Capítulo 1465: Chapter 692: Old Man Ao! (Part 3)

“Absolutely not!”

Little Bush resolutely refused, “The United States of America will never recognize the annexation of Texas! This is the bottom line!”

The smile on Victor’s face disappeared in an instant, replaced by extreme impatience.

He suddenly leaned back against the chair, took out his metal cigarette case, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with a loud snap of his lighter. He took a deep drag and blew out a smoke ring.

Little Bush and the other American personnel were stunned by this abrupt breach of etiquette.

Before Little Bush could reiterate his “bottom line,” Victor took another drag, then pointed a finger holding the cigarette at Little Bush: “George, give it a rest. What you’re saying is just fancy words politicians use to fool voters on TV. You flew all the way here secretly, not to recite your State of the Union draft in front of me, right?”

Before he finished speaking, he suddenly stood up.

This action made the American security personnel tense up instantly, while Mexico’s Lunacharsky and Casare remained expressionless, as if they had expected it.

Get used to it, get used to it.

More shocking was Victor casually grabbing the heavy glass ashtray on the table, not to throw it at anyone, but to slam it down like a judge’s gavel, aiming straight at Little Bush’s nose.

“You damn well disagree with everything!”

Victor’s voice suddenly raised, carrying a thug-like coarseness and hostility, contrasting sharply with his earlier enthusiasm, “That idiot Stuart treated our words as nonsense, and now you can’t even find his head! You’re sitting here talking about ‘indivisibility’? The reality of Texas was achieved with guns, not Washington’s pens!”

Little Bush’s face instantly turned pale with anger, as a president, he had never been so openly insulted and threatened.

He abruptly stood up, both hands on the table, his body trembling slightly from anger: “Victor! Mind your identity and the occasion! Is this how heads of state conduct talks? You’re behaving like a thug!”

“Identity? Occasion?”

Victor scoffed, reaching forward again with the ashtray, almost poking it in Little Bush’s face, “My identity is the one who can decide whether millions in Texas eat bread or bullets tomorrow! The one who can decide whether those states on the West Coast of the United States can have a good night’s sleep tonight! Talking to you is a courtesy, and you’re refusing the ladder being given to you?”

He threw the ashtray back onto the table with a loud noise, leaned forward, his face almost touching Little Bush’s, eyes sparkling with ferocity:

“Then go back! Get on your Air Force One! We have nothing to talk about!”

“You want a fight? Then come! Fight to the death!”

“Let’s see whether your paratroopers step on Texas first, or my missiles hit Houston, Los Angeles, or even your damn White House first! Let’s see whether Wall Street’s stock market crashes first, or I use all of Mexico’s strength to exhaust you to the end. Let’s see whether your American soldiers are scared to die, or my men who crawled out of piles of corpses and blood seas are less afraid of losing their heads!”

The air in the conference room seemed to freeze.

The members of the American delegation were pale-faced, they had anticipated tough negotiations, but never imagined it would turn into blatant war threats and street-level squabbling.

Little Bush’s chest heaved violently, trying to stay calm, but Victor’s unpredictable behavior, mixed with a rogue style, completely disrupted his plans.

The man before him truly did not care about conventional diplomatic etiquette or international opinion, he might genuinely not concern himself with the consequences of full-scale war.

Casare timely chimed in slowly, “Mr. President, please calm down. Mr. Victor is just straightforward, but his reasoning is not wrong. War benefits neither side, especially given your country’s current… um, fragile economic and social state. We’re here precisely to avoid the worst-case scenario, aren’t we?”

Victor sat back down, took another drag of his cigarette, eyes fixed on Little Bush: “The choice is yours, George, to return with an acceptable agreement, telling Americans you avoided full-scale war and protected the rest of the states, or to leave now as we prepare for a war. I’ll give you time to think.”

After speaking, Victor ignored the cross-colored faces of Little Bush and the American delegation, grunted twice, stood up directly: “Half-hour break, coffee, restroom, or call your damned Parliament on whatever you want.”

He waved his hand grandly, turned and walked out of the tense conference room, President Lunaczarski quickly followed suit.

In the restroom.

Victor stood at the urinal, with a cigarette hanging from his lips, smoke lingering.

Lunaczarski stood next to him, unable to help but lower his voice in concern: “Sir, are we… being too hard? I’m worried the Americans are being pushed too hard, what if they truly don’t care…”

Victor scoffed, blew out a smoke ring: “Don’t care about anything? You’re overestimating them.”

He zipped up, walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, and the sound of running water:

“They’re like those vain, afraid-to-die rich people, wearing expensive silk shirts, their biggest fear is getting mud splashed on them, even more scared to wrestle in the dirt with barefoot desperadoes.”