191-195

Chapter 191: Rumors Spiral Out of Control

After having lunch outside, Hawk and Brian returned to the office building.

The campaign team staff, responsible for routine work, were gathered together whispering in hushed tones.

"God bless us; our chances of winning just skyrocketed," one of the girls gossiped. "They say Owen Nester was arrested by the LAPD on charges of rape."

A middle-aged man chimed in, "When I went out to get coffee, I overheard someone at the coffee shop saying Owen raped ten drag queens."

A seated woman commented, "Is Owen really that wild?"

Hawk and Brian overheard the conversation but chose to ignore it and headed straight upstairs.

The first-floor staff only handled regular duties and were not involved in the actual election battles.

Once they reached the office, Hawk took a call and then told Brian, "Eric has already found suitable candidates. I’ll meet with them this afternoon. They’re a real father-and-son pair—we won’t need to fake anything; we’ll use the real deal."

Brian nodded. "I’ve also lined up the people to assist with filming."

Hawk glanced at the work log and made a call to Edward. "Follow up with the lawyers and the court. Make sure we serve Owen the subpoena today."

Brian went off to make his own calls.

---

### West Los Angeles, LAPD West Division

With his lawyer by his side, Owen emerged from the main entrance of the West Division station, his expression exceptionally grim.

A dozen cameras and camcorders pointed at him, capturing every moment.

This level of attention made Owen uncomfortable; after all, he was just the mayor of a small satellite city.

A reporter from Fox 11 News asked, "Mayor, were you forcibly summoned to the station by the LAPD due to solicitation charges?"

Other media outlets, having obtained tips from their sources, bombarded him with questions:

"Is it true you posted bail to leave the station?"

"Are you under travel restrictions?"

"Are the alleged crimes against you, as shown in the evidence on Twitter, true?"

Owen's face darkened, and he refused to say a word.

Lacking experience in dealing directly with the media, he chose to remain silent and got into a car driven by Arnold and Fowler.

The relentless reporters continued filming the vehicle.

Some of the most persistent ones even rushed in front of the car, trying to capture footage through the windshield.

It took a considerable effort for the Lexus to break free from the encirclement.

A few undeterred individuals followed on motorcycles.

Owen pulled down the window curtains, deciding that out of sight was out of mind.

Arnold asked, "What’s the full story? The internet is flooded with news about you being caught soliciting. Some websites have even reposted tweets with so-called evidence against you."

"Someone’s framing me!" Owen concluded without hesitation. "Last night, during an LAPD operation targeting illegal activities, they seized a ledger with my name on it. The madam and several prostitutes claimed they’d provided me with services multiple times. The case involves more than $20,000..."

Fowler, known for speaking his mind, blurted out, "Big bro, did you seriously get caught having fun?"

Owen slapped the driver’s seat. "Shut up!"

Fowler fell silent but couldn’t stop muttering to himself. After all, his older brother had once taken him to a rather “interesting” place, where the women were as obedient as trained dogs.

Arnold interjected, "I suspect the other side is behind this, though we don’t have any proof."

Owen had no illusions. "Of course, it’s them—no doubt about it." He asked, "Is there any word from Sacramento?"

"None. They can’t spare any top-tier personnel and only sent two people to handle Grant’s team’s aftermath," Arnold replied after making multiple calls throughout the day. "The higher-ups are embroiled in a fierce red-and-blue struggle. The recall election will start soon. We’re just pawns; they’ll abandon us whenever it suits them."

Owen felt that everything had taken a sharp turn for the worse since the incident with Grant’s team. He was now facing challenges unlike anything he’d encountered before.

He asked Arnold, "What should we do now?"

Arnold thought back to how Brian had handled his own scandal: "Find a way to clarify things with the media, divert the attention of Covina’s citizens, and dig up dirt on Brian. Someone like him must have plenty of skeletons in his closet. If it’s about mutual mudslinging, we can do that too!"

Fowler couldn’t help but interject, "That’s too much trouble. Honestly, why not handle it like the first election? I’ll gather the old crew and drive by the competitor’s house with our guns. If he still doesn’t back off, we’ll take him out!"

"Shut your filthy mouth!" Owen was genuinely furious this time. "If you kill Brian Ferguson, have you thought about the consequences? He’s a direct member of the Ferguson family! It won’t be LAPD officers coming after us; it’ll be SWAT teams cleaning house! Even if we manage to escape, we’ll face an FBI nationwide manhunt!"

As the Lexus exited the freeway and neared a three-way intersection leading into Covina, Owen noticed people photographing the citrus sculpture.

Recalling last night’s news, he asked Arnold, "What happened to the person injured in that car crash?"

"I’ve been too tied up dealing with your situation," Arnold said, explaining that someone else had gone to the hospital on his behalf. "The injured party was transferred to another hospital. We haven’t been able to track down where yet."

Owen looked at the citrus sculpture. It had once been a source of pride but now seemed like a vulnerability.

He strongly suspected that the injured party’s accident had been orchestrated by Brian’s team. He immediately asked, "Has Fox 11 News released any updates since their initial report?"

"Not yet," Arnold replied.

"Find that person as soon as possible," Owen ordered.

---

---

The car passed by the orange sculpture. He wanted to suggest tearing it down but held back.

If they tore it down, it would make Covina the laughingstock of the town.

Owen turned to Fowler and said, "Find a crew, repaint the orange, and build a fence in front of it."

The car stopped in front of City Hall. Fowler took out his phone and made a call, urging the other party to start the work as soon as possible.

But the construction team couldn't start until tomorrow at the earliest. Owen opened the door and got out of the car.

The noise around him was deafening, with many people gathered nearby to watch the commotion.

"Owen has turned into a rapist."

"I heard he paid a huge bail to get out."

"Would you really let a rapist be mayor?"

Rumors always snowball into outright lies, becoming more exaggerated as they spread.

Hawk understood this all too well. The source didn’t need to fabricate anything—word of mouth alone was enough to distort the truth.

