As they entered, Jeffrey was struck anew by the opulence of the interior. The massive living room resembled a tropical oasis, complete with a central fountain surrounded by lush vegetation. Subdued lighting cast long shadows across the space, while a large parrot squawked loudly from its ornate cage suspended from the ceiling. The green walls were adorned with expensive frescoes, and the air was cool and crisp thanks to state-of-the-art air conditioning. Oversized dark green leather sofas and armchairs lined the walls, facing an enormous flat-screen TV that dominated one wall.
At the far end of the living room, a grand staircase of expensive white stone with dark wood banisters led to the second floor. The upper level opened onto a long, straight corridor. Its walls matched the green theme of the lower level, with large potted plants lining the hallway. Several closed doors of dark, richly stained wood were visible, with a large panoramic window at the corridor's end. Jeffrey was led through the first door on the left – Bison's office.
The office décor was a stark departure from the rest of the house. A gleaming black floor reflected the bright light from a hanging crystal chandelier. Fresh air wafted in through a large open window, carrying with it the muffled conversations of the guards at the gates. Light gray walls served as a backdrop for an impressive array of weapons – Bison's prized collection, which he treated as a hobby.
The man himself sat behind a massive black wooden desk, lounging in a large dark leather chair. He wore a white tank top that emphasized his muscular physique, a thick gold chain hanging around his neck and resting on his chest.
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?"
