Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 252 As if facing a formidable enemy
Chiapas, Concordia.

In a luxurious villa overlooking the lake, with its meticulously maintained lawns and gardens, and even a private dock where a small cruise ship is moored, the atmosphere is one of “polarization.”

Because the local area is Coca-Cola's most important source of fresh water in Mexico, and the company is quite large, many locals simply pooled their money to set up a school for employees' families, so many employees' children attend school there.

This villa belongs to a mid-to-high-level manager in the purchasing department of the local Coca-Cola company. Although the position is not high, it is very lucrative. This manager has been promoted several times, but he has always made excuses to avoid going.

Unfortunately, this American company is now facing an unprecedented crisis.

The adults in the family locked themselves in the house, discussing something, while the children were completely liberated. They no longer had to study, and could even watch whatever they wanted on television without adult supervision.

"Haha... Mom and Dad are in a meeting!" A young man who looked rather rebellious, seeing that no one was watching, immediately took out the remote control, turned on the color TV in the house, and took out a cup of popcorn from the refrigerator. His eyes were full of anticipation. "Quick, quick, the show is about to start!"

The television was turned on, and immediately a very conspicuous channel symbol appeared in the upper right corner of the color screen—a symbol that everyone in Guatemala and southern Mexico knew.

Pan Madre TV!
That is, the television station that Milton ran.

These parents were unaware that Milton TV's various programs had become a new fashion trend in schools.

After gaining control of so many cities, Pan Madre TV is no longer just a political propaganda tool as it once was.

The television station now broadcasts a variety of entertainment programs with local traditional characteristics. With its excellent and authentic performances, it has been well received by the general public and viewers. Its ratings have even surpassed those of many traditional major television stations, and it is said to have contributed a great deal of tax revenue to the local tax bureau.

"It's here, the first season of 'Iron-Blooded Murder'!"

The child was so excited that his hands were trembling—the reason was simple: on the television screen, a professional cameraman was following a bulletproof car with a machine gun mounted on it as it drove into a small town.

The host then introduced again: "Dear viewers, I am your old friend, Wilbur! Welcome to this episode of 'When the Lights Turn On'!"

"As is our usual practice, all footage from the scene is live and real, and all photographers are professionals who will not interfere with the work of law enforcement officers."

"The television station is independent of law enforcement agencies, and all live broadcast footage will be archived and retained, possessing legal effect, serving as a form of oversight of law enforcement personnel..."

After finishing the disclaimer, the host abruptly changed the subject: "Today, we're going to hunt down a group of 'thieves'!"

"They stole the country's oil, causing widespread famine and poverty. They sold out 1000 million pesos of national interests just to pocket a few hundred thousand pesos for themselves... Now, brave warriors, prepare to arrest these traitors!"

Boom boom boom...

The cool armored vehicles and their cool equipment gleamed with an incredibly cool sheen under the midday sun.

"Yes! Seize these traitors!"

In previous episodes, there were even helicopter views, showing tense and exciting car chases and machine gun fire.

It was incredibly exciting and thrilling.

If I miss an episode, my classmates will definitely laugh at me when I go to school tomorrow.

Soon, as if it had received some intelligence, the armored vehicle drove towards a steakhouse, and a team of police officers quickly surrounded the Honda Civic parked at the entrance.

A police officer skillfully pried open the car door, which thrilled the teenager who was watching TV.

"That's so cool! I want to legally pick locks too!"

Soon, the officers secured the evidence in the car and prepared to form a raiding team to storm the pub and arrest the people inside.

Just then, a man with two pistols on his waist came out with two women and ran into the police officers.

Eyes wide open.

The man was momentarily stunned, then turned and ran at an extremely fast speed.

The officers immediately followed, but unfortunately, they were wearing heavy armor, the other party had a large fine to pay, and was physically strong. He actually withstood the electric shock from the Taser and managed to leave the officers behind by several steps.

On the roadside, a passerby was sitting on his motorcycle, propping himself up with his legs, eating a sandwich and watching the commotion.

Unexpectedly, the criminal turned around, rushed towards the passerby, grabbed him, threw him to the ground, stole the motorcycle, and tried to escape!

Of course, the man remained very restrained and did not draw the pistol from his waist—he knew that if he drew his gun and threatened passersby, the machine gun behind him would open fire without hesitation.