He had experienced it firsthand during the Sundance Film Festival, where a rumor spread that Winona Ryder had stolen a nuclear launch code box.

But the initial spark had only been a passing comment about her kleptomania.

The truth didn’t matter—just like Hawk could never clear Brian’s name of all the baseless accusations.

The same went for Owen.

The words felt like daggers, stabbing him relentlessly.

All he could do was pretend not to hear and stride quickly into City Hall.

In the crowd, someone sent a text message: "He’s back at City Hall."

At Brian’s campaign office, Sandra hurried upstairs.

She found Hawk and said, "Owen is back. He’s at City Hall."

Hawk said, "Pretend to be someone from City Hall and call his wife. Aren’t their marital issues well-known?"

"Got it." Sandra took out a spare phone and dialed Helen, Owen’s wife.

At a villa on the east side of Covina, Helen was furious. She yelled to her son, "Pratt, get your car. We’re going to City Hall!"

Pratt hesitated. "But I have school."

Helen glared at him and asked, "Are you going or not?"

"I’m going!" Pratt quickly grabbed his car keys and started the car.

The mother and son rushed out of the house.

At City Hall, Owen looked at the two people in front of him in astonishment. After the lawyer verified their credentials, he signed the receipt.

They had delivered a civil complaint and summons.

The jerk who crashed into the orange sculpture last night had filed a civil lawsuit, seeking compensation for medical expenses, lost wages, and nutrition fees, totaling $850,000.

As the third-party process servers left, someone at the door took photos.

These individuals returned to a nearby van, uploaded the photos using a mobile hotspot, and quickly distributed them online. Some even sold the images to Twitter for cash.

Soon, a user named Michael, with a profile picture of an African American, posted a tweet:

"Seeking legal justice!"

Below the headline were key screenshots of the car accident, X-rays showing his broken bones, images from the hospital surgery, and payment receipts. It also included photos of Covina Mayor Owen receiving the summons at City Hall.

There was a detailed description of the incident and an outline of the claimed compensation.

Although Carolyn didn’t understand why Hawk specifically instructed her to highlight the compensation amount, she obediently followed orders to the letter.

The algorithm prioritized pushing this content to users in Covina and its surrounding areas.

Michael’s injury claim, along with rumors of Owen’s alleged solicitation scandal, spread rapidly on Twitter, becoming top news for local users.

Meanwhile, at City Hall, a heated argument between Owen and his wife was unfolding.

In the front hall, Helen glared at her husband. In a fit of rage, she smashed a large decorative vase and shouted, "Owen Nestor, you’re disgusting! Is this what you call loyalty to our marriage? I married you when you were penniless, and it’s my family’s wealth that got you to where you are today! And this is how you repay me?"

Her anger boiled down to one word: "Scumbag!"

Owen tried to defend himself: "Let me explain! They’re framing me! Framing me! Those bastards are trying to ruin my reputation!"

Helen sneered coldly. "Framing you? Last month, whose hair was found in your car? What about the bloodstains on your clothes and the scent of perfume on you? Were those all part of a setup too?"

She had long suspected something but hadn’t wanted to believe it. "Swear on your mother’s name that you’ve never fooled around with other women!"

Owen fell silent at her words.

If only Helen hadn’t been so domineering in their marriage...

"Disgusting!" Helen grabbed a cup and smashed it onto the granite floor.

After publicly berating him in front of everyone at City Hall, Helen stormed out, shouting, "You just wait for the divorce papers!"

She got into the car outside but didn’t appear as furious as before.

Helen needed to publicly sever ties with Owen because, over the years, she had noticed that after certain events, Owen would sometimes return with traces of blood on him.

Previously, she hadn’t thought much of it.

But with this year’s election heating up, it felt like an unstoppable tidal wave was about to engulf Owen.

---

*Chapter 192: Striking It Rich!*

East Los Angeles, in an unassuming parking lot.

Hawk finished briefing the Navarez father and son across from him, opened his laptop, and displayed photos and videos of Owen and the Pratt father and son duo. He instructed them to study the material carefully and commit it to memory.

These were the actors Eric Isen had sourced. The father had spent years toiling in Hollywood, with mediocre success as an actor, and his wife had even left him for someone else.

His son, young Navarez, had followed in his father’s footsteps into Hollywood.

Despite their efforts, the father and son duo had yet to land any noteworthy roles.

At just 17 years old, young Navarez had been navigating the murky waters of Hollywood for a few years and was far more mature than his peers.

Eric had a knack for picking the right people.

After playing the video and photos several times, Hawk asked, "Do you remember them?"

Young Navarez nodded firmly. "I’ve memorized them thoroughly."

Hawk continued, "How do you plan to proceed?"

Navarez started to speak, but young Navarez cut him off. After a moment of thought, he replied, "Based on the information Director Isen gave me, which I’ve reviewed twice since this morning, Pratt behaves like a domineering showman among actors. He constantly flaunts his uniqueness. How does he demonstrate it? By targeting those who are weaker."

Hawk chuckled. "It seems Hollywood has taught you well."

"I’ve been bullied plenty, too many times," young Navarez said with a wry smile. "I thought being under 18 would shield me in Hollywood, but I quickly learned those jerks don’t care about age or gender—they’ll grab whoever they want."

He forced a grin. "As someone newly transferred to Eastern High, if I act even slightly bold around Pratt—for example, by drawing attention from girls close to him—he won’t be able to hold back."

Hawk glanced at Eric. While the man had his flaws, his eye for talent was undeniable.

The previous actor he had chosen—a gay performer—was great. Now, the Navarez duo seemed equally promising.

Hawk knew how to motivate people. "For this job, I’ll provide a two-year lease on a standalone house in Covina and $50,000 in cash."

Navarez Sr. was thrilled. "You’re a generous employer."

