Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 682 These guys, they even have to eat the first bite when they take a dump!
White House.

A fire was burning in the fireplace of the Oval Office.

Bush Jr. sank into the leather seat, thoroughly enjoying the feeling, especially looking at the family representatives with their heads bowed in front of him; he felt extremely comfortable.

"Everyone."

He looked up, a perfectly timed smile playing on his lips, but his eyes held an undisguised smugness. "The Hudson gang of rebels has been dealt with, and the mess has been cleaned up. Now, it's time to talk about what we agreed on before."

Joseph Kennedy Jr., sitting first on the left, laughed first. He pressed his Cuban cigar into the crystal ashtray, twisted it, and the ash fell in a flurry onto the silver cigarette case engraved with the family crest: "President Bush is straightforward, of course no problem."

He sounded anxious, but he really had no other choice.

Actually, the Kennedy family has also been having a tough time lately…

The "Kennedy death curse" had been haunting them, especially with many young members of the family dying or going insane. He couldn't understand why this was happening.

Were we really cursed?
They even consulted witches, but it was no use; they were still destined to die.

If they don't make a difference in the White House, their family will gradually become third-rate.

How could they not panic?
George W. Bush sneered inwardly, but his face remained warm: "Joseph, without the Kennedy family's connections in Congress, and without your River God oath, how could I have resolved this problem so quickly? I'll keep the Vice President position in mind."

"Knowing it in your heart is not enough."

Thomas Rockefeller, the Rockefeller family representative sitting opposite, tapped the table. A thick document lay open in front of him, its cover bearing the words "American Energy Development Plan." "Our Rockefeller family helped you keep the local oil conglomerates in check, preventing them from following Hudson's lead. Now, shouldn't we get the deepwater oil field exploration rights?"

Bush picked up his coffee and took a sip. The scalding heat slid down his throat, but it couldn't suppress the irritation in his heart.

The Rockefeller family is always in such a hurry, as if they'd lose a gold mine if they were a second late.

These people, they even have to eat the first bite when they poop.

He put down his cup and tapped his knuckles on the document: "We can provide the deepwater oil field, but you have to promise that the price of the oil supplied to the military in the next five years will not exceed 70% of the current price. After all, I still need the army to stabilize the situation. I can't let the soldiers fight on an empty stomach."

Thomas narrowed his eyes and circled a line on the document with his finger: "70% is too low, 85% is better. The cost of the drilling platform we need to invest in is not a small amount. We can't afford to do a losing business."

"Eighty percent."

George W. Bush stood firm, saying, "If you don't agree, the Morgan family has been eyeing the Gulf Coast for a long time. I remember Morgan's youngest son mentioned to me yesterday that he wanted to build a new oil refinery in Houston."

Upon hearing this, Thomas's face immediately darkened.

The Morgan family and Rockefeller have been battling in the energy sector for decades. If Morgan were to seize the mining rights in the Gulf of Mexico, Rockefeller's foothold in the South would be shaken.

He paused for a few seconds, then took a deep drag on his cigar: "Deal, but the White House has to guarantee that it won't open up deep-sea oil fields to other conglomerates for the next ten years."

"no problem."

George W. Bush's smile widened. He turned to the DuPont family representative sitting in the corner. "Mr. DuPont, you've secured ammunition supplies for the military for me. Now, tell me, what do you want?"

The DuPont family representative was a man in his fifties, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and appearing refined, but his words were full of ruthlessness: "We want the Department of Defense's chemical weapons procurement contracts for the next three years, and also that abandoned arms depot in Tennessee, which must be transferred to DuPont. We want to repurpose it to store newly developed nerve agents."

"We can grant a chemical weapons procurement contract, but not the Tennessee arsenal."

George W. Bush shook his head. "That place is too close to civilian areas. If it gets leaked, Congress will be in an uproar. I can give you an abandoned missile base in Nevada, twice the size of the one in Tennessee, and it will be out of the media's sight."

