Wyatt and Zane entered the police station, immediately sensing the tension in the quiet hallway. The air seemed to thicken with the unspoken weight of the three figures already present.

Zane, taking the lead, politely ushered Jeremiah and the others into his office, instructing his subordinates to bring the truck driver to the interrogation room. He was respectful but not fawning, offering water before settling onto the couch with a gesture that pleased Wyatt. Wyatt admired Zane's tact, recognizing the calculated restraint as a hallmark of effective leadership.

Andrew, sprawled on the couch, took a sip of water. "That truck driver's tough," he said, turning to Yvette. "We've questioned him ten times this morning. All he says is it was an accident, that he was overworked. Someone coached him; he's dodging the serious charges. Who the hell did Mr. Chambers cross? This wasn't just brake failure; they used a huge truck to try and kill him."

Yvette's sharp gaze narrowed. Her fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, her elegant features betraying a flicker of amusement. "Overworking?" she questioned slowly.

Wyatt nodded gravely. He'd been present for the entire interrogation. "He's clever, too sharp for his background. He didn't flinch once, even asked for a lawyer—like he expected this, confident he wouldn't face serious charges."

Zane remained silent, reflecting on his own arduous climb to this position, a journey Wyatt had facilitated. He too sensed the driver wasn't ordinary.

Jeremiah casually inserted a straw into Yvette's drink and handed it to her. She took a sip, just as casually returning it. The three men across from them were speechless. A chill flickered in Jeremiah's eyes. In the sunlight, his calm profile seemed to glow. "Have you checked his background?" he asked, his voice sharp and cold.

Zane answered respectfully, "We have. Eric Wilson. Nothing special. From a small town. We contacted his local police; his parents passed away years ago. He has an older brother who left for work over twenty years ago and hasn't returned. Eric's been driving trucks ever since, keeps to himself, no wife, no kids. That's all we found."

Andrew scoffed. "He does look the part."

Jeremiah's expression remained unchanged. "Where's his brother? What does he do?"

Zane faltered. They'd overlooked the brother, a ghost from twenty years past. "We haven't looked into that. I'll arrange it immediately."

Yvette, a mischievous smile playing on her lips, leaned forward. "Don't bother. Let him tell us himself."

Wyatt and Zane exchanged uncertain glances. Getting Eric to talk had been nearly impossible.

Andrew leaned closer, curious. "You know how to make him talk, Yvette?"

Yvette nodded, her gaze lazy yet fierce, playful yet intense. "Getting him to talk is easy. Just beat him until he speaks."

Andrew nodded in agreement. Jeremiah gently squeezed her wrist. "Do you really want to do that?"

Yvette tilted her head, her eyes sparkling.

Wyatt felt a surge of alarm. Are they seriously discussing this? How can Jeremiah ignore the law? he thought.

Zane looked at Yvette cautiously. "Ms. Zeller, perhaps another approach would be best?"

Wyatt echoed his sentiment. "Zane's right. Beating someone up at the station isn't appropriate."

Yvette's gaze swept over their nervous faces. A playful smile touched her lips as she tapped the armrest. Raising an eyebrow, she said lazily, "Just kidding. Peace matters. We shouldn't fight violence with violence."

Wyatt and Zane remained unconvinced. Andrew slumped back, clearly disappointed.

A knock sounded. Lachlan, having anticipated their next move, ushered Eric into the room.

"Come in," Zane said.

Lachlan entered. "Eric's in the interrogation room, Mr. Chappell. Ready when you are."

Zane looked to Jeremiah and Yvette. "Mr. Chavez, Ms. Zeller, shall we?"

Inside, Eric sat defiantly, convinced of his impunity. He scoffed, believing their tactics useless. His brother's plan was foolproof—exploit the loopholes, evade serious consequences. The door opened, and Eric squinted, his surprise evident upon seeing Yvette.

Lachlan snapped at Eric, "Behave yourself," then gestured for the other officers to leave, leaving Eric alone with Yvette.

Yvette strolled to a chair, casually settling in, legs up on the table, radiating confidence. She said nothing.

For half an hour, Eric waited, his frustration mounting. Across the room, Jeremiah, Andrew, Wyatt, Zane, Lachlan, and the two officers watched the scene unfold on a monitor.