Eric, seated in another row, chimed in with camaraderie. Turning to young Navarez, he said, "I’m preparing a new film that includes a supporting role for a minority actor. If you satisfy Hawk with this, the role is yours."

The offer instantly motivated the Navarez duo to do whatever it took to please Hawk.

Hawk cut off any unsavory thoughts. "Just focus on doing the job I’ve outlined."

"Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Pratt beats me up real good!" young Navarez assured confidently.

Hawk nodded. "Go prepare for the move and school transfer."

The Navarez father and son got out of the commercial vehicle and into a sedan parked nearby. They drove off with Eric, leaving the parking lot.

In the driver’s seat, Brian—disguised with a hat and sunglasses—looked up and remarked, "You always find the right people for the job."

Hawk replied, "I just find suitable people within my network."

Handing over the documents in his hand to Brian, Hawk instructed, "Handle the school transfer immediately. The Navarez family can move into the villa you’ve prepared tomorrow. We need to get young Navarez enrolled quickly, crush Owen, and deny Sacramento any chance to regroup."

Brian nodded. "Sacramento won’t have much energy to deal with us. The recall election will be finalized soon, and they’re focused on countering Arnold Schwarzenegger’s attack."

Hawk warned, "Never underestimate any opponent."

Brian grinned. "Right now, we have the upper—"

"Don’t say it," Hawk interrupted sternly. "Premature celebration is the beginning of failure. Never say such things until results are in."

Perhaps this was his secret to success. Brian made a mental note.

"Let’s go back," Hawk said.

Brian’s phone rang. After answering and hanging up, he informed Hawk, "AT&T wants to know when to install the fiber optics."

Hawk asked, "Who’s covering the costs?"

"A nonprofit organization donated the funds," Brian replied.

Hawk pondered for a moment. "Let the situation simmer for a bit. Be patient, and wait a few days."

Brian, ever resourceful, found it trivial. "I’ll notify AT&T right away."

After finishing the call, Hawk instructed Brian to take a detour near the three-way intersection to check on the situation there.

Brian asked, "You had Michael’s case and the compensation amount posted on Twitter. Do you think it’ll work?"

Hawk replied seriously, "America is full of talented people. With examples like this readily available on Twitter, I refuse to believe that our brilliant citizens will ignore such a lucrative opportunity."

As the car approached the intersection, Brian began spotting several motorcycle riders.

He sped up and stopped near the citrus sculpture, only to witness a motorcycle speeding toward it. The bike hit the curb, crashed into the sculpture, and fell over.

The rider, a Black man sprawled on the ground and clearly in pain, shouted to someone filming nearby, "Hey man, did you get that on camera?"

The other Black man fiddling with his camcorder looked apologetic. "Ah, the lens didn’t catch it. Bro, bear with the pain and crash again!"

Their words drifted through the lowered car window, leaving Brian with an incredulous expression.

"Relax," Hawk reassured him. "Most of those riders are here for the citrus sculpture. I bet some Covina residents will show up, too."

Brian couldn’t help but laugh. "These guys are going to drive Owen crazy. If people get hurt because of the citrus and Owen refuses to pay, they’ll ruin his reputation everywhere..."

---

Hawk chimed in, “So instead of wasting time and effort trying to clean up your own reputation, why not just ruin your opponent’s?”

Over by the citrus sculpture, Rider Old Black crashed into it once more and finally managed to capture the perfect video.

The two of them were still striking poses.

Another rider passing by on the roadside shouted, “Hey, guys, finish up and get out of here! Don’t hold me up from making money!”

The two Old Blacks had achieved their goal. One of them waved and replied, “Almost done.”

Seeing the DV camera in one of their hands, the passing rider asked, “I forgot my recording gear—can I borrow yours?”

The Old Black with the DV camera responded, “You’ll have to pay to rent it!”

Before the rider could get himself organized, several more motorbikes pulled up, queuing to make their money.

Meanwhile, back at City Hall, Owen had just finished dealing with his wife and sending his son away. He was about to meet with Arnold and a few trusted confidants to discuss how to handle the prostitution scandal when someone burst into the hall.

The newcomer, catching sight of Owen, rushed over and exclaimed, “Something’s wrong! We have a situation!”

Owen’s heart pounded as he asked, “What now?”

The person replied, “I just came from the three-way intersection and saw a bunch of motorbike riders gathered in front of the sculpture. Those bastards are lining up to crash into it, and someone’s even recording it…”

“A lot of people? Lining up?” Owen’s already-thinning hairline seemed to recede even more as strands of hair fell from his scalp. “What are those idiots trying to do?!”

Arnold reacted swiftly. “This isn’t good—they’re trying to copy that idiot from last night, get injured, and demand compensation!”

Owen had already realized as much. “F**k! They’ve lost their minds—everyone’s gone crazy!”

He turned to Fowler. “Get over there with a team and drive those bastards away! Take down that citrus sculpture!”

This sculpture was a personal project Owen had funded as part of his re-election campaign—a vanity project. Tearing it down would be humiliating, but it was the lesser of two evils under the circumstances.

Arnold stopped Fowler before he left. “Take it down, restore the area to its original state, and put up a warning sign.”

Fowler nodded and quickly set off to carry out the orders.

After being chewed out by his wife, Owen felt flustered and unsure of his next steps. “Now what do we do?”

Arnold considered for a moment and then said, “Mobilize our people. Start spreading rumors about Brian to damage his reputation. At the same time, plant the narrative that all of this is Brian framing you.”

Arnold, being older and more traditional, added, “And one more thing—Brian’s an outsider. He wasn’t born and raised in Covina; he moved here not long ago. Make sure everyone remembers that!”

As a Covina native himself, Owen thought this was a crucial point. He instructed his subordinates, “Go and get it done!”

The mayoral race in Covina was rife with rumors about the two candidates, Owen and Brian, which had spread throughout the town, generating endless gossip.

Both candidates, who originally had decent reputations, were now seen as despicable and unscrupulous individuals.

