July 26, 1990, around two in the afternoon.
Right on schedule.
Because the gold-framed clock in the Sonora State Governor's office had just chimed.
The phone on the desk rang.
Victor, who had been standing by the window, twitched at the sound; the hand holding his cigarette shook briefly, and he watched as Casare dashed over at a speed that belied his weight, picked up the phone and answered the call.
"Boss, it's Mr. Jonathan Pannier."
Victor finished his last drag—couldn't waste it—and flicked the cigarette butt into the ashtray. Really, one must never litter.
He walked over, took the phone, "Buddy, what did your leadership say?"
Government agencies are always so complicated, still having to report to the leadership.
It's not like him—private enterprise, first-generation entrepreneur—the direction of the company entirely up to him. Want to disband the company? Just give Nuevo Laredo a fire cleansing tomorrow morning.
The company would be dissolved by the afternoon.
