Casare knitted his eyebrows and asked, "Boss, who do you think it is?"

When this question was asked, a bloody reality was laid before them; at his core, Casare had already begun transforming into a political animal.

He intended to maximize the benefits from this "incident."

There's no need to pay attention to those small fry who jump out; they're just a bunch of losers trying to stir up trouble secretly. But if this were pinned on the "Yanks," then evidently, anti-American conflict within Mexico would intensify!

What do you call this?

This is called manipulating the tide of thought. To put it further, it's about wielding public opinion to one's advantage.

Victor picked up the pack of cigarettes on the table, shook it, and extended it toward Casare, who quickly stood up and took a cigarette with both hands. Just as he was about to sit down, the former picked up a lighter and lit it for him.

That left Fat Casare at a bit of a loss.

"Buddy, do you know what the saddest thing in the world is?"

Why did this turn into a philosophical discussion?

Fat Casare took a drag from the cigarette, raised his eyebrows, and said, "Is it when someone dies and the money is still there?"

Only when he saw the boss's eyes almost rolling back did he awkwardly shake his head and say, "I don't quite understand. Ever since I followed you, Boss, I haven't had any sad things happen."

This quieted Victor right down.

After a while, he sighed and said, "The saddest thing in the world is when you realize you've lost yourself!"

"We can use politics to attack opponents; that's one way. But have you thought about what we would do if further anti-American protests erupted domestically? What about the Americans who have immigrated to Mexico and settled here?"

"Wouldn't it be a bad thing if massive conflicts erupted domestically then?"

"By then, if riots break out, what means should we use to stop them?"

"Besides Americans, Mexicans, Soviets, and immigrants from other countries, although they all are a minority, if they get embroiled in the conflict, what should we do?"

These three questions left Casare speechless.

"The people are the creators of history, yet they often don't know what they are creating." Victor pointed at his own head. "They are wilder, more timid, more insane, and... more mindless."

"Gustave Le Bon's 'The Mob' says, 'The intelligence of a crowd is always less than that of a solitary individual.'

Casare bowed his head in thought and slowly nodded, "I understand."

But he said reluctantly, "What if it's really the CIA doing it?"

"Not to mention, the CIA is almost as porous as a fishing net, with Hydra and the Mexican Intelligence Bureau infiltrating it. Even if they have the ability, it must have been someone else who did it!"

Victor's eyes were dark, "Sowing discord is a tactic that never goes out of style."

Politics requires learning to compromise!

Mexico's population is too small; Victor wants to benefit from a population dividend, so he can only turn it into a semi-immigrant country. Currently, the national population is about 200 million, ranking in the top six, among which more than 20 million, nearly 30 million, Americans have come over due to war and various upheavals!

These people have significantly boosted Mexico's economy, culture, and technological development.

The next largest group is other Latin Americans, numbering nearly 7 million.

The fourth-largest is of Asian descent, with about 2.2 million people.

If there really is an anti-Yank movement domestically, Victor doesn't believe other ethnicities wouldn't kick them while they're down. One thing he can guarantee is that power will always remain in Mexican hands.

When small nations border large ones, they are bound to suffer harm!

This is not uncommon in history; isn't that how it was with the Man Qing in modern historical terms?

After a stable ten to twenty years, when the internet era arrives, the gap between races and nations will gradually dissipate, bringing people closer, but of course, this is the current of the era.

The office became somewhat stifling because of this topic.

Both smoked cigarettes, surrounded by smoke, a "paradise on earth."

Ring ring!

The phone on the table rang.

Victor, with a cigarette in his right hand, picked up the phone with his left, "Hello—"

Casare puffed his cheeks, exhaling through his nose, eyes trained on the boss, watching as his lips moved ever so slightly, so slightly that if one wasn't paying close attention, it would be almost undetectable.

As a long-time underling, it must be big news from the other end.

"Alright, I got it."

Victor hung up the phone, then looked up at Casare, "The mastermind behind it is Pablo's Medellin."

"!!!"

"He couldn't accept being stood up by the British and the European Republic, felt disrespected, and wanted revenge!"

Indeed...

Having agreed to oppose Vic together, now you're instead playing along with him; Pablo's petty mind certainly wouldn't let everyone off easily.

After Victor spoke, he saw the astonishment and disbelief in Casare's eyes, along with a trace of doubt, "What? Don't believe it?"

"No, no, whatever you say, Boss, I believe. If you say Jesus, Buddha, Allah are all the same person, I'd believe that too," Fat Casare laughed heartily.

"Pablo's cousin, who's responsible for expanding the cocaine sales network, Gustavo Gaviria, has already surrendered to the Mexican Overseas Drug Enforcement Administration's Colombia branch. That's where we learned it from."

"When???!! "

"Just an hour after the explosive attack."

Casare froze for a long time, unable to utter a word. He wanted to vent, but given his current standing, some things weren't appropriate for him to say.

"What? Finding it hard to understand?" Victor could tell what he meant just from his expression.

"A bit, Gustavo Gaviria is one of Pablo's founding elders, their relationship is very close; it's highly unlikely he'd betray him. Moreover... given our extreme methods for dealing with drug traffickers, would he really surrender to us? Could it be fake?"