Chapter 48: Shooting

Once these words were spoken, even Flora, who usually looked stern and showed little emotional fluctuation, wore a look of profound shock.

"You... military contracting projects..."

Though she was on the verge of standing up, Flora managed to regain control of her thoughts and forced herself to calm down.

She pointed out a massive flaw.

"But you are merely an inspection supervisor. What projects could you possibly award us?"

Milton glanced around to ensure no one else was nearby before speaking. "It won't be long before I take over the checkpoint and become the station chief. A small checkpoint doesn't have many projects, but it will be more than enough for the three of you to earn money faster—and safer—than before."

These three originated from a developed nation and were former regular soldiers. Relatively well-informed and highly disciplined, they could devise better plans and execute military projects with higher efficiency, thereby helping Milton save on his budget.

In other words, a win-win.

Moreover, a crucial point was that Milton himself was Guatemalan and theoretically restricted from heavily meddling in Mexican affairs.

However, if they wore the cloak of a Private Military Company (PMC), things would be entirely different.

An armed uprising was currently underway in Chiapas, and he could manufacture a multitude of reasonable pretexts. Operating under the guise of PMC commissions, he could launch military actions across the border into Mexico without triggering any diplomatic fallout.

As a Guatemalan official, charging violently into another country to levy fines and collect taxes would leave a very poor impression.

But what if he led or dispatched PMC employees to execute security missions in Mexico? The problem would instantly vanish.

The benefits of indirectly controlling a legitimate PMC company were unimaginable, and it would even vastly expand his channels for importing weaponry.

Not only were these three individuals formidable in combat and capable of helping Milton weather the immediate crisis, but they could also become a vital puzzle piece in his future plans.

He absolutely could not let them slip away!

Flora was already tempted, but she maintained a shred of doubt. "How do you plan to become the station chief?"

Milton replied calmly and unhurriedly, "That is my concern. You can choose to keep earning blood money that is practically impossible to collect, or you can cooperate with me and truly embark on the path to riches. Choose."

Flora wrestled with her decision for a good while before standing up. "This is of grave importance. I must discuss this matter with my team members."

"Reasonable. Go ahead."

"..."

Flora pushed the door open and went out to communicate with her teammates, who had long since grown impatient.

Seeing Flora return empty-handed, a man chuckled. "Talks fell through? I told you, how could the 'Hell's Taxman' possibly afford such an expensive commission? Let's go, we might as well head back home."

"Shut up." Flora waved a hand. "The talks didn't fall through. Milton gave us two choices. The first is..."

"The second is..."

Flora briefly outlined Milton's recent proposal.

Upon hearing the figure of 120,000 per month in the first proposal, the burly man's mouth twitched—if their company's financial situation weren't so dire and cash flow so urgently needed, would 120,000 even be enough to hire them?

That price was so low it would make the sharks in the Gulf of Mexico salivate with envy.

Yet when they heard the second option, both of their expressions shifted.

The other party actually promised project contracting?!

After finishing her explanation, Flora asked eagerly, "Well? Which one do we pick?"

The other two exchanged shifting glances, and one of them spoke with some hesitation, "But he... he's only promising the future, right?"

"Are you stating the obvious?" another burly man said excitedly. "How could we ever get our hands on something ready-made? Boss, I think this is doable, absolutely doable! The 'Hell's Taxman' is right; you can't make big money as mere mercenaries!"

"I've heard stories about Milton, and I believe his future won't end at just being an inspection supervisor! This future is definitely worth risking our lives for! Let's agree to it!"

"Instead of risking our lives on the battlefield as mercenaries for pocket change, we might as well gamble on Milton. As long as he can control the checkpoint and throw a few projects our way, we'll make a fortune!"

The other man hesitated for a moment, but ultimately temptation overpowered his doubt. He nodded and said, "Well... alright, I agree too."

Flora took a deep breath. "Three to zero. Excellent, then it's settled."

With that, she turned and walked back into the restaurant.

Milton was leisurely eating noodles and watching a live television news broadcast, appearing as though everything was completely under control.

No one knew that Milton's heart was also extremely anxious and nervous.

He hoped the pie in the sky he had drawn could fool these three individuals, and he hoped their company's cash flow was even tighter than they let on.

Once a fallen yet legitimate PMC like this slipped away, it would be very difficult to encounter another.

Flora walked up to Milton and extended her right hand once more. "Your second proposal is very tempting, but we have a small request... If you fail to fulfill the second promise on time, you must still pay the commission of 120,000 dollars a month. Is that acceptable?"