But Owen’s reputation was taking the bigger hit.

---

The next morning, as rumors engulfed Covina, a new family moved into town.

They arrived by car at a standalone house and began moving in their belongings.

However, no one paid them much attention.

The town’s residents were too preoccupied with the news about Mayor Owen.

That morning, Owen had received nine legal notices, all related to the citrus sculpture.

A total of fifteen claimants from the previous day had collided with the sculpture and were now demanding compensation from Owen, the man who had funded its construction.

By the afternoon, civil lawsuits and court summonses were delivered to Owen by third-party agents.

The desperate riders, whether or not they had a legitimate case, were taking their chances. And they had video evidence to back them up.

---

Meanwhile, at Covina East High School, a new eleventh-grader named Antonio Navas had transferred in.

Antonio, a Mexican-American student, stood out with his striking looks, lively personality, and sharp wit, quickly earning the attention of several girls.

Antonio had a clear objective. While building relationships with his new classmates, he kept a close eye on Pratt Nestor.

Pratt was something of a school celebrity: tall, athletic, with a head full of golden hair, the star quarterback of the football team, and dating the cheerleading captain, Katie.

Katie, a blonde beauty, had a personality that perfectly matched the stereotype of a high school cheer captain. Stunning and flirtatious, she had a habit of batting her eyes at other handsome guys, even with a boyfriend.

Compared to these high schoolers, Antonio, who had spent several years navigating the cutthroat world of Hollywood, was far more experienced in social dynamics.

It took Antonio just one day to figure out that Katie was the perfect entry point for his plans.

---

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 193: Extreme Violence*

Covina, Eastern High School.

On the cheerleading practice field, a tall, handsome, half-Mexican boy named Little Navas managed to catch the attention of Katie, the cheerleading captain, with his street dance skills honed in acting classes.

Katie, a flirtatious blonde beauty, approached him just as Little Navas had hoped.

They quickly found common ground in their shared interest in dance, and Little Navas even demonstrated some impressive street dance moves.

As the two exchanged flirtatious glances, Pratt Nester arrived in a hurry.

A recently hired school janitor and a nearby plumber, each carrying their respective work bags, quietly moved closer from different directions.

Their eyes first lingered on Little Navas and then shifted to Pratt.

Trailing behind Pratt were a few football team thugs.

Seeing his girlfriend chatting enthusiastically with the newly transferred Mexican boy, Pratt—an infamous school bully—quickened his pace, storming forward without a word and forcefully shoving Navas to the ground.

Katie turned around, unsurprised to see her boyfriend, and shouted, "Damn it, you're here again!"

Little Navas fell hard, struggling to get up.

Pratt marched over, grabbed him by the collar, and growled, "Stay away from her, you jerk."

But Navas simply smirked and replied, "That's my choice."

Pratt, enraged, swung his fist and landed a punch on Navas's face.

Katie tried to intervene but was blocked by Pratt's teammates.

"Is that all?" Navas said in a calm voice. "Coward."

Accustomed to bullying others, Pratt lost his temper completely, throwing another punch at Navas.

Little Navas, an aspiring actor who had taken professional acting classes, resisted the urge to dodge. Instead, he deliberately positioned his nose to meet Pratt's fist.

A sharp crack echoed—the sound of Navas's nose breaking!

But Navas had other things on his mind: the promise of a two-year stay in a cozy villa, a $50,000 cash payment, and a supporting role offered by director Eric Ethan.

He laughed heartily.

To Pratt, that laugh was pure mockery.

Furious, Pratt pummeled Navas with his fists and kicks until the boy was sprawled on the ground.

But even then, Navas kept laughing, which only made Pratt angrier. Looking around, Pratt grabbed a nearby folding chair and struck Navas several times with it.

Pratt didn’t completely lose control; he made sure to hit Navas on the back rather than the head.

He then tossed the chair aside and declared to the onlookers, "You all saw it—he fell on his own."

No one responded.

Pratt shouted, "Did you hear me?"

"Yes, he fell on his own," someone finally muttered.

"This dumb new kid isn’t familiar with the place and tripped," another voice chimed in.

Amidst the commotion, the janitor and the plumber quietly left in opposite directions, heading toward the school’s front and back entrances.

Almost simultaneously, they each made phone calls. After leaving the school, they handed their bags to waiting contacts.

Ten minutes later, the hidden cameras in their bags were delivered to Hawk’s desk.

Hawk connected them to his computer and started watching the footage. After less than a third of the video, he paused, picked up a backup phone, and called Navas. "It's me. Go back to school immediately. Call the police and request an ambulance. Don’t delay."

Navas understood what this meant. "I’m on my way now."

As he left, he dialed 911.

Hawk continued watching the footage, which captured Pratt’s face twisted in rage and every detail of the assault with startling clarity.

Little Navas had played his part well, enduring a brutal beating and ending up with a face covered in blood.

It was a shocking sight.

Hawk pulled up another recording from a different angle. Although some parts were obstructed by Pratt’s teammates, it still provided valuable evidence.

He made copies of the footage onto a USB drive and called out, "Edward!"

Edward entered the room. "Boss?"

Hawk handed him the USB drive. "Deliver this to Miss Mia personally and tell her to proceed as planned."

"On it," Edward replied, hurrying out to drive to Twitter headquarters.

Hawk then called Brian. "The campus operation was a success. Come back immediately."

Within five minutes, Brian burst into the office. "It worked?"

Hawk pointed to the computer screen. "See for yourself."

Brian turned to watch the bullying video.

As the mastermind behind this series of operations, Brian had plenty of funds, including campaign contributions and family dividends.

He grinned. "Let him know his pay will be increased! Add another $30,000!"

Hawk agreed and called Old Navas. "I just watched the footage. Your reward is increased by $30,000. Don’t worry about any expenses."

Old Navas responded without hesitation, "Thank you, boss!"

---

This case will undoubtedly lock onto the perpetrator relentlessly.

