“Mr. Chavez, something’s off,” Emmett said. Everyone exchanged glances. It was strangely quiet.

When Jeremiah arrived with Emmett and his men, the brightly lit mansion was eerily silent. This was highly unusual. Emmett was unsure what to do. He looked to Jeremiah for guidance.

Jeremiah pursed his lips, raised a hand for silence, and after a long pause, lit a cigarette with practiced finesse. His face was cold, his voice chilling in the night. “Let’s go. Someone’s waiting inside,” Jeremiah said, calmly stepping into the mansion.

Emmett, taking the hint, signaled a few subordinates to follow as they entered the mansion. The front door was open. They proceeded as if they owned the place, unaware that Drunken Beauty had incapacitated everyone inside hours earlier.

Inside, they found a man in a black suit slumped over a table. Emmett signaled a subordinate to investigate. A man with thick eyebrows and large eyes, wearing a bulletproof vest, approached cautiously.

He drew his gun, slowly approached the unconscious man, and prodded him with the weapon. There was no response. He checked for a pulse; it was faint but present.

Turning back, he reported to Jeremiah, his voice serious. “Mr. Chavez, this man is alive, but he’s been drugged. He won't wake up for several hours.”

Jeremiah nodded, his gaze deep and calm. “Okay.”

They approached the mansion's entrance. Emmett opened the creaking door. Jeremiah entered, followed by Emmett and the others, guns drawn, prepared for anything. They were unsure who had broken in, friend or foe, and remained vigilant. The mansion’s interior was undisturbed, showing no signs of a struggle.

People lay everywhere—on the couch, the carpet, the stairs, even the kitchen floor. Their faces were peaceful, as if asleep. It was unsettling. Deeply unsettling.

Emmett checked the pulse of someone on the couch, confirming they were unconscious. After scouting the area, Emmett and his men returned to Jeremiah, their expressions grave. “Mr. Chavez, everyone here has been drugged, just like those outside. Whoever did this is highly skilled—we found no clues.”

Emmett was concerned. They'd been monitoring Caleb's mansion. In the few hours they'd regrouped, everyone inside had been incapacitated. To subdue so many people so quickly was remarkable.

He'd thoroughly searched the scene, finding no trace of how the drug was administered. Food seemed the most likely vector, but he found no evidence of recent cooking. A woman in the kitchen still held uncooked vegetables, clearly incapacitated before she could start. The drug wasn’t in the food; it was likely airborne. Yet, to his knowledge, no such potent drug existed. The most dangerous enemies often worked from the shadows.

Jeremiah listened calmly, his expression unreadable. “Let’s go upstairs. It’s likely someone has already dealt with Caleb for us.”

Emmett exchanged shocked glances with the others. They wondered if Jeremiah meant Caleb was dead.

Jeremiah led the way upstairs. Passing a man lying on the ground, he unceremoniously kicked him down the stairs and continued on, unfazed.

Emmett glanced at the kicked man, recognizing him instantly. He'd reviewed the man's profile days ago—Caleb's top henchman, involved in drug trafficking and countless other crimes.

Reaching a bedroom, Jeremiah smelled a strong scent of blood. His expression grimmed, concealing the cold glint in his eyes. “Except for Emmett, find the people identified in the reports and kill them.” The word hung in the air, chilling everyone present.

The men responded immediately, going downstairs to eliminate Caleb's most loyal and corrupt followers—those complicit in his drug trafficking, enslavement, and other atrocities. Their deaths would remove a significant evil from the world.

With Caleb and Bradley gone, the Kerton family's power was effectively shattered. Caleb's several illegitimate sons would soon be battling for control.

Emmett opened the bedroom door to find Caleb's corpse. He was undeniably dead—his body gaunt and stiff, his face pale and sunken, his fingers bloodied from clawing at something. His eyes were wide with terror, the floor around him streaked with blood from his death throes. His death had been agonizing.

Jeremiah knelt beside the body, examining it closely. There wasn’t a single visible wound, yet there was a significant amount of blood.

Jeremiah squinted, a thought forming. He inspected Caleb’s wrists and chest, finding tiny, almost invisible needle marks. He'd been killed by silver needles.

Caleb's killer was not only a poison expert but also a master of ancient martial arts. The precision required to embed needles so deeply spoke to exceptional skill.

Jeremiah stood, his gaze settling on a south-facing window. He fell silent for a moment before calmly saying, “Let’s go back.”

Emmett nodded, somewhat stiffly. He'd expected a bloody battle, but it hadn't happened. They'd reaped the rewards of someone else's work, completing their mission effortlessly. It was unprecedented, strange, but ultimately positive.

Jeremiah and his men returned to the hotel at 3 a.m. Emmett, having initially booked a 2 p.m. flight, had changed it to 3:30 p.m. to accommodate Yvette.

It was too late to wake Yvette. Jeremiah stood silently outside her door for a few minutes before returning to his room.

Yvette hadn’t slept. She stared blankly out the window until sunrise, the same violent dream haunting her again. Another sleepless night.