The DuPont representative pushed up his glasses and tapped his fingers on his knee: "Nevada is fine, but you have to cover the cost of modifying the base, at least fifty million US dollars. In addition, the Department of Defense has to send troops to help us guard the base and prevent those anti-war elements from causing trouble."

"Fifty million is too much, thirty million is better."

George W. Bush frowned. "I can provide the guard troops, but the military expenses will have to be deducted from your ammunition procurement funds. I don't have that much spare money to support your troops."

The DuPont representative thought for a moment and finally nodded: "Okay, we'll do it your way. But if any other conglomerates try to take our chemical weapons contracts in the future, the White House will have to be on our side."

"rest assured."

George W. Bush waved his hand, then turned his gaze to the remaining family representatives: the Mellon family, the Carnegie family, and several representatives of emerging Jewish financial groups.

These people either helped him stabilize the stock market on Wall Street or suppressed media questions about Hudson's death; each of them was waiting to get a piece of the pie.

The Mellon family wanted the Treasury Department's right to issue national bonds, the Carnegie family wanted the Pennsylvania steel mill nationalization contract, and Jewish financial groups were eyeing Israel's arms export quotas. They wanted to sell more weapons to Israel through the U.S. military and, incidentally, gain some benefits in the Middle East.

George W. Bush patiently bargained with them, each word feeling like a knife to his own flesh, yet he had no choice but to smile and agree.

He knew perfectly well that to appease these powerful figures behind the scenes, he had promised the position of vice president to win over the Kennedy family; he had ceded energy and arms profits to Rockefeller and DuPont; and now he was giving benefits to Mellon, Carnegie, and others. If things continued like this, the power in the White House would sooner or later be devoured by these families.

But he had no choice.

The United States has never been the United States of Americans, but rather the United States of capital…

Without the support of these families, his presidency would be nothing more than an empty shell.

"Okay, that's almost it."

George W. Bush glanced at the wall clock; it was almost three in the afternoon. "I've written down everything you asked for. I'll have the Chief of Staff send over the official documents tomorrow. But I must remind you, now is not the time to relax. Victor in Mexico is still watching the United States, and there are still many internal rebellions, especially in Bramo, Illinois. If you take the benefits but don't help me stabilize the situation, then everything we discussed before will be for nothing!"

"When I fall from power, everyone will be done with it!"

Joseph Kennedy Jr. smiled, stood up, and straightened his suit: "President Bush, rest assured, since the Kennedy family is cooperating with you, we won't back down halfway. Our morals are still good. As for Congress, I will make sure they continue to support your counterinsurgency bill."

Other family representatives also stood up, some patted George W. Bush on the shoulder, others simply nodded, and then walked out of the Oval Office one after another.

The cigar smoke gradually dissipated, the flames in the fireplace weakened, and only little Bush remained in the room.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and the image of Hudson's corpse resurfaced in his mind, along with the deep, bone-revealing wound on his neck and the lingering anger on Hudson's face, a result of being deceived.

He suddenly felt nauseous, not because of the gruesome state of the corpse, but because of his own appearance. He looked like a clown, being led by the nose by a group of powerful families, having sold his soul for power.

"Damn it!" He slammed his fist on the table, making the coffee cup wobble.

Who am I working for right now?

Just then, the chief of staff knocked on the door and came in. He paused for a moment when he saw the coffee on the table.

"What is it?" Bush asked with a sinister look in his eyes.

"Mr. President, the Republic of Texas and the Commonwealth of Louisiana... have opened fire."

George W. Bush suddenly opened his eyes, grabbed the intelligence report, and wrote clearly on the paper, "The Texas National Guard raided an oil refinery on the Louisiana border in the early morning. Louisiana armored forces directly blew up the Texas oil pipeline. Now the two sides are exchanging fire along the Red River, and nearly two hundred people have died!"

"crazy?"

