seemed crazy.

Aren't you afraid they might explode?

Can you even use stuff from India?

He angrily picked up the phone and called the head of the commerce department. "You! Right now! Come to my office immediately."

The person on the other side was shocked and hurriedly scurried over, still panting when he knocked and entered.

"Sir!"

"Can you tell me what this is?" Casare handed over the procurement order. "1.2 million bullets for 1.2 million US dollars?! I can tolerate that, but who told you to import from India, and besides, we have our own channels for weapons and ammunition; we don't need to rely on others!"

"If you can't give me a good explanation, I'll give you one!"

The head of the commerce department wiped the sweat from his forehead, lowered his voice, about to speak when Casare shouted, "Stand up straight and talk!"

The other party gave an awkward smile, "This procurement was negotiated by Mr. Vieri."

"Which Vieri?" Fat Casare furrowed his brows.

The boss had that surname too.

"Olinjo Favet Vieri!"

When Casare heard the name, his head ached, and he cursed.

In fact, this guy was indeed related to Victor; though his parents had passed away early, he still had other relatives.

Mexicans value family highly and are also quite prolific; Victor's direct bloodline might be thin, but the Vieri family is thriving.

Originally, they weren't pure Mexicans.

They migrated from Italy 200 years ago, and have long since taken root in this land; only, until now, they never had a leader, nor any celebrities within the clan. The surname Vieri was virtually unknown.

But who would have known...

Along came Victor, shining like a meteor. Ever heard the saying that one man's success can lift all his kin to the heavens?
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He didn't appoint relatives to important positions, after all, trusting those good-for-nothing kin would have been asking for trouble.

The Vieri family's population reached an astonishing few thousand, after all, 200 years is a long time, and Victor has several dozen close relatives.

Olinjo Favet Vieri and Victor share the same grandfather, making them cousins. Olinjo used to be a street thug, also moonlighting as a drug dealer, but it was this very connection that saved him from trial.

After all, who would dare execute a mob boss's blood relative?

And as his cousin's rank rose ever higher, climaxing in the role of Governor, Olinjo Favet Vieri's behavior became increasingly outrageous.

The "criminal acts" that Casare knew of totaled no less than ten, like hit-and-run incidents while street racing, then fleeing the scene, beating up pregnant women, and drunkenly harassing a French woman by the roadside, and so on.

There was a whole bunch of people sucking up to him, and plenty were doing so without Victor's knowledge; Casare and Jason Bourne wouldn't bother reporting them either. After all, the boss was already so overburdened, why add more trouble?

His cousin is Victor!

The Governor!

Who would dare to offend him?

But Olinjo Favet was not the only one; quite a few members of the Vieri family, old and young, had been causing chaos under his name. Sometimes, they stirred up public fury!

The head of the commercial department looked very displeased, which made anger well up inside Casare, "Sir, this isn't the first incident."

Fat Casare looked up at him.

"Many from the Vieri family come to the commercial department seeking favors, including asking us to purchase some unnecessary products. Moreover, many come bearing letters from Mr. Victor, claiming they've given a heads up, expecting us to give them money!"

"They've received more than 70 million US dollars in total!"

"What! What are you eating, not to know to make a call to confirm?!," Casare jumped out of his chair when he heard the figure, "What do they need that much money for?!"

The head of the commercial department shrank back, "If we don't give it to them, they make trouble, and they come armed with handguns."

Who says there are no spoiled brats and relations earned through nepotism abroad?

There's a saying that power flows in the blood.

Napoleon faced the same mess after crowning himself Emperor – relatives leveraging his name for personal gain. Even General de Gaulle, touted as the last great man of France, with all his repute, faced posthumous defamation, implying he failed to manage his own kin.

Casare finally sensed that the problem wasn't so straightforward.

This needed proactive reporting; he couldn't let the boss find out himself, or else when the time came, everyone would suffer. With a grave expression, he said, "Go back for now, and remember, don't let word of today's affairs leak. If I catch even a whisper of it, I'll have you thrown into the Thirteen Protectors' dungeons!"

"Understood! Understood!"

With a wave of his hand from Casare, the other party hastily left. Sitting and frowning in his chair for a good while, Casare finally forced his spirits up and picked up the phone to dial out.

No one was allowed to tarnish the boss's image!

Austria, Vienna.

Victor was trying the country's cuisine, something called garlic soup, which was just a culinary nightmare; he nearly spat it out.

Nurnisha Kalis, laughing, said, "Not used to it, huh? I had a hard time when I first came here too. I always think that Austria is a beautiful country, except for their food, which is even more unpleasant than French bread."

As she was speaking, she noticed Victor's secretary whispering something to him, and displaying her United Nations-honed instincts, she sensed something amiss and excused herself to the restroom to slip away.

Victor's brow furrowed for a moment, but he quickly relaxed, "Let Casare handle it by the book."

"The law of Tijuana reigns supreme!"

If anyone was to be above the law, it would only be Victor.

"Tell him, that's a cousin, not a brother."

"He's going to vomit out as much as he's eaten."

"Otherwise..."

"He can pay with his life!"

...