Chapter 63: Breakdown of Negotiations

While Milton was leading his men to storm the checkpoint, murdering, plundering, and leaving in a trail of triumph, the people on the Mexican side remained completely oblivious.

After hammering out all the terms and signing the cooperation agreement last night, Raul and Valta held an even more private breakfast meeting this morning.

The two men dined by the edge of a small lake, with their respective armed forces stationed not far behind them. Both sides had bulletproof vehicles mounted with machine guns, creating an intimidating display.

As for the truck loaded with critical "medical supplies," station chief Valta had arranged for Carlos to handle the handover, while Raul had sent two of his subordinates whom he intended to promote to complete this important transfer.

"Your subordinates are terribly inefficient," Valta said, spearing a piece of bacon from his plate. "What time is it, and they still haven't brought your truck over?"

Raul offered a joking retort: "Perhaps it's Carlos whose efficiency is lacking, seeing as he hasn't even finished processing the paperwork yet?"

"You know Carlos; you know he wouldn't let such a problem arise," Valta laughed. "With his assistance, I believe I can resolve the Maynard issue in a week and completely turn this checkpoint into my own backyard. I trust you won't find that surprising."

Seated in comfortable chairs, holding glasses of chilled champagne, the two men looked entirely at ease.

Raul let out a strange chuckle. "Heh... Maynard. Just a few days ago, it was he who sat in your position."

Valta said casually, "I am quite grateful to him, actually, for finding me such a fine business partner."

Raul took a sip of the fine wine and asked again, "What was that fellow's name again... ah, the 'Hell's Taxman,' Milton. How come I haven't heard you mention him lately?"

"Just a flea hopping about. Did he think he wasn't crushed to death because he was strong? Wrong. It was simply because both of my hands were occupied with dealing with the enemy right in front of me."

From beginning to end, Valta had never taken Milton seriously.

Valta was in a wonderful mood—such an insignificant person was unworthy of even influencing his disposition.

That was until he noticed one of his trusted subordinates, upon hearing a piece of news, shift in expression from bewilderment to apprehension, and finally into sheer terror.

Almost simultaneously, the messenger from the Falcon Cartel showed the exact same emotional transformation.

Valta’s gaze shifted. He glanced at the armed guards standing ready behind him, put down his wine glass, turned sideways, and said to his subordinate, "Paul, relax. Do you see the weaponry behind us? If you do, you shouldn't be wearing an expression like that."

"Come on, tell me what on earth is going on. Has Maynard taken some sort of action?"

"Surely it can't be that checkpoints in other regions have also set their sights on the cake in my hands?"

Upon hearing the station chief's question, the look of terror on Paul's face did not recede in the slightest. He merely shook his head and whispered in a low voice, "Station Chief, perhaps we should go speak over by the rear."

Valta looked into his eyes. "Is there anything our friend cannot hear?"

To everyone's utter astonishment, after hesitating for a moment, Paul still shook his head violently and pleaded, "Station Chief... please, let's go speak in the back!"

Valta glanced sideways at Raul, stood up, walked to the rear of the bulletproof vehicle, and asked offhandedly, "Relax. Tell me, is it another checkpoint, or have my men run into trouble?"

To be honest, he didn't feel a shred of worry—in the town, the police chief Pedro was an ally; the local court had long since been corrupted; even the local assemblyman Lopez had accepted favors from him, and he was practically slated for a congressional seat.

Across the border, he had even indirectly established ties with the Sinaloa Cartel.

Even Valta himself could not imagine who could possibly pose a threat to him.

"It's, it's about Milton."

Hearing this name, Valta almost let out a helpless laugh, his chuckle tinged with a hint of amusement.

"Oh? So it's our Mr. 'Hell's Taxman' after all. Where is he? What has he done? Shouldn't he be busy collecting the corpse of that stinking cop?"

The station chief's tone instantly carried a deeper, more intrigued interest, but this reaction only made Paul all the more terrified.

Milton was absolute not the "flea" the station chief imagined him to be!

Just last night, Milton had utterly shattered the foundation of cooperation between the checkpoint and the Falcon Cartel!

He dared not imagine what Valta's reaction would be upon learning of this, let alone what kind of violent conflict would soon erupt between the checkpoint and the Falcon Cartel.

Yet Paul could not afford to keep it secret either, because even if he said nothing, Valta would acquire the exact same intelligence from someone else before long.

Paul took a deep breath, mustered his courage, and spoke: "We don't know the status of that police officer just yet..."

"Last night, he did something else—something massive."

"He donned the attire of the Falcon Cartel and launched an armed assault on the checkpoint."

"Our men and the Falcon Cartel's men are all dead, including Carlos... and that medical truck was hijacked by him!"

"He even bribed the media to run a propaganda campaign. News of the Falcon Cartel attacking the checkpoint is practically reaching Ottawa by now..."

"Assemblyman Pelos sent word hoping we would distance ourselves from a gang with such a disastrous reputation, otherwise he will have no choice but to scale back his support for us... because this is likely to affect his votes."

As these words finished falling, the color in Valta's face shifted from excitement to utter blankness, and then from blankness to furious rage.

This time, the name Milton truly made him understand what it meant to be consumed by blind, unadulterated fury.

He had actually been thrashed by a dish on the dinner table?!

Valta smashed his wine glass directly into Paul's face, roaring with a hideous expression, "Carlos is dead? The truck was stolen? So many guns, so many men, even rocket-propelled grenades—he just walked in like that, and then walked out just like that?! Is he Captain America or something?!"

Paul shook his head vigorously, saying in terror, "Sir, perhaps we should negotiate with him—negotiate with him..."

"Negotiate?! You want me to negotiate with him?! He robbed me! He robbed me!" Valta grew even more ballistic, subconsciously about to point out just how immense his power was. "You know we have—"

Before he could finish the sentence, Valta suddenly froze.

Following that, a terrifying realization dawned on him... the Falcon Cartel across from him was likely no longer his ally.

Whether driven by pressure from politicians, public opinion, or cold-hearted calculations of interest, the moment the medical truck was stolen, their cooperation with the Falcon Cartel was thoroughly ruined!

Valta abruptly ducked behind the bulletproof vehicle and roared at the top of his lungs, "Everyone, prepare for combat! Do not fire yet, hold your positions! This is a misunderstanding!"

Not far away, after listening to his subordinate's report, Raul's expression darkened to the point where it seemed ink might drip from his face.

He turned his head, fixed his gaze on Valta, and demanded word by word, "Valta, are, you, playing, me?"