The room fell into a heavy, measured silence.
The advisors had expected a defense—perhaps even an imitation—of British liberal thought. Instead, they found themselves confronted with something far more deliberate: a vision that did not borrow, but assembled. A state not merely political, but civilizational in its ambition.
Carlos had, with careful precision, dissolved the suspicion of English influence—not by denying it outright, but by surrounding his proposal with something older, deeper, and more difficult to challenge.
"If the fanatics—or the Empire—call us anglófilos," Carlos added, a faint, controlled smile crossing his face, "then let them be told this: we are more Spanish than the King, and more American than the Viceroy."
He paused.
"We are the Mancomunidad de los Andes. Our authority does not come from a fleet in Jamaica, but from the mountains themselves—and from the ancient liberties of the behetrías."
The words settled into the room with quiet force.
