"Mr. Joaquin, I've heard about this too, it's too strange. Balrot's channels have always been secure. How could something go wrong this time?" Little Leva's tone carried a hint of ridicule: "Or is it possible that there is a mole within your own ranks?"
"Impossible!" Joaquin declared with pride: "There will never be another traitor in my organization. The last one had his skin peeled off alive by my men, his heart and liver were used to brew liquor, and it's still stored in the wine cabinet of my hall. I doubt anyone would want to taste that again."
He paused and then added: "I've received a tip-off, fearing that it's Balrot's people who have a problem. Today, I also called him over to check the accounts together."
A flicker of contempt passed through Little Leva's eyes; the Leva Group had also lost some merchandise recently, but they were doing much better than both Balrot and Joaquin.
Joaquin had intricate ties with the Colombian anti-government armed forces and was one of the drug lords with the best relationship with the Colombians among the Mexican drug trafficking groups.
Therefore, often when someone encountered a problem with supplies or affairs from Colombia, they would turn to him for help.
Leveraging these channels and relationships, Joaquin often behaved arrogantly, implicitly acting as the leader among everyone.
All being drug traffickers and heads of their groups, Joaquin's domineering air inevitably led to him being cursed behind his back, but fear of his power prevented any open expression of this resentment.
Little Leva smiled and said: "If it's not a problem on your side, then it must be an issue on Balrot's side. Either way, only the two of you would know."
Joaquin's face turned a steely blue, just about to say something, when several more cars drove into the estate.
The person getting out of this batch of cars was obviously a local Mexican due to the huge traditional Mexican hat perched on his head, which looked naturally a bit comical when worn.
Despite being short in stature, the man looked sturdy like a bull.
Seeing this person, Joaquin did not approach to shake hands or share a kiss as he had when greeting Little Leva, but remained reclining on his wicker chair, coldly observing the newcomer.
"Balrog is here. You can go and ask Balrog as he was responsible for transporting the merchandise," he said to Little Leva.
"Mr. Joaquin, I'm here," Balrog approached the table, noticing Little Leva's presence, his eyes lit up: "What a rare guest! It turns out Mr. Little Leva is also here! Where's your brother?"
Little Leva stood up, politely shook hands with Balrog, and gave a procedural explanation: "My brother is temporarily unavailable, so I'm here on his behalf."
Then, another procession of cars entered.
This time it was a big personality—the trusted man of a notorious Colombian drug lord, Lucas.
"Lucas! My dear Lucas, my friend! My brother!"
Joaquin greeted him with a saccharine smile, but without warmth.
"Shorty, you're so enthusiastic about greeting me, it's kind of frightening," said Lucas, his eyes the size of mung beans emitting a cold glint as he scanned the surroundings.
He had used Joaquin's nickname, rather than his name.
The reality of their strained relationship could no longer be concealed.
Lucas's bodyguards nearly surrounded him like half an iron barrel, leaving only a small gap where Joaquin stood.
After a seemingly heartfelt embrace, they both took a seat at the table.
By this time, the table was already bustling with activity.
Soon, representatives from the other two groups also arrived, one after another.
Along with Joaquin, members of the five major groups were all present.
Women in bikinis and large Mexican hats and cowboy boots came to the table with platters of fruit and a large plate of Mexican grilled meat, and set them on the table.
"Shorty, everyone's here now. Speak up if you have something to say, I'm in a hurry to get back," Lucas said impatiently without even settling into his seat.
His words conveyed a clear message—having given face by showing up, he expected Joaquin to speak his piece quickly.
He was a well-known fugitive; the new president of Mexico had put out a hit list and his name was second.
"Don't rush; just wait a little longer, we still need to wait for one more person."
Joaquin glanced at his watch; his brow furrowed subtly.
"It seems our honored guest is running late..."
Before he could finish, headlights shone from the road in the distance.
Joaquin casually picked up the first pair of night vision goggles by his side and looked towards the lights. A few Toyota FJ cruisers were heading their way.
"Hmm—"
He put down the night vision goggles and turned to everyone: "It seems our honored guest has just arrived."
The FJ procession arrived at the estate and parked beside the fountain.
"Who has arrived?" Lucas shifted his gaze suspiciously, tightly fixing his eyes on the FJ cruisers.
Among the group, only Balrot remained silent.
Because he knew who Joaquin was waiting for.
The car door opened, and Song Heping appeared in everyone's sight.
"Mr. Song."
Joaquin was still very enthusiastic, welcoming him just like he did the others.
"Mr. Joaquin." Song Heping didn't look too good: "All my men were asked to stay in Mexico City and not allowed to follow, what does this mean?"
Song Heping brought Jiang Feng and three others to Mexico this time.
He came under the pretense of debt collection.
Through pressure from Morins, Joaquin agreed to take on the role of an intermediary, contacting Balrot to clarify things face-to-face with Song Heping.