186-190

*Chapter 186: Taking the Initiative*

Covina, Main Street.

In front of a two-story building on the street, a colorful arch had been set up. Staff members stood outside, handing balloons to passing pedestrians.

At the building's entrance, a gleaming brass plaque was personally hung by Bryan.

The plaque bore the inscription: *Bryan Ferguson Campaign Office.*

After hanging the plaque, Bryan grabbed a handful of balloons himself and went to the sidewalk to distribute them to passersby.

He handed a balloon printed with "Support Bryan" to a woman passing by.

The woman initially reached for it but recoiled upon seeing him. "Aren't you the one with AIDS?"

"No, I’m not!" Bryan quickly clarified, cursing the four people who spread the slander.

Fortunately, Hawk had prepped him. Bryan pulled out two medical reports from his pocket and held them up to the woman. "This one’s from Irwin Group's medical division, and this one's from UCLA Medical School. I don’t have AIDS!"

The woman glanced at the documents and accepted the balloon. "So, you really don’t have it, huh?"

It was a clumsy approach, but Covina had a small population, and people tended to know one another. If one person believed him, they might convince a dozen others.

Bryan spent over an hour handing out more than thirty balloons.

His mouth was dry from all the talking.

On the roof of a church across the street, two men watched Bryan curiously.

One of them was Owen’s younger brother, Fowler. He asked, "This clown thinks he can compete with you?"

Sitting next to him, Owen replied, "Don’t underestimate anyone. In Covina, we’re in charge. But in Los Angeles, we can’t match the Fergusons."

Meanwhile, Edward’s bulletproof Mercedes was approaching Covina.

As the car exited the highway and approached a three-way intersection leading into Covina, Hawk noticed a massive orange structure.

“That wasn’t here last time,” Hawk remarked. "Is this new?"

Edward, who had researched it, explained, "Owen had it built for his campaign. Apparently, oranges are Covina's main industry."

Hawk observed the shiny orange sculpture. Its bright paint reflected sunlight, making it eye-catching.

If nothing else, it was certainly memorable.

As the car drove into Main Street, Hawk spotted a hot air balloon floating in the sky from a distance. It bore a large slogan: *Support Bryan Ferguson for Mayor!*

This was advertising in its purest form.

American elections were essentially a spectacle.

In recent days, Hawk had been pondering ways to make this particular spectacle more entertaining.

Though he had devised several strategies to help Bryan salvage his reputation, the reality remained grim. Against Owen, a two-term mayor, Bryan's reputation had been severely tarnished by media reports accusing him of promiscuity and undergoing AIDS testing.

The Mercedes soon stopped in front of the colorful arch. Hawk stepped out of the car, and Bryan rushed over to hug him. “Now that you’re here, I feel grounded.”

Hawk glanced at the hot air balloon floating above. “That’s a nice touch. Everyone in Covina can see it.”

Bryan smiled. "Come inside, let’s talk."

They entered the office building together, where a team of about a dozen people was hard at work. Leading the team were Bacon and Sandra.

Bacon served as Bryan’s campaign manager.

The two of them greeted Hawk one after the other. Having collaborated with him during the Wagren incident, they knew he was the linchpin.

Now that Bryan’s reputation was in shambles, traditional campaign methods were having limited impact. They needed a creative approach.

Suddenly, someone hurried in and whispered to Bryan, “Boss, Owen and his brother Fowler are here.”

Bryan quickly headed to the entrance. As soon as he reached the door, he saw Owen’s portly figure.

Both men wore wide smiles as they shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

Owen’s gaze drifted past Bryan and landed on Hawk, whom he quickly scrutinized.

The man wore tailored casual clothing without a discernible brand, a Rolex gold watch on his wrist, and held Nokia’s latest phone as he made a call.

His appearance wasn’t striking, but his demeanor exuded a calm elegance.

Owen turned to Bryan and said, “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“This is Hawk Osmond, my good friend and the founder and CEO of Twitter,” Bryan said, introducing the two. “And this is Owen Nestor, the mayor of Covina.”

Hawk confirmed this was his target. He stepped forward and shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mayor.”

Owen chuckled. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He pointed to his brother, whose face bore a menacing look. “Fowler here is a Twitter user, too.”

Hawk nodded at Fowler. “Thanks for supporting Twitter.”

A commotion at the entrance drew their attention as Edward entered with a bag and a suitcase.

Hawk turned to Bacon. “Could you help him get settled?”

Bacon hurried over to assist.

Owen noticed and probed, “Mr. Osmond, planning to stay in Covina for a while?”

Hawk replied, “I’ve developed a particular fondness for oranges.”

“I’ll have some sent over to you,” Owen said, achieving his purpose. He quickly excused himself and left.

As they exited the building, Owen and Fowler walked off in the distance.

Fowler said, “That guy seems utterly ordinary...”

“Don’t spout nonsense if you can’t think straight!” Owen scolded, knowing his brother’s reckless nature. “Do you think an ‘ordinary’ guy could take Twitter this far? Use your head for once.”

---

He pulled out his phone, dialed a number, waited for the call to connect, and said, “Grant, it’s me, Owen. I just saw Hawk Osman in Covina. He brought luggage with him—clearly planning to stay for a long time.”

On the other end, Grant asked, “He’s already there?”

