Meanwhile, at one of the police headquarters where Jake was imprisoned, a grey Lamborghini squeaked in, the sound of tires squealing under friction as the engine came to a halt.

Slowly, the gull-wing door swooped open, and a man stepped out, his branded shoe plunking on the ground as he made his way to the entrance.

After adjusting his glasses, he walked through the single door, approaching the correction officer. With a warm smile, he gestured for a handshake, his eyes narrowed in feigned delight. "Good morning, officer," he greeted, his hand still stretched out.

The correction officer glanced at his hand, his eyes wandering over him. After a short...