
It’s all about the circle of trust. Money, decisions, blood—it stays inside.
At the top of that circle is Chelis Caro—the highest-ranking operator in the network. He built his base in Jalisco, splitting time between Zapopan and Mazamitla. Early on, he operated under the protection of Pájaro Sierra, back when the Cuatro Letras still offered safe harbor to men from Badiraguato.
Chelis didn’t buy leftovers. He sourced directly from Colombians in Tapachula, loaded cocaine on madrinas, and moved it north without delay.
The only person above him is his father, El del Pelo Chino—quietly known among insiders as José Gil Caro Quintero. Together, they oversee the large-scale movement of fentanilo and white China, routed through a corridor that rarely fails:
Tapachula → Durango → Sinaloa → Tijuana → Los Angeles → New York and New Jersey.

Under his command, trusted operators handle stash houses, run routes, and move hundreds of kilos each week. Cessnas drop in like war runs—staggered, timed, and covered. The product touches down on private ranches protected by the Guardia Nacional GN or other corrupt officials.
There’s no stress when it flies into Mexico. It lands, gets unpacked, tested, and sold. Even when it’s stepped on, it still passes as high-purity. Shine, numbness, texture—it’s all calibrated using additives sourced from dentists and pharmaceutical labs.
He used to buy cocaine by the ton, back when a key ran $10,000. In 2019, he was flipping it for $22,000 to $25,000 in Guadalajara—and pulling up to $38,000 on the East Coast.
Now, the price shifts week to week. Some weeks it’s $22,000, others it dips to $18,000. Doesn’t matter. He moves 200 to 300 keys a week, spread across buyers in New York, New Jersey, and Philly.
Anyone pushing real weight knows exactly who moves it first.
You’ll never hear his name in corridos—just one private track that circulates in whispers.

They’re extremely careful and use satellite-encrypted phones for everything. In Jalisco, Chelis keeps stash houses with kilos of cocaine on standby—ready to move. According to a source, nothing ever goes missing—especially not cocaine.
His routes are considered secure and well-protected—reportedly with support from the Mexican National Guard.
In Mexico, pricing depends on the drop. Buyers in Jalisco pay less than clients in Chiapas or Guerrero—the farther it travels, the higher the price.
Chelis rarely moves product within Jalisco. He prefers to ship it out of state—fast, and only in bulk. Locally, he’s known for rapid turnover. Nothing sits. Nothing gets stuck.
His network doesn’t operate in Phoenix or El Monte. That territory belongs to traffickers from Carrizalejo—figures like Traka Ántrax, Sargento, and Molina, also known as El Doce.

Each group moves around 20 kilos a month. Some gets sold locally in Phoenix or El Monte. The rest moves north through Tijuana after landing in southern Mexico—quiet, consistent traffic.
Heroin, crystal, fentanilo. But they’re not moving weight at scale. They’re enforcers—men who make their living through extortion, contract killings, and kidnappings.
The Carrizalejo faction controls Phoenix. Chelis has no involvement there.
They tell me Sargento doesn’t report to Flechas. He answers to Olegario Chaidez—known inside as El Zarco and El General—an old-school figure who survived the Durango War and still calls the shots. He commands the entire zone, with men like Sierra, Lobo, Baleado, Bruno, Caballero, Ruso, Jaguar, Pariente, 04, and 11 under his line. They all answer to him.

He runs Zacatecas and holds direct command over the MZ Operative. Nothing moves without his say-so. Sargento, Sierra, Caballero, and others fall under that line—many of them with ties to the Los Cabreras.

Chelis doesn’t say where he stands. But they tell me he’s contributed weapons and material to Mayito Flaco’s fight.
He runs his own cartel.
When he first moved to Jalisco, old photos show him alongside his wife, Lidia Medina.


They’re not legally married—Lidia kept her last name on purpose. At a family party in Zapopan, she reportedly said it was to avoid being tied to the Caro family’s legal problems.
Chelis no longer wears a beard or flashy designer brands, but his garage is full of the newest exotic cars and trucks on the market. He has a daughter named Viridiana (Viri), and a sister with the same name—Viridiana Caro—who handles the money laundering through yoga studios, fitness businesses, and high-end vehicles.
There’s a fleet of armored vehicles, but she sticks to the white Mercedes. She lives in an upscale, gated community—where rich fits in with rich.

Lidia moves alone—her escorts blend into the scene. She’s seen around town, living well.
One of Chelis’s main buyers at the border is a crew based in Mexicali. Their leader, Thomas Soto, is in his late 40s or early 50s and originally from Badiraguato. He’s lived in Mexicali for over 15 years—first under El Chapo, then under El Ruso. Soto was the one who introduced Chelis to El Ruso, helping secure better pricing based on volume.
There’s one story I’ve heard more than once, but never seen on paper. Joel Torres—the son of JT—claims he once saw federal agents hand over kilos to Chelis at Sentry Lane, a crossing point at the San Ysidro Port of Entry.
Chelis isn’t loyal to the Sinaloa Cartel. He doesn’t need it. Product moves fast, moves clean. He’s made enough to disappear—but he likes being the one they still need.
Some say Gerardo Ortiz laundered money for CJNG. But no—according to people close to him, it was for Chelis. He lived in Jalisco for several years.
Chelis doesn’t want his son in the life. He gave Jorgito Caro a black and blue Lamborghini—Blu Nila—and pushed him toward music.
The car was sent by Ramiro Caro, the singer’s father. A favor between family.

He moves cocaine wholesale. Even crews with their own routes buy from him. One call moves 200 keys.
With Chelis, you get one shot. Pay late, and you’re done. No grace. No second call.

According to sources close to him, Chelis hasn’t been able to return to Culiacán for years. The issue? A long-standing fallout with Iván Archivaldo Guzmán that’s dragged on for nearly a decade. Instead of going back, he helped in the war—quietly, indirectly, from a distance.
His people control Quintana Roo, even as the region stays under heavy federal heat. It’s also where several Caborca Cartel bosses are hiding. Chelis controls part of Sonora too. But he wants no part of Sinaloa—it’s too hot. And he doesn’t chase plazas. He moves product.
The only reason they made noise in Sonora was to get the labs. Now that they’ve got them, they’ve gone quiet again.
Chelis introduced both Tusi (pink cocaine) and fentanilo (fentanyl) to Sinaloa. But once Tusi lost its exclusivity, he dropped it—the profit margin wasn’t worth the heat.
He’s the man behind the curtain—the one pulling the strings.
I’m collaborating with the talented team at SiRiO to produce Spanish-language videos that bring my original content to life on YouTube. English subtitles are available—that’s all for now.
— Mica Treviño
🔗 Watch the episode that goes with this story:
https://youtu.be/Uh6J6NVFo9o?si=37HA4iTHfyXh0YP3
📺 Subscribe to SiRiO’s channel for more of his visual storytelling:
https://www.youtube.com/@SIRIO.2000
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15 Comments
Good read! Mica is on 🔥
🔥 Thanks
That was a Great Read Mica.
Thanks
That’s going to leave mark
Very informative and interesting story. This is the type of stories that I enjoy reading. These type of enigma and mysterious stories that much of us still don’t know about is what keeps us in suspense wanting to read more. Awesome article.
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
Fire as usual Mica!
Another awesome write.
Thanks for your work
Good story.I like reading stories about mysterious families that act behind the scenes.More of this please
Thanks for reading
Great read
Hmm. Sombra and you talking about Caro at the same time. Interesting.
Not the same Olegario
🥹