Owen replied, “Not only is he here, but he’s also helping Brian mitigate the negative media coverage.” Then he urged, “When are you guys coming?”

Grant paused for a moment before responding, “Since Hawk Osman has shown up, we’ll head to Covina right away. Prepare a place for us—we’ll move right in.”

Owen said, “I’ve got a villa ready for you.”

---

*Downtown Los Angeles, Financial District.*

Grant and his team of four quickly packed up their office, taking computers and other work essentials. Then they went to their hotel to grab their luggage and loaded everything into their Toyota Alphard.

The car left the financial district and headed toward the highway entrance.

Not far from the vehicle, both in front and behind, several other cars—including one driven by Campos—were blending into the traffic, monitoring their movements through coordinated tracking.

---

The news quickly reached Hawk’s side.

In the second-floor office, Hawk said, “They’ll hit the highway in about ten minutes.”

Brian didn’t respond verbally. Without hesitation, he picked up his backup phone.

This was a life-and-death political battle.

The deaths of Wagner and Rayford last time had shown him the ruthless nature of political struggles—there was no room for mercy. Otherwise, it would be their side that suffered.

Brian dialed a number and said, “Start the operation. Catch them at the highway entrance and take care of them!”

After Hawk saw him hang up, he took the phone, removed the SIM card, cut it into pieces with scissors, flushed the fragments down the office toilet, wiped the phone’s fingerprints, and placed it in a plastic bag before handing it back to Brian. “Dispose of it.”

Brian nodded. “I understand.”

Noticing Brian’s unease, Hawk said, “Gather the team and hold a meeting. There are some things we need to align on.”

Brian then called Bacon. “Bring Sandra and Hubbard to the second-floor conference room. We’re having a meeting.”

Hawk stepped out and instructed Edward to head to the conference room as well.

---

Meanwhile, near the highway entrance, the Toyota Alphard slowed down slightly.

“Last time, our strategy failed. We didn’t take down Hawk Osman, and we even lost Bella Senn as a key player,” Grant said, warming up the conversation in the car. “Based on what we know, Hawk is skilled at scheming and dirty tricks. So we need to be extra cautious. But while staying on guard, we must also crush him completely.”

Hailey, still bitter about their previous failure, added, “In my opinion, it’d be best if he ended up like Wagner and Rayford.”

Those two—one shot dead by the FBI and the other staged as a suicide in Nassau—had already met their fate.

Augusto suggested, “Let’s find a good method and resolve this in one go.”

Madison proposed an idea: “Locate his car, sabotage his brake fluid line, and then create an urgent situation requiring him to rush back to Los Angeles.”

Grant nodded. “Put together a complete plan.”

The Toyota Alphard merged onto the highway, where traffic was slightly lighter at this hour, allowing its speed to increase.

This highway was built years ago, with relatively outdated facilities and sparse surveillance cameras.

A Western Star semi-truck, hauling a heavy trailer, also entered the highway, picking up speed as it chased after the Toyota Alphard.

The truck driver, an undocumented immigrant from Guatemala with years of experience driving buses, was skilled behind the wheel. Under his control, the heavy vehicle sped up dramatically.

Soon, the Toyota Alphard appeared ahead.

Two cars in front of it slowed down, prompting the Alphard to leave the fast lane and move to the open outermost lane.

The Western Star driver floored the gas pedal, sending the truck hurtling toward the Alphard.

Inside the Alphard, the four passengers were still discussing how to bring down Hawk Osman.

Hailey Field came up with an idea. “Hawk values Twitter’s Operations Director, Caroline Jones, a lot. Rumor has it she was involved in the Wagner incident. We could stage a car accident for Caroline and…”

Before she could finish her sentence, a massive collision hit from behind.

Sitting in the back without her seatbelt, Hailey Field was flung out of the vehicle. Her body tumbled through the air before crashing onto the hard pavement with a sickening thud.

The Western Star truck had struck the Alphard from a specific angle, leaving the car as fragile as paper. The A, B, and C pillars crumpled entirely. The car flipped off the road, turning one of the passengers into a human projectile.

The vehicle, crushed like a smashed carton, was completely deformed from the collision and rolling.

The three remaining passengers in the car were all bloodied and unconscious.

The Western Star continued forward for a short distance before coming to a stop.

Nearby, a Ford sedan—common in California—opened its door.

The truck driver jumped out and climbed into the Ford, which then sped off.

The Ford exited the highway at a nearby ramp, heading to a warehouse under an overpass, where the driver switched to another car. They then drove south, exiting California at Chula Vista and entering Tijuana.

The getaway driver handed over the final payment in cash, providing the truck driver with a pre-arranged plane ticket. Only after watching the driver board a flight to Argentina did they take another flight for a relaxing vacation in South Korea and Japan.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 187: A Contest of Despair

The highway scene was a chaotic mess. Campos’s car was stuck in the gridlock along with countless others. Like many, he stepped out of his vehicle and moved to the roadside for safety, observing the situation unfold.

A woman who had been ejected from one of the cars lay motionless on the road, a pool of red and white substances beneath her head.

Campos didn’t need to examine her closely to know she was beyond saving.

He recalled Edward mentioning how this woman had once tried to frame their boss.

“She got what she deserved!” Campos wasn’t about to waste his sympathy on someone like her.

The traffic jam grew worse, prompting more people to step out of their cars to seek safety or satisfy their morbid curiosity.

