Mayo is guilty: it remains to be seen what he confessed and who he betrayed.

"I recognize the great harm that illegal drugs have caused to the people of the United States, Mexico, and elsewhere. I take responsibility for my role in all of this and apologize to all who have suffered or been affected by my actions." With these words, Ismael El Mayo Zambada pleaded guilty yesterday in a Brooklyn, New York, court, bringing to a close half a century of criminal career.

He ended up in the hands of US justice not because of a military operation or police intelligence, but—according to him—after being kidnapped by Joaquín Guzmán López, the son of his former partner Joaquín "El Chapo" Guzmán. The two arrived on a private plane at an airport near El Paso, Texas, in July 2024 and, while still on board, were arrested. Guzmán López, currently in prison, faces a trial in which he has already pleaded not guilty.

That kidnapping sparked the war between the Chapitos and the Mayitos, an internal struggle within the Sinaloa Cartel that has left more than 600 dead and 800 missing in Sinaloa to date, although some put the number at more than 3,000.

Mayo's appearance was far from the "trial of the century" many had anticipated. Unlike El Chapo's trial, which featured weeks of testimony and leaks, this time there was no spectacle: The end of Mayo's career was anticlimactic, almost bureaucratic, but definitive.

He pleaded guilty to two major charges: racketeering conspiracy and running a continuing criminal enterprise. He admitted to trafficking more than 1.5 million kilos of cocaine into the United States, ordering the murders of rivals—including his own nephew—and bribing police and military personnel to operate with impunity.

Also yesterday in Brooklyn, U.S. Attorney General Pam Bondi and several federal officials announced that Zambada will spend the rest of his life in prison.

Bondi's press conference made another point clear: the Mexican government received little credit for its fight against drug trafficking. The spotlight was on the Department of Justice, the DEA, the FBI, and Homeland Security. For the US, the capture and confession of El Mayo is a triumph of its own, not its shared one. The implicit message is devastating: the Mexican state was, at best, a supporting actor in the fall of the legendary drug lord.

His confession raises several possibilities. The first: that the US has previously unpublished information about corruption networks in Mexico. The second: that the DOJ keeps this information under lock and key and uses it as a diplomatic bargaining chip. The third: that nothing changes and the Mexican political system, accustomed to impunity, ignores any revelations.

Thus, the most anticipated news turned out to be also the most disappointing. There are no scenes of courtroom drama, no list of politicians and businessmen on trial, no cinematic conclusion. Just the invisible image of an ailing old man admitting that for half a century he trafficked 1,500 tons of cocaine to the US with the complicity of many and the silence of almost all.

His story ends anticlimactically, and his confession could be buried in the DOJ files or become political dynamite. For now, the only certainty is that he will spend the rest of his life behind bars.

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