Hawke hung up the phone and instructed, “Create anti-bullying promotional materials. Prepare a speech script that directly condemns the Owen Nester family’s crimes and encourages victims of bullying to stand up bravely!”

Bryan nodded repeatedly. “Let’s get the majority of middle- and lower-class citizens on our side!”

---

*Eastern High School, Medical Office*

Old Navas glared at the vice principal and the grade director pressuring him. Pointing at his son lying on the hospital bed, veins bulging on his forehead, he snapped, “I’ve already called the police. Don’t talk to me about anything else until they arrive.”

The vice principal attempted to downplay the situation. “It’s just a minor conflict between classmates; there’s no need to escalate it outside the school.”

Old Navas ignored him, pulling out his phone to dial 911 again.

The sound of police sirens echoed into the medical office, accompanied by the arrival of paramedics.

Young Navas was carefully placed on a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance.

Old Navas followed, seizing the opportunity to speak with responding officers, requesting an injury examination for his son.

Inside the medical office, the vice principal addressed the LAPD officers and asked the grade director, “Is everything set?”

The grade director assured him, “Those brats won’t dare say anything reckless.”

The vice principal pulled out his phone and called Owen. “Your Pratt’s gotten into trouble again…”

---

*West Precinct*

Having just endured another round of routine questioning, Owen answered the call. Hearing that his problematic son had assaulted someone again, he replied, “Communicate with the victim’s family and pay whatever compensation is necessary.”

The person on the other end hesitated. “The other side has already reported it to the police, and they’re investigating on campus.”

“Reported to the police?” Owen, already on edge, demanded, “What happened?”

After listening to the incident’s account, Owen nodded. “I’ll handle this immediately.”

Leaving the precinct, he got into his car and explained the situation to Arnold.

Arnold responded decisively, “Regardless of what happened, I think we need to find the other party quickly, offer them a significant sum, and make them stay silent.”

Owen agreed. “You take care of it right away.”

---

The LAPD’s relentless pursuit of the fabricated “Recruitment Scandal” had been taxing. Meanwhile, Owen faced lawsuits from over a dozen people regarding the citrus sculpture, divorce papers from his wife’s attorney, and now news of his son injuring someone at school.

Owen felt like his head was about to explode.

For a fleeting moment, he considered withdrawing from the election.

But thoughts of the near decade he had spent establishing his base in Covina held him back.

---

*Meanwhile, at Twitter Headquarters*

Edward walked into the operations director’s office on the fourth floor. Placing a USB drive on the desk, he said, “Miss Meow, the boss sent this. Publish the post immediately as planned.”

Caroline nodded. “Got it. You can go rest now.”

Inserting the USB drive into her computer, she carefully reviewed the video several times, noting every critical detail. She personally crafted a headline:

“Tragic Bullying Incident at Covina’s Eastern High School: White Male Student Severely Injures Mexican-American Peer!”

Below the headline, she attached the video and clicked “Publish.”

Caroline used her admin privileges to elevate the news to Twitter’s headline section, highlighting it in bold red.

Then, using a fabricated “Concerned Citizen” account, she shared the video and tagged the official LAPD Twitter account.

---

At Eastern High School, two LAPD officers were still on campus investigating the incident. The school administration was being uncooperative, and students were reluctant to speak.

Officer John received a call from his supervisor, informing him of new developments in the case.

“May I use your computer for a moment? It’s urgent,” John requested.

The grade director hesitated but relented. “Right this way.”

Inside an office, John logged into Twitter and quickly found the news his supervisor had mentioned. He clicked on the video and watched it.

The grade director’s expression darkened upon seeing the bullying and violence.

John asked, “What’s this individual’s name? Please provide their details and location.”

The grade director called the vice principal, who had also watched the video.

The vice principal sighed, “Let’s leave this to Pratt and his troublesome father to deal with.”

Within minutes, John, his partner, and two additional officers took Pratt Nester into custody.

Pratt continued shouting until he was handcuffed, at which point he realized the gravity of the situation.

Escorted by two officers, Pratt was placed into a police car.

---

Owen had not yet reached Covina when he was informed and redirected to the central precinct.

With concrete evidence in hand, formal procedures accelerated rapidly.

Young Navas underwent an injury examination immediately after emergency treatment.

Meanwhile, media reporters, alerted by the viral video on Twitter, descended on the scene like sharks smelling blood.

When Arnold arrived at the hospital, Old Navas was already surrounded by reporters, granting interviews. Arnold couldn’t even approach to speak.

Leaving his sister to care for the injured boy, Old Navas led the reporters straight to Covina City Hall.

On the way, he stopped at a print shop to create a massive poster using a screenshot from the video showing Pratt attacking his son.

Arriving at City Hall, Old Navas stood at the entrance, holding the enormous poster aloft in silent protest.

Spectators gathered quickly—from a handful to nearly a hundred, with more than ten reporters on the scene.

---

Bullying, a dark facet of American school culture, often becomes a hot topic when exposed.

This incident had all the elements to ignite public outrage: a white student, the son of a mayoral candidate, using extreme violence against a Mexican-American peer.

The related Twitter video, propelled by algorithmic recommendations, rapidly gained traction and soon climbed into the trending news rankings.

More Mexican-American citizens flocked to City Hall, many of whom were victims of bullying or their family members.

---

In the campaign office, Hawke assessed the situation outside City Hall and told Bryan, “Here’s our chance for redemption. Time to act.”

Sandra had already contacted the media, including Fox 11, and numerous mainstream outlets were on their way.

*(End of Chapter)*

*Chapter 194: Total Collapse*

"Extreme school violence reemerges in Los Angeles. Pratt, the son of Covina Mayor Owen Nestor, severely injured a Mexican-American classmate, Antonio Navas, at East High School using a weapon..."

Fox 11's broadcasting van parked directly in front of City Hall.

The live broadcast focused on Mr. Navas holding a printed protest sign high above his head.