Some bolder bystanders approached the severely deformed wreckage of the cars to inspect the scene. Those with smartphones pulled them out to capture photos and videos.

Blending into the crowd, Campos also retrieved his phone and took several close-up shots of the woman and the mangled vehicles.

He observed clearly that the three people inside the crushed car were gravely injured. Whether they would survive was up to divine intervention.

Finding a secluded spot, Campos dialed Hawk’s number on his phone.

---

*Covina, Central Avenue*

In a second-floor office, Hawk’s backup phone rang. It was a call from Campos.

Moving to the window, Hawk answered.

Campos’s tone was casual, like a friend sharing gossip. “I just witnessed a brutal car accident. A Western Star truck slammed into a Toyota Alphard. A woman was thrown out of the Alphard and hit the road—her brains spilled everywhere. The Alphard was flung off the highway and compressed into something resembling a giant tin can. I doubt the three people inside will make it. God help them.”

Hawk understood and replied, “Such a horrific accident—may God have mercy on them.”

Campos added, “A patrol car just arrived. I’ll head over and see what’s happening.”

“Alright,” Hawk said before ending the call.

Brian immediately asked, “What’s the update?”

Hawk replied, “The operation was a success. The vehicle is destroyed, one dead, and three critically injured. The prognosis for the injured doesn’t look good.”

Hearing this, Brian grinned widely. “Excellent! Excellent!”

He approached Hawk for a fist bump. “Brother, with the two of us teaming up, who could stop us?”

Hawk’s mind was already on the next step. “Grant’s team is in shambles, and Owen Nestor’s forces are weakened. We must capitalize on this moment to shift the current situation in our favor.”

Brian nodded enthusiastically. “Owen may have some tricks up his sleeve, but he’s no match for us in this regard.”

“Let’s meet.” Hawk left his office and entered the conference room.

Brian followed closely behind.

Bacon, Sandra, and Edward were already seated, waiting.

Hawk took his place at the head of the table and got straight to the point. “Let’s hear the current status.”

Bacon opened his laptop and began, “Owen Nestor, who previously served two consecutive terms as mayor, relies on a base of citrus plantation owners and related processing business leaders. However, his reputation isn’t stellar—most of the promises he made during his second term remain unfulfilled.”

Hawk wasn’t surprised. A politician who can’t make empty promises isn’t much of a politician.

How many campaign promises are ever truly delivered?

Bacon continued, “Aside from Central Avenue, Covina’s other roads are in disrepair, and basic infrastructure like streetlights has been neglected. Owen had pledged improvements but never followed through.”

He glanced at his notes. “There’s also the broadband issue. Covina is relatively close to Los Angeles, with lower housing prices in the east, attracting many young professionals working in the city or financial districts. However, Covina’s broadband is still mostly dial-up. Owen’s promise of fiber-to-home remains just a campaign slogan.”

Hawk turned to Brian. “Did you capitalize on this?”

“Yes,” Brian detailed. “I don’t just make empty promises. Last month, I brought in a roadworks company to assess the conditions and convinced AT&T’s Los Angeles branch to promote fiber optic installation. Owen’s base consists of Covina’s old guard—hard to penetrate. My focus has been on the new workers and residents who’ve moved here recently.”

He elaborated, “These people are eager to see improvements in Covina’s living standards and cultural environment. The traditional divide between conservatives and liberals isn’t set in stone. In Covina, where the liberals have dominated city governance for years, they’ve become synonymous with stagnation.”

Hawk understood. The definitions of conservative and liberal often vary with time and place.

Bacon added, “Initially, our groundwork was paying off—support was rising, and we were gaining momentum against Owen. However, over the past week, negative news about the boss has surfaced continuously. The rumors about HIV, in particular, have caused significant damage. We’re now at a disadvantage on all fronts.”

Brian turned to Hawk. “Now that the biggest obstacle is gone and you’re here, we need you to turn the tide of public opinion.”

Hawk considered for a moment. “In terms of media, your clarifications have been issued, but the results are lackluster. You need to keep working on Covina.”

Brian sighed, “The HIV rumors were your doing! Starting them was easy—clearing them up is nearly impossible.”

Hawk already had a plan. “Pursue a Hollywood actress known for her clean image. Publicly court her, move in together, and have her give interviews.”

Bacon agreed. “That’s a good idea.”

Edward eagerly pulled out his notepad, brimming with enthusiasm. “I can recommend someone—Sarah Parker.”

“She had a miscarriage after a fall in March. She’s not the right fit for a redemption story—completely useless,” Brian retorted, flipping Edward off.

“I think Jennifer Aniston would be a good choice,” Brian added. “She just got divorced, has a solid reputation in the industry, and carries significant influence.”

Hawk smirked. “You’ve always been better at handling Hollywood actresses than I am.”

Brian nodded, mentally drafting a list of candidates. Alongside Jennifer Aniston, he considered Nicole Kidman, Jennifer Connelly, and Cameron Diaz.

He quietly instructed Sandra to gather information on these actresses.

---

Hawk continued, "Then there's public opinion. Currently, Brian is at a disadvantage in Covina due to the AIDS rumors. Even if we implement all the measures we discussed, it will be hard to reverse public perception in the short term. Bad impressions linger, and it takes a hundredfold effort to erase them."

He stood up, walked to the whiteboard, and wrote down the name "Owen Nestor."

