Chapter 171: Officer Elena
Soon, after saying goodbye to Estefania, William was escorted back to the dock by Ado.
He got into his AMG, turned the wheel, and drove off without hesitation.
On the yacht, Estefania leaned against the railing, watching the taillights of the AMG fade into the distance.
"Papa… I like him," she said casually.
Nando shook his head.
"Estefania, is there any handsome guy you don't like?"
He sighed, clearly at a loss when it came to his daughter.
"Listen carefully. You're still married to Steve right now. Behave yourself during this period."
"Even if you want to have your fun, wait until your green card comes through."
"Understood?"
Nando's love was strict—controlling, even.
He had mapped out Estefania's entire life for her, down to the smallest detail.
Whether she agreed or not… was irrelevant.
And that was exactly where their biggest conflict lay.
Of course, from Nando's perspective, it made perfect sense.
I feed you, house you, provide everything—and I brought you into this world. Why shouldn't you listen to me?
Logically, it wasn't entirely wrong.
But the problem was—
Nando was a control freak.
And that, more than anything, came from his profession.
As a drug lord, if he didn't maintain absolute control over every link in the chain, he would've been dead long before rising to power.
This wasn't exactly a forgiving line of work.
Meanwhile, after leaving the dock area, William pulled over by the roadside.
He had no intention of delaying the weapons deal.
Taking out his phone, he began searching for nearby U.S. military bases.
After all, if there was one thing you could find almost anywhere in the world—
It was an American military base.
The U.S. had a habit of stationing troops globally.
After all, with the right "justification," military budgets could always be expanded.
And once that money was allocated?
How much actually went where… was entirely up to those in charge.
Everyone turned a blind eye.
No one spoke.
And somewhere, officials and generals were enjoying champagne on yachts under neon lights.
Before long, William found what he was looking for.
A military enthusiast had marked a base in Michigan online—complete with terrain maps, satellite images, and even notes from on-site observations.
Why Michigan instead of Illinois?
Simple.
Geography.
Based on the information, the location was almost certainly a U.S. military installation.
From where he was, it would take about an hour and a half to drive there.
Less, if he pushed the speed.
With a confirmed location in hand, William slammed the accelerator.
The AMG shot forward like an arrow released from a bow, tearing onto the highway as it sped toward the military base in Michigan.
But sometimes… driving too fast comes at a cost.
Woooo—woooo—
A police siren wailed from behind.
William glanced at the rearview mirror. Sure enough, a state trooper was tailing him.
That was annoying.
State troopers—especially those patrolling rural stretches—were often far more troublesome than city cops. In many cases, they were out here looking to make a little extra on the side.
Still, he had been speeding.
There was no arguing that.
With a quiet sigh, William eased off the gas and pulled over to the side of the road.
His AMG was registered under his real name. If he tried to run, not only would it escalate immediately, but it would also risk exposing his identity.
Not worth it.
The patrol car followed and came to a stop behind him.
To William's surprise, the officer who stepped out wasn't some bearded, redneck sheriff.
Instead, it was a white female officer—curvy, well-built, with a striking figure.
But regardless of appearances, procedure was procedure.
She first walked to the rear of the AMG and briefly touched it—leaving her fingerprints as a precaution.
Only then did she approach the driver's side and knock on the window.
In America, police officers wield considerable authority.
If they believe their life is in danger, they can draw and fire without hesitation.
And as long as there's no major misconduct—and the body cam footage supports their claim—courts usually side with the officer.
At worst? A couple of weeks of administrative leave.
Then it's back to work.
That's just how it is.
You can accidentally kill a civilian… but you better not target someone powerful.
William had no intention of escalating things.
He rolled down the window with one hand and placed both hands calmly on the steering wheel—clearly visible.
In the U.S., never let a cop lose sight of your hands.
If they can't see them, they can claim you might be reaching for a weapon.
And once that suspicion is there?
They can empty a magazine into you—and you won't even get a chance to argue your case.
"Good afternoon. Chicago Police, Officer Neves. Do you know why I pulled you over?"
"I'm not sure, Officer Neves," William replied, studying her briefly.
She was attractive. Very much his type.
Well-proportioned, sharp features—though probably a bit older than Bianca.
Seeing his face, Elena's originally neutral mood lifted slightly.
At first, she had planned to handle this strictly by the book—write him a ticket and move on.
But now?
She was reconsidering.
A warning might be enough.
After all, it was within her discretion.
"You were speeding," she said. "The interstate limit is 70. You were doing 82."
She held up the radar gun, showing him the reading.
That caught William off guard.
Usually, cops like this didn't bother showing evidence. They'd pull you over, claim a violation, and push for compliance.
If you argued, they'd immediately demand your license and registration.
And if you resisted?
That was all the justification they needed to escalate—detain you, cuff you, maybe worse.
A neat little trap.
But this one?
She was actually playing it straight.