Due to the large crowd, the involvement of the victim, and the presence of multiple media outlets, LAPD dispatched several patrol cars to maintain order.

A van drove along Central Avenue and stopped by the curb.

Inside the van, Hawk looked at Brian and said, "Go on, your stage is set!"

Brian, full of confidence, replied, "Watch me."

Edward, who was driving, turned back and added, "Crush them!"

"Crush them!" Brian echoed as he stepped out of the car. Accompanied by Bacon and Sandra, he walked toward the entrance of City Hall.

Passing by officers maintaining order, Brian approached the City Hall steps. Standing before Mr. Navas, he looked up at the protest sign and declared firmly, "The perpetrator must be held accountable!"

Fox 11's cameras immediately shifted to Brian.

Brian turned and ascended the high steps of City Hall. Taking the megaphone handed to him by Bacon, he shouted, "I’ve seen the video on Twitter. I’ve spoken with LAPD. A student who had just transferred to East High School, with no prior conflict with Pratt Nestor, became the victim of extreme violence. Are we saying that Covina can’t even welcome a 17-year-old boy?"

His voice grew louder. "To me, Covina is an open and inclusive town—where Whites, African-Americans, Mexican-Americans, Asians, and others coexist peacefully and build a home together. So why has this happened? And why is East High School shielding Pratt? Why? Because he’s the mayor’s son?"

His words caused an uproar in the crowd.

But Brian wasn’t finished. "Through this incident, don’t you see it? Covina harbors a hidden evil force that obstructs its progress! Look beyond the roads of Central Avenue. Look at our outdated dial-up internet. And think about the repeated bullying incidents at East High School!"

He raised his voice even more: "I believe Antonio Navas is not the first victim! Brothers and sisters, there must be more victims among you! I, Brian Ferguson, swear here and now to do everything I can to ensure the perpetrators and those who protect them pay the price they deserve!"

The hundreds of people gathered fell into an eerie silence.

Brian shouted sharply, "Should our children continue to suffer at the hands of bullies? Will you remain silent even if beaten and bloodied?"

From the crowd emerged Rod, a boy Campos had seen before at a local restaurant. He broke free from his mother’s grip and pushed past his grandmother’s objections to step forward.

Rod declared loudly, "I’m a student at East High School. Pratt beat me up, too. I wanted to report it, but Mayor Owen Nestor warned my mom at school. If we didn’t accept his meager compensation and kept quiet, my mom’s restaurant would be shut down."

Covina is a small town, and many locals had eaten at Rod’s family’s Mexican restaurant. They recognized Rod and his mother.

Rod’s courage inspired others.

A bearded Mexican man hesitated but eventually stepped forward and said nervously, "I’m... I’m a worker at Gardis Citrus Plantation. About two years ago, Pratt and his friends broke my son’s brow bone."

One by one, more people came forward.

As time passed, the crowd outside City Hall grew, soon surpassing 300 people.

A total of seven individuals stood up, and Brian held their hands as they joined Mr. Navas on the steps.

It wasn’t just Covina’s residents—more media arrived as well.

A Twitter team began livestreaming the event online.

What started as a speech about Antonio Navas’ school bullying evolved into a public tribunal for the citizens of Covina.

Initially, the only ones coming forward were victims of Pratt’s bullying in middle school and their parents.

Under the influence of group dynamics, victims from Pratt’s elementary school days began stepping up, too.

Eventually, even individuals who had clashed with Owen Nestor in their daily lives joined in, exposing the despicable actions of the current mayor.

The reputation of Owen Nestor and his family among Covina’s lower and middle-class residents was utterly destroyed.

This downfall was broadcasted on TV and through Twitter’s livestreams, spreading across North America. The mayor and his son’s bullying scandal quickly became Twitter’s top trending topic.

Over a million users were discussing Owen Nestor.

"I can’t believe the mayor of a town with only a few thousand residents could be so corrupt."

"Pratt became a school bully because his father is the mayor."

"A mayor as a father—this is the ultimate enabler of a school bully."

The crowd outside City Hall swelled to over a thousand.

Among them were countless students who had been too afraid to speak up against a bully like Pratt—even to their own parents—until today.

Some of these students had preserved evidence of their experiences.

This impromptu rally exceeded even Hawk’s expectations in scale and impact.

---

He glanced out the car window, pulled out his phone, and called Sandra: “Tell him to organize people to file a collective police report at the Central Police Department.”

Sandra hung up the phone and, finding the right moment, whispered a few words into Brian's ear.

Brian directed her to speak with the commanding officer leading the team.

Meanwhile, the public prosecution rally was nearing its conclusion. Under Brian's leadership, over thirty victims formed a large group to report their cases, driving to the Central Police Department.

A police car led the way, with another following at the rear.

The procession of victims was immense.

News traveled quickly, and before long, a group of injured motorcyclists joined the crowd.

They, too, wanted to report to the police, as the sculptures built by Owen Nester had caused them irreversible physical harm.

At the Central Police Department, Owen Nester had already heard about the events in Covina and was eager to return.

However, his son still needed to be bailed out.

He kept urging his lawyer to handle the process as quickly as possible, while also calling Sacramento to see if they could influence the District Attorney's office.

With video evidence and rising public outcry, things looked grim for Pratt.

After much effort, they were finally able to process the bail paperwork.

However, the police suddenly informed them that the bail had been canceled.

This was because yet another group of Pratt's bullying victims had come forward with reports, some of them providing strong evidence. The police needed to conduct further investigations to clarify the situation.

Owen stepped out of the waiting room and was met with a dense crowd in the police station lobby.

While he didn’t recognize everyone, many faces seemed familiar.

At the front of the group stood none other than Brian Ferguson.

Brian also saw Owen but ignored him, focusing instead on helping the victims with their paperwork.

At that moment, the lawyers Owen had called arrived.

As Owen moved to confront Brian, two police officers approached him.