If it were just a simple theft of a motorcycle, the police wouldn't have resorted to lethal force.

However, just as he successfully started the engine and sped away, and even the police were about to give up the pursuit on foot and plan to chase after him with the Civic that had already been short-circuited, the passerby who had been kicked to the ground looked at the sandwich on the ground and became furious. He got up and delivered a flying kick, sending the man who tried to steal the car flying off the motorcycle.

They pounced on him and gave him a good beating.

"Fuck your mother, you owe me a sandwich... My daughter made it for me, you son of a bitch!"

"This gun is quite valuable, I think you can use it to compensate me!"

In the chaos, several police officers rushed over and pulled the man away from the beating, stopping his irrational behavior.

“The sandwich will be compensated. This man and all his belongings were purchased with stolen money, so it needs to be…”

"..."

Watching the scenes on TV, the boy was filled with excitement. This was so damn good! He ate popcorn while cheering, "Fight! Good fight!"

"Good, we've caught this traitor! Hahahaha!"

"The only slight disappointment is that my favorite car chase scene wasn't included this time..."

Just as the boy was cheering, a shout suddenly came from behind him.

"What are you watching?! Have you finished your homework? You're watching these pointless shows! If you're like this at home, you can imagine what you're doing all the time! If you don't do your social practice and don't study hard to get high scores, how am I supposed to get recommendation letters for you? How are you going to get into a top American university?"

"Can you give us a break?"

The boy was startled and initially felt a little guilty, but looking at the scene on TV, he said confidently, "This isn't some pointless program; it's the police catching bad guys! How can you say that the police catching bad guys is pointless?"

"Is that what you're supposed to do?! Even if you want to work in the police force in the future, you should start as a deputy chief and find a way to enter politics through the police system, to get into the Ministry of Public Security. And all of that requires connections, understand?"

"I don't want to! I don't want to be one of those weird officials. I want to wear a bulletproof vest and fire a machine gun. Look at these police officers, they're arresting traitors over at the Palenque oil field. I want to arrest traitors too."

"You grab a..." The father picked up the remote control, about to turn off the TV, when his hand suddenly stopped. "Wait, what did you say?! What program is this? Where are we?!"

The boy glanced at the TV screen with regret and muttered, "You don't know something the whole world knows... The oil field has been taken over by our own people. They say that from now on, the profits from the oil will be left to us locals."

The father was shocked and turned to look closely at the television screen. Looking at the bruised and handcuffed man on the ground, he asked in a trembling voice, "Who...who is this person who was arrested?"

"They are traitors who stole our property!"

"How could they be so rude?" The father had no time to scold his son. "You...you don't need to go to school by yourself for the next few days. I'll arrange for someone to pick you up and drop you off!"

As he spoke, the father turned pale and hurriedly left the living room, returning to his study.

He had just finished a conference call discussing Milton... and as soon as he finished speaking, he turned around and saw Milton's men arresting oil field managers on the street, and they looked like they had been beaten up badly.

What made him most uneasy was that his son was completely unaware and even clapped and cheered!
A puzzled voice quickly came from the other end of the phone: "Marco, what's wrong? Is there anything else you haven't told me?"

"Call those Americans over! Today, we can't wait any longer!" Marco shuddered at the images on TV. "Milton, that madman, he does big things by the day, no, by the hour! If we wait a few days to bring those Americans over for a meeting, our heads will be chopped off and used as toilets for Milton!"

"Is it that serious?"

"quick!"

Marco wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and hurriedly went to the garage of his villa. Without even calling the driver, he got into the driver's seat and drove towards the Coca-Cola Company.

He arrived at the conference room very quickly.

Here were several Mexicans who looked like they were sitting on pins and needles, military advisors from various PMC companies, and several Americans—including an executive from Coca-Cola Finza (think of it as Coca-Cola Mexico)’s southern regional division.

"Hey..." The American in charge of security frowned. "Is it that serious? We've already called in so many PMCs, and our stance is very clear. Does Milton really dare to use force against us directly?"

You Americans aren't in a hurry, of course, since the worst outcome is just deportation...

But what about the Mexicans who work here?

How will Milton and Vic handle this?

