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Chapter 52 Meetings are good!

Carlos Mercado stood in front of the full-length mirror and fastened his shirt cuffs.

The person in the mirror looked tense, with their lips pursed.

Although he didn't know the specifics of the upcoming press conference, he knew it must mean something big.

Three days ago, there were reports of the president's corruption case.

The massacre in the square occurred three hours earlier.

Each and every incident indicates that Alvaro is about to take significant action.

"Drip-drip-"

The landline rang suddenly, interrupting Carlos's thoughts.

He frowned, then reached out to answer: "Hello?"

The receptionist's voice came through the receiver: "Sir, you have a visitor waiting in the lobby. Would you like him to come up?"

Visitor?

Carlos glanced at the time; he had to leave in an hour.

"No, I'm leaving. Tell him to come back another day."

“But, sir, he said this matter concerns your son and is very urgent.”

Carlos frowned even more, hesitated for a second, and then compromised, "Let him come up, but tell him beforehand that I don't have much time."

"Okay, sir."

Carlos hung up the phone, thought for a moment, took out his phone from his pocket, and dialed his ex-wife's number.

"Beep-beep-beep-"

No one heard.

Carlos stared at the screen, somewhat agitated.

However, just as he was about to dial again, the doorbell rang.

"Ring ring ring——"

He sighed helplessly, put his phone away, strode over, and opened the door.

A strange man was standing outside.

Buzz cut, grey hoodie.

Carlos was in a hurry to leave, so he asked first, "What happened to my son?"

The stranger did not answer.

Instead, he stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.

Carlos became wary and quickly took a few steps back. "Sir? Sir? Please tell me what happened immediately, or I will call security to remove you."

"Calm down, Editor Mercado."

"I'm here to discuss a deal with you."

As soon as he finished speaking, Zhou Yi pulled out a pistol from his waist and pointed it directly at Carlos.

The air in the room froze instantly.

Carlos froze, stammering, "W-what? Sir, please calm down. Put down the gun. Calm down. I really don't know you, we—"

"But I know you."

Zhou Yi stepped forward slowly, interrupting his explanation.

"I have read your excellent work online, especially the one about the Labour Party corruption case. It was truly brilliant, shocking and impressive."

"But this also makes me curious: how did you obtain that detailed data and transaction records?"

Carlos's eyes flickered. "They sent you? Bureaucrats from Alvareda Palace?"

“Antonio’s men?” Zhou Yi chuckled and shook his head. “No, sir, I have nothing to do with them. I just need your help.”

He paused for a moment, his tone gentle yet carrying an undeniable pressure: "Take me to see Alvaro."

Carlos's face turned grim. After a long silence, he spoke with difficulty, "Sir, I don't understand your implication. Besides, even if we are talking about the same thing, I'm sorry, I still can't meet your request."

He took a deep breath and emphasized again, "Even if you point a gun at me." Zhou Yi nodded slightly, seemingly agreeing, but just as Carlos was secretly relieved, he changed the subject:
"What if it's two guns?"

"Is it against your ex-wife and son who live at 168 Condé Barbende Street?"

Zhou Yi's words caused Carlos's pupils to contract sharply, his body to shudder, and his heart to skip a beat.

He finally understood why his ex-wife hadn't answered his phone for so long.

Carlos's throat was dry, and after trying for a long time, he could only manage to squeeze out a single syllable.

“Mr. Mercado, I hope you understand that cooperating with me is your only option.”

After saying this, Zhou Yi casually added, "Our capabilities far exceed your imagination."

"Take the Delta Air Lines incident a few days ago, for example."

This time, Carlos's expression completely changed, even showing a hint of fear.

He recognized the man in front of him.

The hijacker is an unknown person whose whereabouts are unknown, and even the US government is helpless against him.

However, the photo on the wanted poster was blurry and the angle was limited, so he never thought of connecting the two.

Realizing this, Carlos's breathing quickened, and cold sweat slid down his back.

His gaze shifted from the other man's expressionless face to the gun gripped in his hand, and he finally understood one thing—

There was no way for him to escape.

Carlos's Adam's apple bobbed. "If...if I can get you to Alvaro, how can you guarantee my son's safety?"

“You have no room to bargain with me.” Zhou Yi shrugged. “If they don’t see Alvaro, they will die today, including you.”

“Carlos Mercado, my patience is limited, choose.”

As he finished speaking, Carlos felt a wave of suffocating despair wash over him.

As far as he knew, the organization this man represented possessed extraordinary power.

Damn it, that's a military sniper rifle and the full force of the federal government's manhunt.

What's even more frightening is that he has no idea where the other party's bottom line is.

Countless thoughts flashed through my mind.

Carlos let out a long breath, finally giving up the struggle, his face ashen.

"Okay, I can take you there."

"The governor held a press conference fifty minutes later, and specifically invited friendly media to broadcast it."

"I just ask that you treat my son well afterwards."

Zhou Yi gave a meaningful smile. "A meeting? A meeting is good."

He holstered his gun, patted Carlos on the shoulder: "Take your pen, leave your phone at home, let's head out now."

The scorching sun beat down on the glass curtain wall of the TV Globo building.

Beto stared blankly at the computer screen.

The scene in the photos—pools of blood, corpses, and wailing crowds—was like hell; just looking at it made his stomach churn.

He didn't know what to write.

The number of bodies in the square has not yet been fully counted, and the death toll continues to rise.

Anger, wailing, protests, and curses surged across the land like a raging torrent.

The Presidential Palace has remained silent to this day.

The question of whether FNSP fired first remains unresolved, with no explanation, no one held accountable, and no official statement.

He subconsciously refreshed the page; the loading icon spun a few times, and then a line of gray text popped up:
"Sorry, unable to connect to the server."

Is your computer broken? Or is there a problem with the Wi-Fi?
Beto took out his phone, unlocked it, and found the signal bar in the upper right corner to be empty.

"This is unbelievable."

He muttered to himself, holding the phone up high, but nothing changed.

(End of this chapter)