Chapter 2053 - 845: Power Must Be Caged! (Part 2)

He looked for a long time.

Then he raised his head and said to the secretary beside him:

"Send a note to the Mexico Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Say that the interim government of Ecuador appreciates Mr. Victor's reforms. We are willing to learn from Mexico's experience to promote our own constitutional reforms."

The secretary was taken aback.

"Mr. President, we just—"

"I know." Urtado interrupted him, "But precisely because we are just starting, we need to learn. Learn the right things, not the wrong ones."

He stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the streets of Quito were coming back to life. There were more pedestrians, shops had opened, and even the kids playing soccer on the street corner were more than a few days ago.

"The Mexicans hit us, but they also saved our future."

He murmured.

"Now we must walk on our own."

February 21, 1998, Washington D.C., White House.

The President looked at the draft of the constitutional amendment from Mexico City, his expression complex.

The Chief of Staff stood by.

"Mr. President, Victor's move was... very smart."

The President nodded.

"He could have done nothing at all. But he did. And not only did he do it, he did it beautifully. Now all of Latin America is watching him, learning from him. Even our allies are asking why the United States is not undertaking similar reforms."

The Chief of Staff said nothing.

The President put down the document.

"How's Turner doing over there?"

The Chief of Staff shook his head.

"Still suspended. Someone in Congress proposed to initiate an investigation, but it was suppressed."

The President was silent for a few seconds.

"Suppressing it was the right call. Exposing it now would not be beneficial for us."

He stood up and walked to the window.

"Victor, that man..." he murmured, "he's not like those we've dealt with before. He not only knows how to fight, but also how to make rules. This kind of opponent is the hardest to deal with."

The Chief of Staff waited for further words.

The President turned around.

"Notify the State Department to restart dialogue with Mexico. Don't talk about conflicts, talk about cooperation. Don't discuss past enmities, talk about future rules."

The Chief of Staff was momentarily stunned.

"Mr. President, that's—"

"I know." The President interrupted him, "But now is not the time to act on impulse. Victor has already won. We have to find a way to coexist with him."

February 22, 1998, Mexico City, Northern Prison.

Sinopiquiar sat in the cell, staring blankly at the wall opposite him.

He had been here for a week.

There was an interrogation every day. New people came every day to ask him new things. He had said everything, yet they kept asking.

He didn't know when the trial would start.

He only knew that the woman—Diego's aunt—was staying in a room not far from him. She passed by his cell every day, going outside for fresh air.

She never looked at him.

But every time she passed by, his heart skipped a beat.

The door opened.

Bennett came in.

"Mr. Sinopiquiar, the trial starts next Monday. Are you prepared?"

Sinopiquiar said nothing.

Bennett walked up to him.

"Do you know what you'll be sentenced to?"

Sinopiquiar's lips moved slightly.

"Death... death penalty."

Bennett nodded.

"Correct. Death penalty."

He looked into Sinopiquiar's eyes.

"Do you have anything to say?"

Sinopiquiar was silent for a long time.

Then he spoke, his voice hoarse as sandpaper:

"That kid... Diego... when he died, I was standing there watching."

Bennett said nothing.

"I didn't touch him. But I didn't stop it either. I just watched."

His tears fell.

"The thing I regret most in my life is not stopping it that day."

Bennett looked at him.

"What use is there in regretting now?"

Sinopiquiar lowered his head.

"No use."

Bennett turned to leave.

At the door, he stopped.

"Mr. Sinopiquiar."

Sinopiquiar raised his head.

"On the day of the trial, that woman will be sitting in the front row. She will watch you the entire time, from start to finish."

The door closed.

The cell was left with only Sinopiquiar.

And those eyes.

February 23, 1998, Mexico City, Paseo de la Reforma.

The protest had reached its peak.

An estimated five hundred thousand people.

They were holding signs, shouting slogans, stretching all the way from Paseo de la Reforma to Constitution Plaza.

The signs read:

"Trial Sinopiquiar!"

"Avenge Diego!"

"Victor, we support you!"

At three o'clock in the afternoon, a black armored vehicle left the Northern Prison, heading for the court.

Inside the car, Sinopiquiar hung his head, not daring to look outside.

But he could hear it.

Those voices.

Surging in like a tide.

"Murderer!" "Death penalty!" "Avenge Diego!"

He closed his eyes.

The face of that child appeared once more in his mind.

Four o'clock in the afternoon, at the courthouse entrance.

When Sinopiquiar was taken off the car, the crowd erupted in a tremendous booing sound.

Someone threw things at him—eggs, tomatoes, rotten fruit.

He was hit so he couldn't open his eyes, dragged inside by the bailiffs.

The moment he stepped inside the courthouse doors, he paused.

He saw that woman.

Diego's aunt.

She sat in the front row, dressed in black, her face expressionless.

Her eyes were fixed straight on him.

Sinopiquiar lowered his head, dragged into the courtroom by the bailiffs.

February 23, 1998, evening, National Palace.

Victor sat in his office, watching the live broadcast on TV.

The trial was ongoing.

The prosecutor was reading the indictment, one by one, piece by piece, each word like a nail.

"The defendant Sinopiquiar, as the mayor of Guayaquil, directly commanded and participated in violent actions against Mexican citizens. Resulting in the deaths of one hundred and twenty-three Mexican citizens, forty-two injured, nineteen missing..."