"What!!!"
The night in Tijuana was lively, and a shocked voice came from the security department building. It was so loud that even the employees working the night shift at the door could hear it clearly.
But a glance showed everyone in the boss's office shrinking their heads.
Someone was definitely about to get a scolding!
"4,800 rockets! 38 tons of gunpowder, Kennedy blasted it all away in an hour? Didn't I equip him with 7,000? Are they all used up?"
Victor cursed furiously, throwing the "ammunition request" slip that Casare had handed him onto the ground, "What does he think I am? Does he think I'm made of money?"
"No, aren't you?" mumbled Casare from the side.
The office instantly fell silent.
"Ahem, ahem, ahem..."
Victor bent down to pick up the slip, but then saw Casare sprint over with a speed that didn't match his physique, pick it up, dust it off, and hand it over.
"So much ammo wasted on a steel factory, and it still hasn't been taken down?"