The leading officer, John, said, “Mr. Nester, you are under suspicion of coercion, harassment, and obstruction of justice. Please come with us.”

Not only was Owen unable to bail out his son, but he was also temporarily detained at the Central Police Department.

The Pratt school bullying scandal erupted fully, spreading through Twitter and gaining nationwide attention.

Mayor Owen’s reputation was in shambles, while Brian managed to turn the tide of public opinion in his favor through the afternoon rally.

That evening, in the campaign office’s conference room, Hawk and his team gathered.

Edward reported, “Regarding the citrus sculpture, including Michael, a total of 19 people have filed compensation lawsuits, which the local court has accepted.”

Beckin added, “Although the Western Police Department lacks further evidence, rumors about Owen’s inappropriate conduct are spreading like wildfire. Some people even claim he assaulted ten drag performers. There are even rumors among the Indian community that he assaulted a lizard.”

Hearing that even such wild rumors had surfaced, Hawk nodded slightly. “Rumors can be lethal.”

Sandra interjected, “For some reason, Owen’s wife, Helen, has had an unexpectedly extreme reaction. Her lawyer has already sent Owen divorce papers.”

Hawk remarked, “There might be something going on that we don’t know. Keep an eye on it.”

Sandra replied, “Understood.”

Brian smiled. “With the school bullying case, we’ve practically destroyed Owen’s reputation in Covina.”

Hawk concluded, “The ‘drag down’ strategy has achieved its goal entirely.” He turned to Brian. “Next, we need to rebuild your public image.”

Brian looked slightly surprised. “I already…”

He stopped himself from saying he had an overwhelming advantage, remembering Hawk’s warnings.

Hawk said, “Never underestimate anyone. Owen has been knocked down by our combined blows, but who can guarantee he won’t stage a comeback? We can’t give him any opportunity to turn the tables.”

Brian immediately thought of the Toyota Alphard that had been wrecked by a dump truck.

That case had been handled as a hit-and-run. Since neither the driver nor the vehicle’s origin could be found, it had been shelved.

Cases like that usually became old, forgotten files.

“Right now, Owen’s reputation is ten times worse than yours,” Hawk continued. “But beyond reputation, offer something tangible—something that Covina residents can actually see and benefit from.”

Brian immediately recalled an earlier promise. “AT&T’s fiber optic project?”

Hawk replied, “Exactly. You’ve made plenty of campaign promises. Before the vote, deliver on at least one of them. That will earn even more support.”

Brian said, “I’ll contact AT&T right away.”

The next morning, Covina residents discovered that mayoral candidate Brian had delivered on his promise of fiber-optic internet.

AT&T technicians arrived in Covina for on-site assessments, starting the process of extending fiber optics from Los Angeles to Covina.

On the same day, based on Sandra’s research, Owen’s support rate had dropped below 30%.

His political career had completely collapsed.

(End of chapter)

Chapter 195: Victory

The bright sunlight illuminated Covina City Hall as many residents steadily made their way toward it.

Two voting stations, one blue and one red, were set up on either side of the City Hall office building.

Today was the voting day for the Covina mayoral election.

Under the gaze of media cameras, Brian cast his ballot, marked with an orange logo, into the red ballot box.

A security team affiliated with the Ferguson family stood by behind him, ready to respond to any unexpected incidents.

On the other side, Owen Nestor, wearing an electronic monitoring bracelet, cast his ballot into the blue box.

The election voting officially began.

A Black man glanced at Owen, gave him the middle finger, and resolutely walked toward the red box.

The woman behind him spat on the ground and said, "Disgusting filth! He even goes after trans people!"

The Indian woman next to her corrected, "He assaulted a lizard! I saw it with my own eyes!"

Both women proceeded toward the red box.

By the blue ballot box, Owen encountered Raya, an old colleague from the citrus processing plant.

This was his core base of support.

Owen said, "I always believed you’d stand by me."

Raya glanced at the electronic bracelet on Owen's wrist and replied, "I’m here today just to say I’m sorry."

Owen’s expression turned grim. "Those accusations are baseless lies. Surely you can see through such tricks."

"It doesn’t really matter," Raya said, looking up at the newly installed fiber-optic cables on the utility poles. "In your last campaign, you promised to improve the broadband network. But by the end of your term, nothing had been done. Meanwhile, your opponent, Brian, fixed the fiber-optic issue even before officially taking office. Do you know how much that saves my Amazon shop?"

With a better option now available, Raya had to prioritize his own interests.

Raya strode toward the red ballot box, shook hands with Brian, and cast his vote into the box.

By 9:30 a.m., queues had formed in front of both ballot boxes.

This mayoral election drew significantly more voters than the previous one.

After all, the drama leading up to it had captivated Covina’s residents. No one wanted to miss the grand finale.

The queue for the red box was more than three times longer than that for the blue box.

The outcome was clear.

As this was merely a mayoral election for a small satellite city, voting would conclude by the afternoon, leaving no room for manipulative tactics or mysterious last-minute votes.

Likewise, the vote counters had no room for interference, given the stark difference in the lengths of the queues.

On a park bench diagonally across from City Hall, Hawk and Edward observed the voting process.

Edward, who had been involved from start to finish, said with a sigh, "Boss, if Arnold Schwarzenegger paid us $10 million to help him with a recall election, he’d definitely win."

Hawk remained clear-headed. "Schwarzenegger has his trusted team; he wouldn’t hire us."

Edward couldn’t hide his curiosity. "Do you think Brian really plans to run for president someday?"

Hawk replied, "His grandfather was a senator. His uncle is a current senator. His cousin is only interested in partying. For the third generation to continue the legacy, it can’t be Erica; it has to be Brian."

After a brief pause, Hawk added, "If he does well here in Covina, he’ll secure a base for his political ambitions. The next step could be running for city council or state assembly, eventually progressing to congressman, senator, or even the Oval Office."

Edward grasped the implication. "So once he climbs higher, we can leverage those connections?"