"So, the main task for the next phase is to make his reputation worse than Brian's!"

Brian immediately understood. "You're asking me to compete on who’s worse?"

"That’s not incorrect," Hawk replied while writing on the whiteboard. "In our current situation, the logic of the game is not only to get more people to support Brian but also to ensure fewer people support Owen."

To achieve this, the next steps would involve attacks, slander, and spreading rumors—necessary tactics in this context.

Edward, who had been working with Hawk for over a year, said, "Make Owen's reputation worse."

This wasn’t exactly a novel election strategy. Ever since the Watergate scandal, the public had been well aware of such tactics.

Brian pointed out a grim reality: "From small towns to cities, states, and then nationwide, elections are no longer purely democratic processes. They’ve become games of allegiance, positions, and money."

He then asked Hawk, "Have you found a breakthrough yet?"

Instead of answering directly, Hawk asked, "At the fork in the highway leading into Covina, is that giant orange sculpture Owen's doing?"

"Yes, it is," Brian explained. "His supporters are mainly from the upper end of the citrus industry. For the election campaign, he paid out of pocket to build that ugly sculpture, claiming it as a new landmark for Covina."

Hawk nodded slightly. "When I passed through earlier, I noticed that the orange had been painted with a shiny finish. It reflects light in a way that’s distracting. Find someone suitable to ride a motorcycle—not a car—at night and crash into it. Then, sue Owen Nestor for public safety hazards caused by the reflective surface of the orange. Brian, you’re a lawyer; you can figure out the appropriate charge."

Hearing this, Brian's eyes lit up. "Turning Owen’s pride and joy into an embarrassing failure—that could seriously hurt his reputation!"

Edward raised his hand and interjected, "Let me handle finding the person for this."

Both Hawk and Brian turned to look at him.

"I have a buddy who finally got out of Compton, but he’s currently unemployed and strapped for cash," Edward elaborated. "He has a clean record—no gang affiliation, no criminal history."

Hawk asked, "Someone like you?"

Edward quickly corrected him, "No, no, boss. He’s not as charming as me. I can attract women’s attention effortlessly!"

Brian agreed, "All right, you find the person. As for the payment, go to Hubbard and get some cash."

Hubbard, who had been silent throughout the meeting, spoke briefly, "Come see me in the finance office after the meeting."

Brian’s campaign had raised a considerable amount of funds for the election. Campaign finance laws didn’t require disclosure of how the funds were used.

Hawk, however, wasn’t underestimating the opponent. He had received some information from Campos. "I’ve heard that Owen’s son, Pratt, is currently attending Eastside High School. He’s the quarterback for the football team and has a history of bullying other students, especially minorities."

Brian had focused solely on Owen himself and hadn’t paid attention to his underage son. "I wasn’t aware of that."

Hawk said, "Look into it. It shouldn’t be hard to verify, but make sure not to alert Owen’s camp."

Sandra volunteered, "Leave that to me."

Hawk nodded. "Fine."

Brian asked, "Are we going to use Pratt against him?"

"Exactly," Hawk emphasized. "Elections are not about individuals—they’re about groups, which include their families. Family members are often weak points."

He added, "One more thing: Owen has avoided scandals so far, but you’ve been dragged down by tabloid gossip. We can use the same methods against him."

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 188: Full Counterattack

The meeting ended, and everyone began to get busy.

Hawk called Brian back to the office and said, "You're risking your life out there. You should request some resource support from above."

Brian asked, "What kind of resources?"

Hawk replied directly, "The Elephants must have madams or intermediary agents providing services. Find someone suitable, and have LAPD conduct a sting operation to obtain a ledger or client list. Use it to accuse Owen Nest of soliciting prostitution, abusing women, or something similar."

Slander and defamation? Hawk was just as adept as Grant at those tactics. "You're unmarried, but Owen has a wife and kids. This would hit him much harder."

Brian said, "Using their own methods against them. Good idea. I'll get in touch right away."

Hawk asked, "Can you find the right person?"

"As long as there's money, people aren't a problem." Brian added, "But our media influence isn't as strong as the Donkeys’. We'll need your help when the time comes."

Hawk thought for a moment and said, "FOX News can get you on Ace News without a problem. Twitter's new algorithm will push the story to the right audience."

Brian understood. "Users around Covina, right?"

Hawk said, "Exactly. Now get moving."

Brian left the office building.

As before, Hawk surveyed the big picture, coordinating and directing operations.

With Grant's team taking a heavy blow, there would be a brief lull on Owen Nest's side. Hawk planned to seize this window to gain a decisive advantage.

He recalled the tactics Haley Field had used against him. If the opportunity arose, he could use the same methods against Owen Nest.

Grant's team had gone to extremes against him, and now he and Brian were retaliating with even more ferocity.

Who knew what would happen next?

Hawk opened the suitcase Edward had brought, took out the pre-prepared firearms, and placed them in the office cabinet.

---

On the Highway to Covina

Campos got into his car and followed the police's guidance, driving slowly forward.

As he passed the crash site, he glanced over and saw a body on a stretcher already zipped up in a body bag.

At the wreckage of a Toyota Alphard lying off the road, a rescue team was using tools to pry open the doors and assist the occupants.

Nearby, medical personnel ran to the car carrying another body bag.

Clearly, more than one person had died.

