David climbed up from the floor. He and Harley, both holding rifles, cautiously moved towards the office.
All the gunmen of the Mexican gang had been killed. Only Guzman remained, sitting at his desk, watching them with a grim expression.
He tried his best to appear imposing, but the cold sweat on his forehead and his slightly trembling body betrayed his true state of mind.
Seeing Guzman's unfazed expression, David was pissed off.
He strode forward, grabbed Guzman by the collar, and with a sudden surge of strength from his iron-hard arm, he hauled Guzman out of his chair, swung him in a wide arc through the air, and slammed him hard onto the floor.
With a loud thud!
Guzman was thrown into a dizzying spin, his bones feeling like they were about to shatter.
"Spare me! Don't kill me!"
Guzman's last shred of dignity was brutally crushed by David, and he immediately began to beg for his life.
"Don't kill me! I'm begging you, don't kill me! I can give you money, lots and lots of money!"
Harley walked over and squatted down, asking with a grin, "Oh, really? Give me 10 billion US dollars, and I'll let you live."
Hearing this, a pained expression crossed Guzman's face. "Ma'am, you must have some misunderstanding about me. I really can't come up with 10 billion dollars."
"Is that so?"
Harley maintained her captivating smile as she stepped on Guzman's wrist with her foot, pulled out her pistol, and aimed it at his palm.
"BANG!"
A single gunshot. The bullet tore a massive hole through Guzman's palm, leaving it a gory, mangled mess of blood and shredded flesh.
"AHHHHHHH!!!!!"
Guzman shrieked in agony.
David pinned him down by the shoulders, holding him firmly in place.
Harley stood up, moved to his other side, stomped on his other hand, and pressed the muzzle of her gun against that palm.
"Every three-year-old on the street knows you Mexican drug lords are swimming in cash. How dare you say you can't come up with 10 billion dollars!"
Guzman, fighting through the searing pain, explained, "Ma'am, you've really misunderstood."
"The Guzman family rose to prominence in the seventies and eighties. To this day, there are forty to fifty members in the direct line. The drug trade is indeed very profitable, but that money has to be divided proportionally among every member of the main family."
"On top of that, the family has to support over a thousand gunmen and pay to bribe government and police officials. The actual amount of money that ends up in each family member's hands isn't that much."
Guzman's expression was sincere; he didn't look like he was lying.
Harley looked up and exchanged a glance with David, then continued to ask, "So what's your personal fortune worth?"
Guzman said, "Excluding stocks, bonds, luxury cars, mansions, private jets, yachts, and other fixed assets, the liquid cash I currently have at my disposal is about 1.2 billion US dollars."
Harley's brow furrowed. This was far from what she had expected.
Afraid she wouldn't believe him, Guzman quickly added, "I'm telling the truth. If you don't believe me, I can log into my account and show you right now."
Harley stood up. "Then what are you waiting for!"
David let go. Guzman scrambled to his feet, picked up an Hermès handkerchief off the floor, and crudely bandaged his wounded palm.
Then, he sat down at the desk, opened his laptop, and logged into his personal Swiss bank account.
David and Harley went over to look and saw that Guzman wasn't lying. His personal account actually held just $1.2 billion dollars.
Harley sighed in disappointment.
1.2 billion would have to do. After setting aside the 200 million protection fee for Jason, she and David could each get 500 million, just enough to buy a level 1 superpower.
She leaned over, picked up a Montblanc fountain pen worth tens of thousands of dollars, and wrote a string of characters on a sheet of white paper on the desk.
"Transfer all the money in your account to this bank account. All of it."
Guzman took the paper and glanced at it, realizing it was an anonymous Swiss bank account.
Guzman...
Seeing his hesitation, Harley immediately pressed the gun to his head. "What? Having second thoughts? Is that money more important than your life?"
Guzman looked up and said seriously, "I can give you the 1.2 billion. But what guarantee do I have that you won't kill me after you get the money?"
If he was going to die either way, Guzman would rather leave the 1.2 billion dollars to his sons back in Mexico.
Harley said gravely, "I swear on the name of the Joker Organization, as long as you hand over the 1.2 billion, he and I won't lay a single finger on you."
Guzman smiled and shook his head. "Your words mean nothing to me."
Harley's brow tightened, anger simmering within her.
Just as Harley was about to shoot him again, Guzman proposed, "I have an idea."
"What kind of idea?"
"I can set a condition for the transfer. The funds will be temporarily frozen upon arrival. The money can only be accessed if I personally lift the freeze within 72 hours. If it isn't lifted within 72 hours, the funds will be permanently frozen, becoming a dead account!"
Guzman explained, "Once the transfer is made, it can't be reversed to the original account, so you don't have to worry about me backing out, and you certainly don't have to worry about me deliberately freezing the money. I'm not going to piss off the Joker Organization over money I can't get back anyway."
After hearing him out, Harley and David stepped aside to discuss it in hushed tones.
A minute later, Harley said, "Fine! Make the transfer now."
Guzman nodded. "Alright."
While he was making the transfer, David asked, "Your gunmen are all just street thugs. How did they know military special forces tactics?"
Guzman explained while typing on the computer, "I asked the mayor for help to deal with you."
"By the way, he's a corrupt mayor. He's already squeezed two hundred million dollars out of me alone. You could go after him. I'm sure you'd find it very profitable."
Guzman was extremely dissatisfied with the mayor. He took the money and did nothing, and wouldn't even answer his calls.
David said, "You don't need to worry about that. Continue."
"This matter involved Jason—no, Mr. Walter—and then it was taken over by a mysterious agency called the Strategic Homeland Defense, Attack and Logistics Support Bureau."
Strategic Homeland Defense, Attack and Logistics Support Bureau? Harley and David repeated the name silently to themselves. It was completely unfamiliar to both of them.
"This afternoon, two of their people came, a white guy and a black guy. They asked me about the basic situation and then left."
"They told me not to worry, that they would take care of you. Hmph, total bullshit. They just sent a few agents to train my men and then vanished without a trace."
Thinking of this, Guzman's expectations for this mysterious American agency hit rock bottom.
What bullshit agency can't even handle a couple of terrorists? A bunch of fucking useless wastes.
Guzman resentfully hit the final key on the keyboard.
"There. The transfer is complete!"
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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
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