The most striking features of the office were two Japanese katanas mounted on a stand behind Bison's desk. Opposite sat a slightly smaller black leather chair for visitors. Every detail of the room exuded expensive taste and power.

"Leave us," Bison commanded the guards, who promptly exited the office. "Well, hello Jeffrey. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

Bison's tone was all business, tinged with an underlying strictness that put Jeffrey on edge. Despite their long association, Jeffrey genuinely respected – and feared – Bison. He spoke softly, almost pleadingly, as he took a seat in the chair opposite the crime lord.

"I assume you've heard about what happened to my daughter?" Jeffrey began, his hands resting nervously on his knees.

"Yes, I'm aware," Bison replied, his voice devoid of sympathy. "Shit happens. I know everything that goes on in our town. My condolences, Jeffrey. But what does this have to do with me?" He raised an eyebrow, resting his chin on his index finger as he regarded the sheriff with cool detachment.

"I know who killed my daughter," Jeffrey said, leaning forward and placing his hands on the desk. "This guy needs to be dealt with. I need the help of your people."

Bison let out a derisive laugh, looking at Jeffrey not with pity, but with contempt. "Jeffrey, you clearly don't understand what you're asking right now. My people aren't your personal hit squad to solve your problems. That's what the police are for." The gang leader's voice dripped with irony.

"I thought we were partners," Jeffrey protested, unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

"Ha! If we're partners, you especially shouldn't come to me with requests like this. I hope I've made myself clear?"

"How can this be?" Jeffrey's tone grew more insistent, desperation creeping in. "I've been working for you for eight years. I've never let you down. You have to help me."

"Jeffrey, I don't owe you anything," Bison's voice took on a dangerous edge. "You seem to have forgotten that you're living comfortably only thanks to me."

Defeated, Jeffrey stood and began to walk towards the office door.

"You know, Jeffrey," Bison called after him, a smirk playing on his lips, "this is karma for your past." Jeffrey turned, his face a mask of confusion as he stared at the floor.

"I always say that in this life, everyone gets their due. Your day has come."

Bison's malicious laughter filled the room. Jeffrey raised his eyes to meet Bison's gaze.

"Don't talk to me about karma," he spat. "I already know we're all sinners here. If you can't help me deal with this guy, at least tell me where I can find him."

Jeffrey approached the desk once more, showing Bison a photo of Bradley Force on his phone. Bison glanced at it, his face twisting with disgust.

"I don't know this guy. People like that don't run in my circles."

Without another word, Jeffrey turned and left, fury and despair warring within him. He had been certain Bison would help him. Now he realized he would have to hunt for Bradley on his own.

Back at the station, Nick and Christian were hunched over their computers, scouring databases for any information that might lead them to Bradley Force. But as the hours ticked by, their frustration only grew. It seemed that little had changed since their last search. Bradley Force still had no official job, no registered address. His last known residence remained his mother's house, where they had already failed to find him. The detectives felt like they were chasing ghosts.

"I don't understand," Christian exclaimed, slamming his fist on his desk in frustration. "They have to be living somewhere!"