At this moment, the first person to voice his opposition was not a Mexican, but a British PMC employee. He carefully examined the documents in his hand and gently shook his head: "Based on the limited intelligence from our frontline personnel, Milton's next target may indeed be us."

In his televised address, Viktor was no longer a threat. It was practically a pre-attack statement!
"What? He's really not afraid of death? He doesn't understand the attitude we're expressing?"

“Milton is a madman. He even coined a new word for his brutality!” the PMC consultant emphasized. “We’re just a security company. We can take on guerrillas, or even some lightly armed terrorists… but they’re a regular army. If we fight them head-on, we’ll be wiped out.”

"Even if Milton faces retribution afterward, what does it mean to us? To have future generations carve a message when they worship us, telling our corpses that Milton has already suffered retribution?"

"I think the other side has already shown a very tough attitude. We can't build up our defensive strength for the time being, so making peace is the lowest-cost approach. Milton just wants money, right? Just give it to him, won't that solve the problem?"

If Coca-Cola were to be attacked by armed forces, that would indeed be a major event, and there would certainly be retaliation... But the problem is, before Milton's attack, as a foreign-owned company, it was impossible for them to proactively spend money to hire mercenaries to attack anyone.

Even if they were to do that, it would have to be the company's own action, and they would have to pay for it themselves.

The security chief frowned deeply: "I paid so much money to hire so many armed men, and in the end you want me to make peace?"

“Because making peace is the lowest-cost approach.” The PMC consultant tapped the table. “Or are you planning a war? Okay, I can also come up with a plan for a war, but first I need to ask you, has your company prepared the funds for a war?”

"Do you have this authority? Doesn't this kind of action require approval from the board of directors? How much impact would getting involved in a war have on the stock price? I don't think Coca-Cola's board of directors could be so impulsive."

"Finally, even if your company comes up with this money and wins the final victory, do you think Coca-Cola's position in the local market can be preserved after this major battle? ... Sir, you should have sent your vice president or even the president over. I am a military advisor and shouldn't be saying these things."

"Okay, I'll go report..."

A full half hour later, the security manager arrived at the conference room with the vice president.

Seeing that someone was about to say something, the vice president raised his hand and said, "I know the specifics... I think you've all overlooked a very crucial issue, and that is Milton himself."

"Don't always talk about fighting and killing. How do you know if he can be moved by money if you don't give him some?"

"Until now, it seems no one has made contact with Milton—why don't we just give him a call and ask him what he really wants? Maybe a phone call can clear up a lot of misunderstandings?"

“We know many officials, so getting a phone call to Milton shouldn’t be difficult. I’ve already sent someone to do it; just wait a moment.”

Sure enough, not long after, a string of numbers was placed in front of the vice president.

He picked up the phone and dialed the number.

Soon a sweet female voice came from inside: "Hello, this is the affairs department of the Pan Madre Group. How can I help you?"

“I am Poo Maxwell, the Vice President of Regional Operations for Coca-Cola Fensa’s Southern Mexico division,” Poo began. “I have something I’d like to discuss with ‘Hell Tax Collector,’ namely Milton Mins.”

The operator was clearly very surprised. She said, "...Please wait a moment while I verify your number."

A full three minutes passed before the operator finally replied:

"Confirmation complete. Please wait a moment while I transfer you to another call."

"Beep beep..."

A very somber voice came from the other end: "Mr. Poor, I am Brandon."

Brandon... the absolute core figure who has been with Milton since the very beginning.

Poo began, “Mr. Brandon, it’s a pleasure to meet you… You must be very busy right now, so I won’t waste any more time. These past two days, I’ve seen Mr. Vic and Mr. Milton’s statements on television and other media, which has made me and my staff quite uneasy.”

"We are a legitimate company that has created many jobs and generated a lot of tax revenue... Perhaps it is some rumors or misunderstandings that have led you to have some opinions about Coca-Cola, but I can make a statement on behalf of Coca-Cola Fansa - we do not want to be affected by the war."

“Coca-Cola’s contracts with the previous government are all legally binding. We understand the reforms the new government will undertake and are willing to provide substantial funds to assist the new government in its reforms, post-war reconstruction, and humanitarian aid efforts. What do you say?”

This statement is quite blatant; it means that Milton should set a price.

Poo felt that he had been extremely sincere.