But then came ecstasy.

Damn it! Two traitors are fighting amongst themselves?

"Good beating! Beat them until they're bloodied and bruised, until they're covered in dog shit."

"Help me call the defense minister over."

...

Meanwhile, in the presidential office at the National Palace in Mexico.

"They opened fire? Just because of that?" Viktor asked incredulously.

Casare's face also showed a hint of helplessness: "According to the information sent back by our informants at the border, the trigger... is indeed a bit outrageous."

He paused, organized his thoughts, before delivering the seemingly ridiculous reason: "The youngest son of Louisiana Federal President Floyd Ross was competing in an equestrian event in London last weekend. His horse was knocked down in the final round by the horse of Texas Paul Constantine Stuart's daughter and broke its leg."

"Floyd Ross called the governor of Texas to apologize and demanded $500,000 in compensation for the loss of his prized horse. But Paul Constantine Stuart not only refused to apologize, but also mocked Louisiana residents in front of reporters, saying they couldn't even ride a horse. Then the two sides started arguing, and eventually, troops were sent."

Viktor was stunned. He stared at Casare for a full half minute before leaning back in his chair and letting out a low laugh. He laughed until he realized how absurd it was. "A horse worth half a million dollars? Just for a horse? What do they think the border is? A children's playground?"

"What do you consider war to be?"

"Isn't anyone going to try to persuade them?"

"Of course there are. His brother, Lawrence Constantine Stuart, explicitly rejected it, saying it was a joke."

Casare nodded. "But it's not entirely because of the horse. The Ross family of Floyd Ross has always had a grudge against the Texas oil conglomerates."

"Oh? Tell me about this Ross family."

Viktor's eyes lit up with interest. He knew that the families in the American South were all extraordinary, and the Ross family of Louisiana had survived this long for more than just plantations.

Casare cleared his throat and slowly began, “The Ross family is an old family in Louisiana, dating back to the mid-19th century. They made their fortune by trading cotton and later monopolized shipping on the lower Mississippi River, accumulating their first pot of gold. By the time of Floyd Ross’s grandfather, they began to get involved in sugarcane cultivation, turning large tracts of land in southern Louisiana into sugar plantations and controlling the local sugar processing plants. Now, half of the sugar in the American South comes from the Ross family’s businesses.”

"However, what truly allowed the Ross family to establish itself was during World War II."

Casare paused, his tone becoming more somber. "Back then, Floyd's father, Ross, collaborated with a German chemical company, supplying Germany with raw materials for making explosives. Later, the US military discovered this and he was supposed to be court-martialed, but he shifted all the blame to his partner and even donated half of his sugarcane plantation to the military as a logistics base, thus saving his family."

"But because of this, the Ross family became enemies with the Texas oil conglomerate. At the time, the Texas oil conglomerate wanted to take over Ross's sugar processing plant, but old Ross refused to comply and even reported the oil conglomerate for tax evasion. The two sides have been mortal enemies ever since."

The US selling raw materials to Germany during World War II was a common occurrence...

If it weren't for the attack on Pearl Harbor, the United States might not have actually entered the war.

Personally, I think Roosevelt had no intention of fighting. After all, he had finally managed to resolve the internal problems. He hadn't focused on external issues during the internal conflicts, and he was now focused on economic recovery. Why would he go out to fight?
Isn't it better to make money and take down the rich?

Victor raised an eyebrow: "So, this 'horse disaster' was just an excuse?"

Casare nodded. "The Texas oil conglomerates have always wanted to build a refinery on the Louisiana border for easier transportation. The Ross family has been obstructing this, and they have also joined forces with local plantation owners to protest, saying that the refinery would pollute water sources and affect sugarcane planting. The two sides have been fighting each other for several years. This horse incident was just the fuse that ignited all the previous grievances."