Traffic ahead began moving, and Campos sped up, driving farther and farther away.

At the crash site, LAPD Sergeant Jerry Monbat was directing his team to survey the scene.

Someone approached and reported, "Sergeant, we couldn't find the driver of the Western Star truck. The license plate is fake, as are the chassis and engine numbers. This vehicle isn't from California. We checked carefully but couldn't trace its origin."

"I see," Monbat said. "Any traces on the truck?"

The officer shook his head. "None. No fingerprints, usable footprints, or biological samples. So far, no leads."

This wasn't the first time Monbat had encountered such a case. He didn't need to think hard to know that whatever was behind this incident would be complicated.

He quickly decided to follow all procedural steps, then shelve the case. Anyone who wanted to investigate further could try their luck.

Another officer handed over the deceased's phone, which showed a recently dialed number.

Monbat put on gloves, took the phone, and called the number.

After a few rings, someone answered.

A man's voice: "Grant? Are you not here yet?"

"I'm LAPD Sergeant Jerry Monbat. The owner of this phone was in a serious car accident..." Monbat briefly explained the situation and asked, "May I ask who you are?"

The other person replied, "I'm Owen Nest, Mayor of Covina."

Monbat said, "If possible, please help notify the family of the phone's owner."

---

Covina, City Hall

In his office, Owen hung up the phone, momentarily at a loss.

His brother Fowler leaned in. "What's wrong? Are they not coming?"

Owen replied, "Grant and his group of four were in a car accident on their way here. The vehicle and occupants suffered severe damage—they won't be coming."

Fowler frowned. "How could there be an accident?"

Owen glanced toward the direction of Brian's campaign office. "What are the chances this is just a coincidence? Or do these big capitalist families always play so dirty?"

Sitting in a single-seater couch was a middle-aged man with black-rimmed glasses, Arnold, who reminded him, "We need to notify Sacramento immediately and have them send someone to handle the aftermath."

Owen said, "I'll make the call."

He turned to his brother Fowler. "Mobilize all our old allies and be ready for anything."

Fowler was about to leave when Owen stopped him.

"Starting tomorrow, you’ll take Pratt to and from school. Make sure he keeps a low profile. It’s just over a year until he goes to college—I’ve already arranged for a recommendation letter."

---

---

Fowler nodded and hurriedly left the office.

Owen took a moment to adjust his emotions, picked up his phone, and made a call to Sacramento.

---

*Los Angeles City, South Park*

A Cadillac pulled into the parking lot. Edward got out of the car and walked into the park, heading to the designated meeting spot by the artificial lake.

At a stone table diagonally across from him, someone waved. "Savior, over here."

Edward walked over quickly and embraced an old friend of similar age, a Black man. “Michael, you’ve finally decided to leave Compton.”

“My mother passed away.” Michael rubbed his shiny bald head. “There’s nothing left for me in Compton.”

Edward said, “I’m sorry…”

Michael shook his head. “It’s fine.” Changing the subject, he added, “A few days ago, I ran into White. He told me you’ve been doing well.”

White was Big Ugly. Edward smiled. “I owe it to being in the right company. I’ve managed to earn a stake in a company.”

Michael took a step back, eyeing him up and down. “Man, are you about to become a millionaire? Don’t forget to look out for me.”

Edward replied, “A millionaire might be a stretch, but I do have a job for you that could help you out of your current situation.”

“What kind of job?” Michael trusted Edward, who had helped him many times back in Compton. “If it’s too complicated, I might not be able to handle it.”

Edward briefly explained the peculiar task. “It involves filing a lawsuit. Don’t worry about the legalities; I’ll arrange for a lawyer.”

Michael hesitated. “Ride a motorcycle into an orange sculpture and then sue the people who built it?”

He asked, “Savior, you’re not getting mixed up with a gang, are you?”

Edward reassured him, “This is legitimate work. It’s part of an election campaign.”

Michael still seemed uncertain.

Edward added, “You’ll get a motorcycle, $10,000 in cash, and all expenses will be covered. Any compensation awarded will be yours to keep.”

He patted Michael on the shoulder. “Compton is poor and grim, but the world outside isn’t much kinder, especially for us Black folks. Without a decent job, our options are joining gangs or becoming homeless. You don’t have any standout features to rely on, unlike Big Ugly and the others, who can make a living with their natural talents.”

Michael nodded. “I trust you because you’re my brother.”

“You’re a smart guy,” Edward said, “but this job isn’t just about smarts. You’ll need a good plan. Listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you.”

Michael said confidently, “We’re the ones who escaped Compton!”

---

*Covina, Main Street*

As night fell, Sandra, who had been investigating Owen’s son, hurried back.

She went straight to the office to report to Hawk. “I discreetly spoke to some people outside of East High School in Covina and got some information.”

Hawk nodded. “Let’s hear it.”

Sandra began, “From eighth grade onward, Owen’s son, Platt Nester, joined the East High School football team. He started as a wide receiver but later switched to quarterback. East High is a weak team, and Platt’s skills are average. But like many white quarterbacks in movies, he excels at bullying on campus.”

Hawk interjected, “Art imitates life.”

“Platt has been strong since he was young. He bullied classmates in elementary school and carried this habit into middle school.” Sandra recalled her own school experiences, where she had been bullied by cheerleaders. “Bullying is so common in American schools that it’s practically part of the culture.”