To everyone's surprise, Brandon just snorted coldly: "Go ask Mayor Vic about his affairs. It's none of our business... As for government reforms and post-war reconstruction, those are internal government matters, funded by the government and do not require any external donations."

“If you want humanitarian aid, we welcome it—you can do it yourself, we can provide security, and there’s no need to use government funds.”

Poo was stunned—he said those were just an excuse to bribe him!

“…Well, you’re welcome to come and inspect our factory for any non-compliance.” Poo thought for a moment and then said, “If anything doesn’t comply with the new regulations, we can pay a fine.”

After listening, Brandon sighed and said, "Mr. Poor, you don't seem to understand the current situation... Well then, I'll be frank. This isn't a press conference, and there's no need for bureaucratic jargon. Coca-Cola's actions have resulted in a large number of diabetes cases, putting enormous pressure on the healthcare system in Chiapas and even in Guatemala."

"Our demands are simple: Coca-Cola's local joint venture partners must be transferred to the local state government. You can manage the raw materials, but how to operate them must be decided by the Chiapas State Department of Agriculture. Coca-Cola involves sugarcane, water resources, and energy intake, which are already under the jurisdiction of the state government. We will not allow you to act as recklessly as before."

"Furthermore, Coca-Cola must fully accept and cooperate with the new government's inspections, including those on finances, pollution, and so on."

"Key positions will be filled by government-appointed employees."

"You must..."

"We order..."

"Coca-Cola has a responsibility..."

"..."

As Poo listened to Brandon's words on the other end of the phone, he was speechless for a moment, almost thinking he was hallucinating.

In that case, why not just pack up the local Coca-Cola and send it over?

At least you'll survive a robbery.

Poo, also visibly angry, said, "Excuse me for speaking frankly, but are you making a wish? What you're saying, let alone me, even the general manager has no right to grant!"

He believed that Brandon was asking for an exorbitant price but would eventually have to negotiate a lower one.

But Brandon's attitude once again surprised him. He said coldly, "Oh, that's settled then. Go talk to the 'Hell Tax Collector' if you have any problems later."

"Snapped!"

"Beep beep..."

Not only Poo, but everyone in the conference room looked at each other in bewilderment.

Bye? !
The Pan Madre Group has shown absolutely no intention of negotiating!

Has Milton really made up his mind to fight?
Milton wasn't playing the art of negotiation; he genuinely wanted to fight, so he simply made some outrageous demands... They didn't care whether Coca-Cola agreed or not.

Several military advisors wore expressions that said, "I knew it: Milton is probably really going to fight with this attitude."

"...Hold them off!" Poo shouted through gritted teeth, though his words were a bit bluster. "Send all our security forces here. We're going back to Monterey immediately—no, we're going back to America—to find Coca-Cola headquarters!"

"What if headquarters just abandons this place altogether?"

"How can we give this up? This is the most important water source in Latin America. We have such a good contract, which almost covers the entire reservoir! If we give this up, where else can we find such a good place in the future, and where else can we sign such a good contract?"

“Milton is about to control the entire border. If a war really breaks out, how high will our costs be? If, due to distribution issues, the price of cola exceeds that of bottled water, how much of a blow will that be to us?”

"It's because we monopolize this reservoir that we've been able to achieve the feat of selling Coca-Cola for less than the price of drinking water. Without this reservoir, no matter how popular Coca-Cola is, it's just an ordinary beverage, understand?!"

"Besides, the company can relocate, but what about you? What will happen to your jobs? Think about what level of salary we're all earning! This Coca-Cola here must be saved, understand?"

Poo, no longer caring about his image, shouted: "Let's get moving! This is a matter of self-preservation!"

"..."

……

Palenque, frontline command post.

"Boss, the Coca-Cola people just came over to beg for peace, saying they're willing to pay the fine. I did as you said, made a promise to them directly, and then hung up the phone in a firm tone."

Milton nodded slightly: "Yes, this can be publicized so that everyone knows that our negotiations with Coca-Cola were completely insincere and that our next target is to send troops to beat them up."

"Then……"

"Prepare yourselves, let's march on Tustra."

"Badr has been fighting for so long, and he still dares to declare himself king. It seems he has forgotten that they are a defeated army."

(End of this chapter)