How does that saying go: doesn't matter who you're a son to?

In the course of history, nations or civilizations without their own culture and heritage don't really care who they belong to.

When they declared independence back then, it was merely a wave of new ideas.

On the contrary, Guatemala expressed dissatisfaction to some extent.

They've eyed Belize for a long time; if it weren't for the British holding on, this small place would have been swallowed long ago.

But even if you're unhappy, what can you do?

After all, strength and interests are what truly matter in international affairs.

"Sir, Mr. Casare is here," the bodyguard said standing next to him.

"Let him come in, when did he become so polite?"

Victor said with a smile.

In no time, Casare came over, shaking his belly, this guy looked to be at least 250+ pounds at a glance.

"You need to lose some weight," Victor said, patting his belly, "Start running with me every morning from now on."

"Alright! Heh, just don't mind me running slow, boss,"

Casare laughed so much his eyes became invisible; he handed over a document, "Boss, there's a national talent award ceremony meeting this afternoon, and here's the seating chart for the banquet. Here's the list."

"What's this for me—" Victor said reflexively, but stopped abruptly, after looking up at the other.

Fat Casare didn't continue speaking, but that little look said it all.

Victor took it and glanced at it, his eyebrows raised slightly.

He noticed that one name was specially written very large.

Tita Vanties!

Born September 28, 1972, in Rochester, Michigan, United States.

Later, in 1991, she followed her parents into Mexico and worked at the International Comedy Ballet in Mexico City.

The information was written clearly.

"Talents aren't just Mexicans; many from the United States have also contributed to our entertainment, sports, and various fields." Casare was already prepared with excuses on the side.

What's called capability?

This is called a confidant!

Victor handed the document back, "No problem, well arranged."

"What time in the afternoon?" Мy Virtuаl Librаry Еmpirе (

"Three o'clock."

Victor nodded and bent over to continue trimming the greenery.

"Belize needs someone who can hold the fort; who would be best to go?"

Casare's expression became serious, "The boss decides; I'm not well-versed in this personnel area. Whoever you send will have the capability."

Victor gave him a look, "You are too slick; I'm asking you because I hope you'll recommend someone to me. Our relationship doesn't need false pretenses."

Casare chuckled warmly.

You can only take half of what leadership says seriously, no matter how good the relationship, don't take the other half seriously.

This is called the law of survival.

With colleagues too, don't foolishly spill everything, learn to play dumb.

After Victor repeatedly urged him.

Casare made a thoughtful face, suddenly recalling something.

Back then, when Tijuana discovered the intelligence facilitator, the initial plan was to reward Victor's cousin and Herman Goering who was responsible for Tijuana's intelligence work.

But when the rewards were proposed, the boss personally cancelled Herman Goering's name.

Just said to wait a bit longer.

Could it be he wants to elevate him to Governor of Belize?!

A step to the heavens?!

Casare hesitated and then gently said, "Herman Goering?"

Victor turned his head, looked at him, and after a while, laughed heartily.

"I knew we were on the same wavelength, right? Yes, it's him. What do you think?"

"If the boss says yes, then yes!"

Another one-size-fits-all answer.

"I've reviewed his dossier, very fine. So you should give him a call, let him come over to the National Palace."

"With Herman Goering in Belize, the locals will surely be obedient!"

When Casare exited the garden, he couldn't resist wiping his forehead.

He took a deep breath.

Guessing the boss's intentions is becoming harder and harder.

…