Chapter 17
Car modifications were common, and annual inspections ensured they stayed within legal limits. But some people took it too far.
Every night on Riverside Avenue, a group of thrill-seekers gathered for street races in heavily modified cars—most of them illegal. Ken had spent days mulling it over before finally deciding enough was enough.
As a line of flashy sports cars approached, their engines roaring, he raised his voice.
“Stop the cars!”
A crowd quickly formed, blocking the racers’ path. Inside the vehicles, a group of spoiled young men with dyed hair and flashy outfits laughed loudly, surrounded by girls dressed in barely-there clothing.
One girl, standing confidently among them, batted her eyelashes. “Mr. Officer, we’re not doing anything wrong.”
“What’s the problem?” another asked smugly.
“Seriously, we haven’t broken any laws. Move aside, or I’ll have my dad complain about you.”
“Hey, Officer,” one of the young men slurred, clearly drunk. “Are you just trying to have some fun with us?”
Ken’s patience thinned. He turned to his partner. “Check their alcohol levels.”
These guys didn’t even require Lenore’s intervention—they were reckless, arrogant, and completely unaware of the consequences of their actions. Ken marched over.
“You’ve modified your exhaust pipes. It’s the middle of the night—can’t you see you’re disturbing everyone?”
“So what? Do you know who my dad is?”
“I’m the heir to the Duncan family.”
“If you arrest me or tow my car, I’ll have your director fired by tomorrow.”
The young men continued flaunting their connections, refusing breath tests as they laughed off the situation. To them, traffic cops were a joke.
Ken, unimpressed, motioned to his team. “Take them all in to sober up. Tow their cars.”
A tow truck pulled up immediately, hauling away the first wave of vehicles.
Ken then turned his attention to the remaining cars, his instincts telling him something was off. Waving Lenore over, he stepped aside as she strolled up, hands in her pockets.
She moved through the line of vehicles with a sharp, knowing gaze.
“The spoiler’s modified.”
“The engine and brakes have been swapped.”
“The frame and headlights… illegal.”
“The wheel hub… definitely altered.”
One by one, she pointed out every illegal modification.
By the time Ken finished issuing tickets, over a dozen cars had been impounded.
A rookie officer muttered, “Have traffic laws really gotten this strict? Even for a headlight change?” He looked frustrated, questioning whether they could truly stop all illegal modifications.
“Shut it,” an older cop snapped, kicking his boot lightly. The veterans knew better than to question Ken’s determination.
Three years ago, he had lost his only daughter in a tragic street racing accident.
Ken hated illegal racers. After her death, he had transferred to traffic enforcement, hoping that one day he would see that car again—the one that had taken his daughter from him.
But who would still be driving the car that caused such a tragedy?
It was probably scrapped long ago.
Still, Ken refused to give up.
In the distance, a Porsche Cayenne rolled toward them. As it neared the roadblocks, Chuck frowned.
“Looks like they’re checking cars up ahead,” he muttered. Do they still have checkpoints like this in this day and age?
Wayne, lazily flicking ash from his cigarette out the window, smirked. “With a car like this? Even if they find something, no one’s daring to tow it.”
In the back seat, Silas sat with his legs crossed, a laptop balanced on his lap. The streetlights cast long shadows over his features, making his unreadable expression even more intimidating.
“Stop the car!” Ken’s voice rang out.
The Porsche came to a halt. Ken squinted as he recognized the man in the passenger seat.
“…Mr. Garcia?”
Wayne leaned out the window, his expression puzzled. “What’s going on?”
“This car’s been completely modified.”
Before Ken could continue, a cool, familiar female voice interrupted him.
Ken blinked. His words faltered.
The three men inside exchanged glances.
Outside, Lenore, dressed entirely in black, stood with effortless confidence. A mask covered most of her face, and a cap sat low over her brow, casting a shadow that hid her features. But the long hair cascading from beneath the cap was unmistakable.
With her hands still tucked in her pockets, she walked forward, her movements relaxed but sharp, carrying the same rebellious energy as always.
Wayne narrowed his eyes, his blue hair and matching earrings gleaming under the streetlights.
“…Lenore?” he asked cautiously.
At that moment, the rear window rolled down.
Silas’s calm profile came into view, his sharp gaze flickering beneath the dim yellow glow. His expression remained unreadable, but something in the air shifted.
Under the streetlights, the game had just changed.