Hawk nodded. "Exactly."

By 3:30 p.m., voting concluded.

The accounting firm in charge of vote counting officially sealed the ballot boxes.

The next morning, in City Hall’s lobby, the votes were counted. Those wishing to observe could watch on a large temporary screen set up outside City Hall.

The results would be announced at 2 p.m.

After lunch, Hawk accompanied Brian to City Hall.

The other candidate, Owen Nestor, didn’t show up. Arnold represented him instead.

The result was obvious.

At precisely 2 p.m., the results were announced.

"Candidate Brian Ferguson has received 78.85% of the votes, officially becoming the new mayor of Covina."

Brian clenched his fist and pumped it in celebration before turning to embrace Hawk. "We did it!"

Hawk smiled. "Congratulations, Mayor Brian."

Applause erupted around them. Aside from Arnold and his team, who quietly exited, the crowd welcomed the new mayor.

Brian then stepped outside City Hall and delivered a brief victory speech.

Because of Owen Nestor’s controversies, media reporters had gathered outside. Hawk opted not to go out, instead leaving through a side door with Edward.

Brian’s victory marked the successful execution of their plan.

Hawk got into the business car and felt a wave of relief.

Before long, Brian joined them in the car and instructed Sandra, who had just boarded, "This weekend, I’m throwing a party at my Malibu mansion to reward the entire team."

Sandra nodded and began making calls.

Brian turned to Hawk. "How should I thank you?"

---

Hawk deliberately stepped back and said, “Don’t do that, okay? I have no interest in men.”

“I, Brian, male, and into women!” Brian also pulled out his phone and made a call. “Transfer $2 million to the West Coast Studio. Also…”

He thought for a moment. “Buy a set of the best firearms on the market, from M4s to FNs, AKs, sniper rifles, shotguns, and handguns. Choose the most expensive and best ones, and have them delivered to Santa Monica.”

On the other end, someone responded, “I’ll get someone on it right away.”

Brian hung up and said, “How about that? Am I generous or what?”

Hawk chuckled twice. “The Pentagon announced a few years ago that Lockheed Martin was testing a new type of fighter jet. If you’re sincere, get me one of those.”

Brian sighed helplessly. “You might as well sell me off.”

When they returned to the campaign office, the bank manager called to confirm that $2 million had been deposited into the West Coast Studio's account.

As for the firearms, Brian was happy to give, and Hawk was happy to receive.

The plane request, of course, was just a joke.

Hawk reminded Brian, “We still have some debts to clear. Let’s settle those soon.”

Brian understood. “I’ve prepared all the cash. Have the Savior follow Bacon to retrieve it.”

Edward arrived at the office, listened to Hawk’s instructions, and left with Bacon.

The two retrieved the cash. Edward drove off alone midway, calling Michael to arrange a meeting at Michael’s place.

Michael, with his arm in a cast, was home recovering.

Edward circled around Los Angeles to ensure no one was following him before finally entering Michael’s rented apartment.

Michael greeted him, “The lawyer had the first settlement discussion with Owen’s side a few days ago. They’re offering $50,000.”

Edward locked the apartment door, his expression serious. “What do you think?”

Michael replied, “I’ll follow your advice.”

“$50,000 is too low. If we wait a little longer, we could get over $100,000.” Once a sharp-tongued street hustler, Edward had matured under Hawk’s influence over the past year. With newfound confidence, his words carried weight. “We’ve already achieved our goal with this matter. Don’t get greedy.”

He opened the bag he’d brought, took out cash, and placed it on the table. “The boss originally promised $10,000, but you did an outstanding job. Here’s $20,000 in cash. Take it.”

Michael realized his childhood friend had truly made it big. “Let me know if there’s more work like this.”

Edward reminded him, “Remember, keep your mouth shut.”

Michael assured him, “You know me—I never talk.”

Edward needed reliable people. Big Ugly and the others could only handle low-level tasks, and their status as homeless individuals posed significant limitations.

He said directly, “I’ll help you find proper work. Do your best. We both came out of Compton; it wasn’t easy. Don’t mess up.”

Michael looked at the $20,000 in front of him and the prospect of tens of thousands more. He felt his future was bright. “Call me anytime you need something.”

Edward didn’t linger. On his way out, he contacted the Navas father and son.

As soon as he made the call and arranged to meet, his phone rang.

It was Deborah. “Can you come back today? Every time I call, you say you’re busy with work. You’ve been gone for over a week.”

Edward sighed and explained, “I’m really busy with work. I can’t leave right now.”

Deborah, clearly unhappy, asked again, “Can you come back to Brentwood today?”

“Not today.” Edward thought for a moment. “Tomorrow… I’ll see how it goes. I’ll call you then.”

Deborah didn’t say more and hung up abruptly.

Edward sighed again. He started his car and drove to a parking lot, carefully ensuring he wasn’t being followed before parking in a secluded spot and making another call.

Before long, the Navas father and son arrived in their car and joined Edward in his.

They had met Edward before and knew he was the driver.

Edward glanced at the younger Navas. “Recovered?”

The younger Navas pointed to his reddened nose. “Apart from the bridge of my nose, the rest were just surface wounds. I’m young; I heal fast.”

Edward picked up a briefcase from under the passenger seat and handed it to the elder Navas. “The boss was very pleased with your performance. In addition to the agreed $50,000, he’s giving you an extra $30,000.”

The elder Navas opened the case, counted the money, and confirmed it was all genuine. “Thank you.”

The younger Navas peeked at the cash and said, “Sir, you and your boss are trustworthy people—a hundred times better than those Hollywood creeps!”

“Hollywood has good people too,” Edward said. “Director Ethan is one of them.”

The younger Navas remembered the artsy director. “He called me two days ago. He wants me to audition for a role next month. He’s already sent the script and detailed character requirements.”

Edward grinned, flashing two rows of white teeth. “I wish you an early rise to stardom.”

(End of chapter)