She quickly returned to the point. “When transitioning to middle school, Platt was rejected by two private schools due to his bullying and had to enroll at the local East High. But he didn’t change his ways. Owen was frequently called to the school, but as mayor, he got a lot of leniency, and most incidents were swept under the rug.”

Hawk asked, “That only emboldened Platt?”

“Exactly. It made him even more brazen.” Sandra continued, “And he’s cunning. He never bullies well-off white classmates. His targets are mostly minorities, especially Mexican Americans.”

Covina, being part of Los Angeles, has a significant Mexican American population.

Hawk confirmed, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” Sandra said, recounting her field investigation. “Just a few days ago, Platt and his gang assaulted a Mexican American student.”

Hawk, already aware of this incident through Campos’ reports, praised her. “You’ve done an excellent job. This is all very useful.”

Sandra smiled. “Just doing my part.”

At that moment, the office door opened, and Brian returned.

Sandra greeted him and excused herself.

Hawk asked Brian, “How did it go?”

Brian replied, “We accomplished great things last time. If they don’t give us rewards, who’s going to stay motivated?”

Then he added, “It’s done. Just say the word, and we’re ready to go.”

Hawk said, “Edward has found someone. Let’s start from his side.”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 189: A Long Night

Under the cover of night, Covina gradually fell silent.

In a car parked at a three-way intersection, Hawk glanced at the massive orange sculpture looming ahead.

Beside him, Brian picked up a camera, aimed it toward the sculpture, and asked, “Aren’t they here yet?”

Hawk checked his watch. “Two more minutes before we roll.”

Brian nodded and asked again, “This angle and method—are they good?”

“You’re just a backup. We might not even use your footage.” Hawk gestured toward the front of the car. “The Savior is better at this than you. He’s already set up.”

In the distance, lights appeared. Brian glanced at the time and powered on his camera.

A motorcycle sped toward the orange sculpture in the distance.

The light reflected off the sculpture’s smooth surface, creating a glare. Michael, the rider, squinted instinctively as the brightness affected his vision.

Unable to adjust in time, the motorcycle didn’t turn but headed straight for the sculpture.

The bike hit the curb, crashing through a flowerbed fence. Its tires skidded on the freshly watered grass before toppling over. Michael was thrown from the bike, skidding across the lawn.

Just as he was about to miss the sculpture entirely and waste the crash, the skilled rider from Compton stretched out his arm, desperate to grab the sculpture as if it were a lifeline.

His arm collided with the sculpture, producing the sickening sound of a bone breaking.

Michael let out a scream of pain—his arm was fractured.

Through the camera’s lens and aided by the lights, Brian saw the entire scene unfold clearly. Watching Michael’s dedication, he remarked, “This guy is committed. Looks like he broke his arm. Make sure the Savior tells him we’ll pay extra!”

Hawk agreed. “The Savior always finds the best people.”

“No kidding,” Brian said, generous with his praise—and the budget. “Double his payment!”

On the other side, Edward, who had seen Michael’s heavy crash, urged the man in the passenger seat, Frank. “Call 911, quick!”

Frank, originally there just to watch, pulled out his phone and quipped, “Did you guys script a role for me? I’ll need compensation for this.”

As he spoke, he dialed 911.

Soon, a patrol car arrived to handle the situation. Not long after, an ambulance pulled up.

Edward donned his Fox 11 press badge, grabbed a camera, and began snapping photos, documenting everything favorable to Michael.

Since someone was footing the bill, Michael was quickly taken to the hospital.

His left upper arm was fractured and required surgery.

Edward, acting as Michael’s “relative,” paid for his medical expenses.

While the room was empty, Edward leaned in and whispered, “Double the payment.”

Michael’s eyes lit up despite his pain. “Twenty grand?”

Edward lowered his voice. “The money’s with me. You’ll get it after this blows over.”

“Understood.” Energized by the Savior’s reputation for generosity, Michael grinned, acting as though his injuries were minor. “Feel free to let reporters interview me!”

Edward replied, “Focus on recovering.”

In addition to covering medical expenses, Edward arranged for a professional female caregiver to provide round-the-clock care for Michael.

After leaving the hospital, Edward got into the driver’s seat of a bulletproof Mercedes. “Boss, where to next?”

Frank answered automatically, “Next stop—Fox Television Center.”

Hawk, transferring video and photos onto a laptop, agreed. “Let’s go with that.”

Frank pointed forward and commanded, “Drive!”

As Edward drove, he asked, “Is the lawyer coming tomorrow?”

“You guys con them out of their money. Don’t forget my share,” Frank interrupted. “I helped by calling 911!”

Hawk shot back, “Any money you get will just go to your ex-wives.”

Frank retorted, “Then pay me in cash.”

Edward smirked, steering the conversation. “Hey, old man, I saw Salma Hayek’s Twitter today. Guess what she posted?”

Frank chuckled dryly. “She’s holding a whip, flogging you while you pick cotton.”

Edward’s tone sharpened. “Salma publicly announced her new relationship. Her boyfriend is François-Henri Pinault, the CEO of France’s PPR Group. Gucci, Saint Laurent, Balenciaga, Brioni—all under PPR. He’s younger than you, richer than you… once again, you’ve been ditched!”

Frank fell silent.