Victor picked up the intelligence report and glanced at it again. It stated that Louisiana's armored forces had captured two bridges over the Red River, and the Texas Air Force was sending fighter jets to the border. He traced lines on the report with his finger, a calculating glint in his eyes: "The more trouble they cause, the better."

Casare immediately understood his meaning: "The boss wants to... take advantage of their infighting to consolidate our power on the border?"

"It's not just about consolidation."

Victor stood up and walked to the French windows. “Texas oil and Louisiana sugar are what we in Mexico need. They are currently preoccupied with their own problems, which is the perfect time for us to talk to them about cooperation. Of course, it has to be when they are begging us for it.”

He turned to Casare and said, “Go tell the Department of Defense to increase their vigilance and prevent the war from spreading to our side. Also, compile all the information on the Ross family and the Texas oil conglomerate, especially their weaknesses. I need to know what they are afraid of.”

Casare: "Okay, boss."

Just as Casare turned to leave, Victor suddenly called out to him again: "Wait."

He pointed to the intelligence on the table and said, “Tell our informant that next time he sends this news of ‘horse accidents causing war,’ he should write down the details more clearly, such as what the horse’s name is, whether it broke its front leg or its hind leg, so that I don’t think he’s making up a fairy tale for me.”

Casare nodded, suppressing a laugh: "I also thought it was a fairy tale."

Victor squinted...

"Go ahead and fight. If you disrupt things, I can take advantage of the chaos."

……

Casare returned to his office and summoned Elsbert Schlagmüller, the head of the Sixth Intelligence Division, to consult her about Viktor's earlier question.

Elsbett frowned:
“Sir, I know all these details. The Louisiana racehorse is called Sugar Princess, a Thoroughbred. It is said that its ancestors won the Kentucky Derby. It broke its left foreleg. The Texas horse is called “Black Oil Field”. Its coat is as black as crude oil. It was specially imported from Argentina by Paul Constantine Stuart.”

"Nothing else? Don't they have any more outrageous stories about their family's old feud?"

Elsbet had spent a long time in the United States and knew many of the jokes.

"During World War II, Old Ross did business with German companies, and the Texas oil conglomerate wanted to take over his sugar mill. But Old Ross turned around and reported them for tax evasion. Guess what? When the tax officials came to audit the accounts, the oil companies panicked and hid their ledgers in oil drums. But it got hot and the drums leaked, turning the ledgers into a greasy mess. In the end, they only found out that the accounts were 'unclear.' Now there are rumors on the border that Old Ross had someone deliberately puncture the oil drums, using the iron hooks used for pressing sugar cane!"

Casare listened and took notes, his pen poking several small holes in the paper: "Anything else? Don't just talk about the past. Aren't there any new conflicts between the people on both sides of the border?"

"There are just too many new conflicts!"

Elsbert sighed. "Last month, a Texas tanker truck was crossing the border, and Louisiana customs insisted on checking it. After a long search, they found half a truckload of Texas barbecue sauce. The customs officers were still stubborn, saying, 'If this sauce had gasoline in it, it could be used as a Molotov cocktail.' The Texas driver got so angry that he opened the can on the spot, scooped out a spoonful, spread it on bread, and ate it, saying, 'Try this! My mom made it, it's sweeter than your sugar cane!'"

"A conflict broke out between the two sides, with fists and feet flying."

"The two states had fought over water, and now that they are both independent, they have also had disputes over the border."

Elsbett paused, then looked up. "Sir, should we expand outwards?"

Casare's face twitched. "Don't think like that. We love peace."

Even he himself found it hard to believe when he said it.

If they truly loved peace... they would have already gone into the sewers, piece by piece, of course.

He didn't dare to look directly into Ms. Elsbet's eyes; most liars tend to be a little guilty. He took a sip of water and coughed lightly. "OK, OK, I'll give these to the leader."

"Sir, if war is really going to break out, I hope to go to the front lines to get firsthand intelligence."

"The sunlight behind me has made me a little complacent."

……

(End of this chapter)