Working as a police officer in Mexico

Victor arrived at the Governor's Mansion just as a crowd had already formed outside.

Horatio Herbert Kitchener, the Chief of Staff, and other military figures were waiting; as the car approached, he went up to open the door, shouting, "General!"

"Let's go inside and talk."

Victor, expressionless, walked at the forefront, followed closely by the bigwigs.

After parking the car, his driver immediately called the Head of the Tijuana Police Department.

"Hello, Director, sorry to bother you, but there's something I need to speak with you about tonight..."

The Director, who had been drinking with some local connections, suddenly shivered, sobering up instantly.

"Understood, I've got it."

After hanging up the phone, frowning with a typically intoxicated flush but clear eyes, he was scared. Had someone sped and squeezed into the Governor's motorcade?

"What's wrong?" asked the transportation department head, noticing his expression and quickly inquiring.

"Quick, find out who was drag racing the Ferrari on the Tijuana Bridge today, damn it, they almost flipped the Governor's motorcade."

Upon hearing this, the officials and tycoons at the table were instantly alarmed.

The transportation official turned pale.

Damn!

You choose now to speed, crashing into the Governor's motorcade? Are you looking to die?

"I'll have someone check right now." He quickly stood up to make the call to the duty officer.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the dinner table, a middle-aged man, looking scholarly with glasses, appeared uneasy. Apologising to everyone, he took his phone and walked outside to the restroom to make a call.

No one answered the first time.

Nor the second time.

But on the third try, someone picked up, drunkenly yelling, "Hello, who the hell is calling at this hour?"

"Audede Cassilach!" Hearing untidy dance music and the caller's slurred speech on the other end, the man asked, "Where have you been off dying?"

There was a moment of silence followed by a panic-stricken clamor, the sound of a bottle being knocked over, and the caller hurried to a quieter spot, muttering, "Dad."

"Where are you! Have you been out messing around again? Tell me, did you drag race tonight on the Tijuana Bridge?"

Audede Cassilach was taken aback, he wanted to lie, but stammered without daring to speak.

"Get back home! Come back!" The man immediately understood; it was his own sorry kid.

"Dad…today, my friend was… celebrating a birthday."

"Don't call me dad, you're my dad! Come back, or don't bother coming back at all, you might as well die out there."

He hung up angrily, turned on the faucet to splash water on his face, took a tissue to wipe off, tossed it into the trash, took a deep breath and as he walked back to the private room, suddenly felt something was off.

Everyone was looking at him with pity.

"Philip, you should really teach your child properly, otherwise he might cause trouble that could affect you too."

The expression of Phillips Cameron, the Head of Tijuana's Drug Enforcement Department, turned sour.

The dinner broke up unhappily.

As he stormed home, he saw the Ferrari parked outside; the more he looked at it, the angrier he got, grabbing a brick from the corner and hurling it toward the car!

He smashed the hood and the glass!

Upon hearing the noise, family members came running out. Stay tuned with My Virtual Library Empire

"What are you doing, Phillips!" his wife cried out in disbelief, rushing over to pull him back.

"Ask this little bastard what he's done." Phillips Cameron pointed at his son hiding behind, his teeth gritted, "He was drag racing and almost overturned the Governor's motorcade."

"What?" both his wife and son were taken aback, eyes wide.

"If I don't kill you now, you'll just be trouble for me later!" With that, he pulled off his belt and started thrashing him from both sides.

His victim screamed in agony.

"Stop, stop, are you trying to kill him?" His wife rushed forward, pulling him back and pleading with their son on the ground, "Go! Hurry up and go!"

Audede Cassilach scrambled up and fled, driving off in an unlicensed Lamborghini Countach from the garage.

If he didn't escape now, he would be beaten to death.

Watching the car, Phillips Cameron's face darkened, "Where did that car come from?"

"Someone gave it to us; I took it because I saw that the boy liked it."

"How can you accept everything! What if someone gave you a bomb?!"

His wife, yelled at, paused in shock but then burst out resentfully, "What's wrong with taking a car? When I married you, you were just a jail guard, but now you've made it and you can't let us enjoy some of the benefits?"

"It's just a car!"

Phillips Cameron's expression was steely.

He hadn't secured his position merely through competence; the Governor had said, "you are capable, even if you were crippled, it would be a rare talent."

He was among the first group of officers to join Victor's team, had trained at Altiplano Prison early on, and then followed him to Guadalupe Island; he was considered an old-timer.

This was why he was able to hold his position at the Drug Enforcement Department.

Victor was not harsh to these veterans; those wishing to continue in the military were promoted while those preferring a quieter post could head some department.

After all, wasn't everyone following you to rise through the ranks and make their fortune?

Perhaps because he was so poor before, ever since he had become the head of the police station, his wife often used his name to amass wealth, their son didn't even bother with school, just messed around everywhere.