Milton let out a long sigh of relief inwardly. "Happy cooperation. Let's sign the contract. You brought your seals, right? We can print the documents at a nearby print shop."

"Wait a moment, I'll go get them..."

"..."

After bustling about for over half an hour, both parties finally signed the contract and affixed their seals.

The employment contract officially took effect from this moment onward.

Once the matter was settled, both Milton and Flora felt a weight lift from their hearts.

Both were counting on this cooperation to turn their fortunes around, and neither wanted to see the other back out.

Coincidentally, Flora's squad hadn't eaten yet. The four of them returned to the restaurant, casually ordered some food, and sat at the table with Milton.

Flora glanced at the boring police award ceremony playing on the television program, immediately looked away, and made small talk. "By the way, during our time off, I hope you'll allow us to consume alcohol in moderation and engage in other healthy forms of entertainment. We need to blow off some steam too."

Milton waved a hand. "What you do during your time off is your own business and has nothing to do with me, as long as it doesn't interfere with official matters."

On the television screen, the police award ceremony was ongoing, with the decent-looking police chief giving a passionate speech on stage alongside his wife and daughter.

Brandon, who had recently been promoted to sergeant, stood nearby, occasionally stealing proud glances at his shiny new police insignia.

Looking like a beast in human clothing...

Milton watched the news, chewed on a cracker, and mentally disparaged Brandon.

Flora swallowed a piece of orange chicken and said indistinctly, "Oh... right, when we operate together, it's best to use our codenames for simplicity and speed. I'm 'Bottle', the pointman; the bulky one is 'Venom', the designated marksman; the tall one is 'Anvil', skilled in all kinds of supporting firepower, including artillery."

"Of course, we actually have a strong command of various weapons, so things won't be rigidly limited during actual combat."

After introducing her team, Flora looked Milton up and down with a smile. "What about you? Boss?"

"Venom" chimed in without hesitation, "What else could it be? It's definitely the 'Taxman'!"

Hearing this nickname, Milton almost tore up the newly signed contract on the spot.

Why was everyone bringing up this wretched moniker?

Milton emphasized, "I never said I was any 'Hell's Taxman'."

"But nobody gives themselves their own codename, do they? They're always given by others, and I think 'Taxman' is pretty good. It's cool!"

Milton intended to forcefully use his status as the boss to suppress this distorted trend: "I—"

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Before the words could leave his mouth, a series of crisp, explosive sounds suddenly echoed from the television.

Milton and Flora's expressions changed drastically. They snapped around to stare at the screen—both of them instantly recognized the distinctive crack of an AR-15 firing!

What was happening?!

Wood splinters flew across the podium, and the police chief holding the microphone froze for half a second before instinctively turning his head.

The next instant, a .223 Remington bullet shattered his skull, splattering his brains and blood across the faces of his wife and daughter standing behind him.

Yet the gunfire did not stop. Brandon, stationed in the rear, hadn't even had time to stand up when a mist of blood erupted from his left leg, followed immediately by his chest clothing being violently shredded by immense force, rapidly staining crimson.

Brandon crashed heavily into a pool of blood.

Only then did terrified screams erupt from the scene, and the surrounding police officers finally reacted, raising their guns to return fire!

The television screen dissolved into utter chaos.

"..."

Crack!

Milton crushed the ceramic plate in his hand, leaped to his feet, and for the first time, a look of extreme rage appeared on his face!

He had anticipated a potential assassination and had arranged cover... but he never expected the assassination to be this insane, staining an award ceremony with blood right in front of a live television audience!

A shooting! They actually dared to live-broadcast a shooting at an award ceremony!

Was this Guatemala, a place whose governance was worse than Mexico's and whose level of madness rivaled Haiti's?

Brandon...

The Fankang Gang, Chief Pedro, Station Chief Varta...

Damn it!

At this moment, it was Flora who first regained her composure. Recognizing that the police officer on television was connected to her employer, she grabbed Milton's arm and said, "'Taxman', calm down. The wound on his chest looked like the bullet struck something else and fragmented before hitting the officer; it wasn't a direct hit. There's a chance he isn't dead yet."

Milton immediately regained his composure.

Luz was nearby; he should be able to arrive instantly and temporarily protect the severely injured Brandon from being finished off by ulterior motives.

If he didn't calm down and move faster, Brandon would truly be dead!

Brandon had mentioned earlier that the black market on the old streets housed an underground clinic, and the doctor there was quite skilled at treating gunshot wounds...

With a gloomy face, Milton strode out of the restaurant and issued an order: "Flora... 'Bottle', get in my car. The other two, take your own vehicle. Move out, head to the police station. Hurry."