Hawk piled on. “You should write a memoir someday—My Ex-Wives and Ex-Girlfriends. By the way, since you can’t own property, list me as the beneficiary of your book royalties. I’d be happy to shoulder that burden for you.”

Frank grumbled, “Why on earth do I associate with two shameless bastards like you?”

---

A Mercedes-Benz pulled up at the Fox Television Center. Hawk took a storage drive and headed upstairs alone to Channel 11. He entered the office of Megan Taylor in the "Ace News" team.

As he entered, Megan crossed her arms and looked at Hawk. "I thought you'd disappeared."

"I've been dealing with some things. Someone framed me," Hawk replied.

He briefly explained the situation with Bella Sane.

"Your company was just starting to make progress, and now you're hit with this mess." Megan sighed. "You were on the brink of disaster."

Hawk handed her the storage drive. "I found clues about the mastermind behind this. I'm preparing to fight back. Take a look."

Megan didn’t waste time. She plugged the drive into her computer and opened a video. The footage showed someone riding a motorcycle, crashing onto the curb, and landing on a lawn. Their arm hit a reflective orange sculpture.

Hawk stood behind her, holding the back of her chair. "That person was rushed to the hospital for emergency care."

As always, Megan watched the video a second time, occasionally pausing it.

Soon, she stopped at the frame where the motorcycle hit the orange sculpture, reflecting light. "Is this related to the sculpture?"

Hawk nodded. "The person responsible for erecting it."

Megan's journalistic instincts kicked in. "Does the sculpture have proper permits? Was it tested for safety? Does it reflect light at night, endangering public safety, and causing injuries?"

She pointed at the screen. "The main cause of this incident seems to be the sculpture."

Hawk nodded. Working with Megan on news stories was always efficient.

"There are also some photos that could serve as materials," Hawk reminded her. "Injuries from the victim's broken arm, the damaged motorcycle, close-ups of the sculpture at night, and comparison shots taken during the day."

Megan opened the photos and carefully examined them. "Leave the news to me," she said confidently.

"Good. These videos and photos are yours now," Hawk replied, preparing to leave.

Before he could, Megan grabbed his arm, stood up, and took off her jacket. "Do you want this to make the news or not?"

Hawk instantly understood, scooping her up and placing her on the spacious office desk.

Before "Ace News" aired, Hawk left Channel 11, headed downstairs, and returned to his car.

Frank sniffed the air. "Perfume... and the scent of... after business with a woman."

Hawk was surprised. "You can smell that?"

Frank smirked. "Don’t forget, I’ve been with more Hollywood actresses than you’ve ever met."

Hawk ignored the comment and pulled out his phone to call Eric Eason. "It's me. Got time? Let's meet—I need a favor."

About ten minutes later, they met at a quiet bar in Century City.

Hawk got straight to the point. "I need two actors—a Mexican man over 35 and a Mexican youth under 20. They should be reliable, ideally a real father and son. The pay is good."

Hawk gestured with his fingers. "For both, at least $50,000, with additional cash bonuses based on performance."

Eric thought for a moment. "I’ll ask my agent to find them."

"Do it quickly," Hawk urged.

"I'm on it now," Eric said as he left in a hurry.

Hawk then called Sandra, asking her to find someone to look into transfer procedures for East High School.

---

*Covina, City Hall.*

A Lexus stopped at the main entrance. Owen got out of the car, hurried inside, and found Arnold, who was waiting in the lobby.

"What’s the situation?" Arnold asked.

"Not good. Those four people can't help us," Owen replied.

Arnold adjusted his glasses. "The situation might get worse."

"What happened now?" Owen asked immediately.

Arnold said, "Fox 11's 'Ace News.' I had someone record it."

The two entered a meeting room, where an assistant turned on the TV and playback device.

Soon, Fox 11’s "Ace News" aired footage of the orange sculpture Owen had funded.

The news reported a motorcycle accident involving the sculpture, blaming its reflective surface for causing the crash and injuries. It claimed the sculpture’s glare and placement on a previously soft lawn caused the incident.

"It’s clearly the rider’s fault! What does the sculpture have to do with it?" Owen shouted in frustration, tugging at his already thinning hair.

Arnold said, "That’s true, but the media is steering the narrative. Fox 11 is siding with them—I smell a conspiracy."

Owen paced. "Alright, find out which hospital the victim was sent to. Go there, offer him money, and make him sign an agreement to keep quiet."

Arnold agreed that swift action was necessary. Grabbing his briefcase, he said, "I’ve already found out. I’ll head over now."

At the hospital, Arnold learned the patient had been sedated and was resting.

Frustrated, he called Owen. "I’ll come back tomorrow."

It was going to be a long night.

---

*West Los Angeles, Nordstrom.*

Several cars drove up and parked near a villa.

Julian, the leader, picked up his walkie-talkie. "Follow my lead. Coordinate the action."

That evening, they had received a tip about illegal activities in the area.

While LAPD wasn’t as aggressive as the FBI in sting operations, this fell squarely within their jurisdiction.

---

(End of chapter)  

*Chapter 190: A Tarnished Reputation*

The villa was brightly lit. Under LAPD custody, two men hurriedly put on their clothes.

On the other side, female officers restrained four women, all dressed provocatively.

All LAPD officers, including Julian, wore the latest body cameras to record the entire operation.

Among the four women, the oldest glanced toward her room as Julian approached, blinking knowingly.

