Juan Soto met President Rivera at the front doors and the two said little as they walked to the elevators and ascended to the top floor. Rivera shook some hands and nodded to some employees and senior executives as they worked their way to Soto’s inner sanctum. Once there, Rivera excused his closest security personnel and finally entered a conference room. It was just him and Soto now.
With the door closed, blinds shut, and total privacy finally ensured, the two men smiled -- this time deeply -- and hugged. Rivera thought that Juan Soto looked as thin and sharp as ever. The man took discipline and ambition to levels that even Rivera could not reach.
“My good friend,” Juan said. “Why did you not call? I would have gladly come to you to prevent you having to be out in the city any more than necessary.”
“I wanted to honor and respect you by coming to your office,” President Rivera said sincerely.
“We only received word ten minutes ago. Otherwise, we would have prepared a better welcome.”
“We’ve increased my security measures with the latest threats of assassination,” Rivera said. “Even our top police did not know my destination.”
“But how did you know I’d be here?”
Rivera smiled. “I believe you had a hastily scheduled meeting with our finance minister in twenty minutes?”
Juan Soto grinned as he realized his old friend had shown his sense of cunning once again -- something Juan had been following since the man began his political career.
“Your conference room has been updated,” Rivera said, looking around at the modern interior.
“Twice, maybe three times since you were here.”
Rivera looked down. He had been too busy and away too long.
“I haven’t been here since I was governor,” he said, with real regret in his voice. “But, we must skip the small talk, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, of course. And I think I know why you’re here.”
“Then, is it true? You’re leaving?”
Juan Soto looked away. He could not stand to disappoint his friend.
“It is, isn’t it?” Valez asked.
“Yes, my friend. I’m very sorry, but I decided yesterday and my staff and I are planning the steps involved.”
Rivera reached across the table and grabbed Juan’s forearm.
“You can’t, Juan. I need you! Your country needs you.”
Juan yanked his arm away. “My country has failed me,” he said, angrier than he meant.
Rivera looked away. Said nothing. He stood, walked over to the bar, and poured himself a glass of brandy. He savored the taste, felt the warmth, and, taking a deep breath, turned back to Juan.
“Juan, I am so sorry about what happened to Gabriella,” Rivera said, referring to a recent kidnapping attempt of Juan’s daughter that killed three of her bodyguards.
“It’s not just about Gabby,” Soto said. “Did you hear about my shift supervisor yesterday? Or my chief financial officer a month ago? Or any of the other twenty-plus employees who have been killed in the past two months?”
Rivera looked down at his brandy. “I did not, my friend. I am truly sorry.”
Juan walked to a seat at the head of the conference table and sat. Heavily. He no longer looked angry, but Rivera saw that the normally energetic and unstoppable entrepreneur now looked tired. And defeated.
Rivera walked toward him and sat in a chair next to him. He said nothing and thought of honest friends he knew who had gambled their lives by joining his government and trying to take back their country from the cartels. And now with the looming threat of the ruthless Godesto Cartel, Rivera thought of all the newly appointed police captains across cities and towns far and wide who would certainly be hunted down or executed if he failed.
He looked up at Juan, who sat looking at him.
“Juan, could you give me six months? Just six months to fix it?”
“I’m sorry, Roberto, but not even you, with all your energy and intellect could fix the country in six months. You haven’t been able to in three years. What makes you think you can in six months?”
“We’ve done much in those three years,” Rivera said. “Made important police appointments and purged many dirty officials. And.” Rivera paused, and swallowed. “I’ll finally get help from the Americans. I’ll tell them we’re in desperate need.” Rivera was talking fast now. “We’ll get special troops down here and we’ll go after that bastard Hernan Flores. I know he’s behind it all.”
Juan Soto smiled.
“Now, Roberto,” he said, “are you forgetting that even your appointed Attorney General admitted in a news conference that there is no real evidence against Flores?”
“Then we’ll make some!” Rivera said. “That bastard keeps killing and silencing people, so to hell with the law. If you’re on the verge of leaving, then we’ll have to fight fire with fire. This is for Mexico’s own sake.”
Juan reached across the table and laid his hand on the top of Rivera’s forearm. “My friend. Do not soil your soul. It is your integrity that sets you apart. It is your integrity and faith that inspires millions of Mexicans. Do not become like Flores.”
Rivera realized the horror of what he’d considered and sat there ashamed at what he had spoken.
“You are right, Juan. Forget I said that,” Rivera said, now looking him in the eyes.
“We all have our moments of weakness, my friend, but you have your strength and you still believe. I, however, no longer do.”
Rivera grabbed Juan’s hand and enclosed it in both of his. “Please don’t say that, Juan. Please, give me just six months. I beg of you. If not for your country, for me. And for my family. You know we will not survive without your support.”
Juan looked at Rivera and felt the man’s desperate grip. He knew he could say “no” to him in the darkness of night and with a greater distance between them, but he simply could not abandon the man when he had to look him in the eyes. Not without giving him one more chance. He stood and pulled Rivera to him.
“I’ll give you six months, my friend, though I must tell you that I doubt you will be successful. Privately, I will continue planning my departure and liquidation of my assets. However, I will appear optimistic in all public appearances to my employees and friends, and I say in all honesty that if it can be done, it is you who will achieve it.”
Rivera let go of Juan’s hand and grabbed him in a hard hug.
“Thank you, my dear friend. Thank you. I will not let you down.”
Juan held Rivera a moment and then stepped back. He straightened Rivera’s jacket and said, “Now compose yourself, my friend. Our country is depending on your strength and nerve.”
Rivera stood straighter and pulled his jacket down.
“Don’t go looking at properties elsewhere,” Rivera said. “It will be a waste of time and energy.”
“Now that’s the President I’m used to seeing,” Juan Soto said. “Call me if I can be of assistance.”
To continue reading, purchase it from here: Mexican Heat (Nick Woods, No. 2).
Sold Out (Nick Woods Book 1) Page 25
