Chapter 220

Anna filmed the red Ferrari 458 entering the rotary parking garage with her phone camera. Just moments ago, the driver had been freely testing the 458’s performance along a sunset-colored coastal road, utterly unaware of what was coming, before slowing down and steering into the garage.

The driver screeched up the spiral parking tower, grinding down the tires, then spun theatrically into an empty space like the hero of some action film. Having captured the entire scene on camera, Anna hurried toward the spot where the 458 was parked.

Climbing out of the driver’s seat was a white man who looked to be in his late twenties. Though he tensed at Anna’s sudden appearance, he smirked, glancing at the Ferrari, as if already assuming she was making a move on him because of the expensive car. Anna didn’t care what he imagined. She stepped in front of him and shoved her phone forward.

“Your boss wouldn’t like seeing this video.”

The man’s gaze flicked to her screen, then away. He was a valet at the upscale French restaurant Éclavis.

Just earlier, he had taken a customer’s Ferrari 458 out joyriding along the Ralph Coast highway, where white beaches and the transparent waters of the Gulf of Mexico stretched out in breathtaking scenery. After glancing over the footage, he let out a heavy sigh.

“Looks like there’s some kind of misunderstanding...”

“Sure. Maybe it’s my misunderstanding. And maybe I could forget I saw anything at all. If you let me borrow the keys to that black car—just ten minutes—I’ll delete the video.”

Her fingertip pointed. The man’s eyes followed. Parked beside a massive concrete pillar was a glossy black SUV, its shield-shaped emblem gleaming quietly above the heavy front grille. Angus Stone, the police commissioner’s Cadillac.

Had the valet known who owned the vehicle, he would never have handed over the keys. But clueless, he gave them up, cowed by Anna’s blackmail, then walked off at her urging.

Since spotting Commissioner Angus Stone and his (apparently alpha) son at headquarters, Anna had been tailing the commissioner. Nearly ten days had passed, yet his movements showed nothing unusual—outside of official duties, he always stayed home. Nor had she seen his flamboyantly bearded, earless son again.

But tonight, for once, Stone had not gone home. He had gone to Éclavis.

Éclavis was Vargas City’s most enduring culinary landmark. Famous for a trout dish that drew people to line up, the restaurant had expanded gradually over half a century and produced several renowned chefs.

For Anna, it held personal memories too. She had gone there with her family under all sorts of excuses—her mother recovering from a cold, or breaking up with her first boyfriend. After her parents died in the accident, she hadn’t returned for years, until last year, when she was invited by someone from Those Who Overcame Grief (Slhansa), at a gathering to send off a member who had improved through counseling and was returning to England.

That rich Englishwoman had tried to hire Jackson Cliff as her private therapist back then.

Thinking of the incident, her mind naturally went to the elderly gentleman—Jackson Cliff.

It’s been a while since I’ve heard from him. He said he was busy opening the counseling center.

Indeed, there was a new counseling center near Éclavis. Cliff himself lived frugally, driving a twenty-year-old Crawley car, but with a benefactor’s support he had opened a center in the high-priced Manuels commercial district.

Jackson was the kind of person who lingered in her thoughts. Not only was it unusual that he was a psychotherapist with a military background—his past tugged at her. His wife had disappeared. His young son had died. Shock had turned his hair white, and from that wound he had founded Slhansa, as a way to move forward.

In the end, he had not only saved his own life, but others’ as well.

I’m still living a mess, though.

Anna smiled bitterly, recalling how forty minutes earlier she had stood outside the restaurant. She had watched Stone’s retreating back before slipping in with a slight delay. Brushing off a waiter with the excuse that she had company, she hid behind a pillar and peered into the hall.

The commissioner was shaking hands with another man. The restaurant was dim, so she couldn’t make out his features, only that he was a short, middle-aged white man with dark hair.

Just before a waiter approached her again, the short man stepped into the light. His face became clear, and Anna recognized him instantly.

It was Richard Brown, governor of Hellsota State.

Since the governor appointed the police commissioner, their meeting wasn’t strange. Yet Anna couldn’t shake the feeling something was off.

Reasons later. First, the job at hand.

She slipped into Stone’s Cadillac, quickly checking for a dashcam. She had brought an SD card to swap if necessary, but there was none installed. So she moved to plan two.

Opening the trunk and finding the auxiliary cigarette jack, Anna unplugged it and slotted in a recorder shaped like a car adapter. Capable of 180 days of continuous recording, it was virtually undetectable.

Unfortunately, the device couldn’t transmit audio live. She would have to retrieve it later, but it was the best she had. Returning to her stakeout vehicle, she waited until Stone left Éclavis and returned home before heading back herself.

But at her house, she faced the unexpected. Something felt subtly different, as if she had entered another person’s home with the same layout. An uncanny sense of estrangement.

She went straight to the security room to check the CCTV feeds. But there was nothing—no footage from 9:00 to 11:00 that morning. As if someone had deliberately erased it.

A chill ran through her. She searched the mansion for signs of intrusion. Finally, she discovered that some—only some—of her rut suppressants and tranquilizers were missing.

This thief had been considerate. They had taken just enough, and no more, as though promising not to disturb the rest.

Only three people knew suppressants were kept here: Lewis, Siron, and Baekgyeong. Which made it even stranger. Siron and Baekgyeong had no reason to erase CCTV to hide themselves from her. If anything, she was the one who could help them.

Staring grimly at the blank surveillance screens, Anna muttered:

“What the hell happened here?”

“Wake up.”

Baekgyeong’s words meant nothing to unconscious Isaac. He waited idly for a reaction. When none came after several seconds, he pressed a stun gun to Isaac’s collarbone and hit the switch.

Isaac’s reflexes snapped taut like a cut rubber band, his eyes flying open. Normally the strong sedative would have kept him under, but its effect was wearing off.

He bolted upright, reaching instinctively for the device, but Baekgyeong dodged easily, stepping back.

“Governor’s press conference on the execution’s at 2 p.m. We need to watch the news. Move.”

He spoke coldly, turning to leave the bedroom. Still half-dazed from rut, pain, and sedation, Isaac barely processed the words as he staggered to follow.

Out in the hall, Siron was shoving Baekgyeong, shouting.

“Are you insane? Using a taser on someone unconscious?”

“He’s not dead.”

Baekgyeong shrugged when he noticed Isaac up and moving.

“See? Perfectly fine.”

Siron’s eyes flicked to Isaac. His gaunt face, his vacant stare locked on Siron.

“Ugh...”

Siron turned away abruptly, fleeing down the hall. Since the kidnapping, he had ignored Isaac completely—until rut had dragged him into feverish sex, clinging like a koala that refused to let go. The memory made it impossible to meet his eyes now.

On the TV, news of the first execution in twelve years was airing, ahead of Governor Richard Brown’s press conference. Speculation swirled about his decision, along with lists of death row inmates and their crimes.