Julian and his team immediately conducted a thorough search of the villa.

They uncovered piles of cash, drugs, and various paraphernalia. Everything was captured on the body cameras.

Soon after, Julian found a ledger in the madam Selena's room.

It listed numerous clients, their transaction details, and a few larger clients with dedicated pages, each documenting detailed records.

The first name on the list was Owen Nestor, complete with his contact information and home or work address.

His total transactions exceeded $20,000!

With the evidence in hand, Julian waited for the search to conclude. Once done, he gave the order, and the LAPD escorted all suspects back to the station.

Interrogations began immediately. The women, especially Selena, provided extensive statements.

By 2 a.m., Julian had a significant breakthrough.

The suspects were detained separately, and the team held a brief meeting.

Julian presented the ledger: "This case involves many individuals. Our principle is to focus on the major players listed in this ledger."

He glanced at the clock. "First thing tomorrow, obtain warrants for compulsory summons. We'll bring in all relevant suspects."

The team members responded in unison, "Understood."

Julian dismissed them with a wave: "Go get some rest."

As the others left, Julian pulled out his phone and took photos of the ledger. He then carefully wiped the phone's fingerprints and sealed it in an evidence bag.

He personally stepped out to buy snacks for his team.

On his way back, he wrapped the evidence bag containing the phone in garbage and threw it into a roadside trash bin.

A homeless man rummaging through the bin later found the items and vanished into the night.

---

*Covina, Early Morning*

After working on a clogged drain, Hawk was exhausted and napping in his office suite.

He was startled awake by footsteps and instinctively reached for his gun.

A knock on the door followed, and Brian's voice came through, "It’s me. We need to talk."

"Come in," Hawk said, putting the gun away.

Brian opened the door just as Hawk set the gun on the nightstand. "Man, you really need to chill. Don’t shoot me by mistake."

Hawk smirked, "Relax. Worst-case scenario, I’ll just wing you."

Brian got to the point: "Julian’s operation is complete. He’s got witnesses and evidence. Tomorrow morning, they’ll serve Owen Nestor with a summons."

"Perfect!" Hawk picked up his phone and made a call. "At dawn, send someone to Covina to keep an eye on Owen. Big news is about to break. Once it’s done, post it on Twitter."

On the other end, Campos replied, "Got it."

Hawk hung up and told Brian, "Find a few people to spread rumors after LAPD takes Owen away, as planned."

Brian’s grin turned sinister. "The team’s ready. I’ll make sure his reputation sinks lower than mine!"

It was a race to the bottom, and with Hawk in the picture, Brian was confident his own moral standing would still shine brighter.

He asked, "What about the school situation?"

Hawk replied, "We’re finding suitable candidates. With the pool of actors in Los Angeles, it shouldn’t take long. We need this to look authentic."

Every element of Hawk’s plan had to play out convincingly. "We’ll bring in a Mexican father and son to move into Covina. The son will transfer to Eastside High and, as a minority and a new student, naturally become a target of bullying..."

Brian questioned, "Why use actors?"

"Think about Hollywood. They’ve experienced more complexities than most people their age. Plus, they can act," Hawk explained succinctly.

Brian agreed, "I’ll handle the transfer paperwork through a contact."

Hawk added, "Get two more people into Eastside High as observers and recorders."

Brian nodded. "Consider it done."

---

*The Next Morning*

Before hospital rounds began, Brian’s law firm sent a seasoned attorney and an assistant to Michael’s hospital room to sign a representation agreement. They planned to seek damages for the accident and injuries.

Soon after, a reporter from Fox 11 News interviewed Michael.

Facing the camera, Michael said, "I was riding my motorcycle normally when I reached a three-way intersection near Covina. Suddenly, there was a glare that obscured my view of the road. My bike hit the curb, and I collided with the hard reflective object, breaking my arm."

All the blame fell on the orange sculpture.

The reporter also interviewed Michael’s attorney.

---

---

The lawyer spoke solemnly: “We have obtained detailed information about the sculptor responsible and will demand compensation in accordance with the law.”

Arnold, who had come to the hospital looking for Michael last night, was absent this time.

He simply didn’t have the time or energy.

At Covina City Hall, just as the workday began, two vehicles belonging to the LAPD pulled up in front of the main entrance.

A team of six officers, led by Julian, entered the city hall after presenting their badges and went directly to meet Mayor Owen Nester.

After listening to their introductions, Owen was visibly surprised. “You’re from the West Division? This area isn’t under your jurisdiction.”

Julian presented a subpoena. “Mayor, we are legally requesting your presence at the West Division for questioning. You’re involved in a criminal case, and we ask for your cooperation.”

Suddenly, the office door was pushed open with a bang. Fowler and several of his old comrades barged in.

The six officers, including Julian, instinctively placed their hands on their weapons.

Owen shouted, “Who let you in here? Get out! Now!”

Fowler opened his mouth to speak, but Arnold rushed in, grabbed him, and whispered urgently, “What are you trying to do? Do you want to get your brother killed?”

The group slowly retreated.

Julian maintained a serious demeanor. “Mayor, this is a lawful summons. If you refuse to cooperate, we will proceed as required.”

Owen stood up from behind his desk, adjusted his suit, and said, “Lead the way.”

Two officers moved behind him, Julian led the way, and the rest of the team subtly surrounded Owen as they exited the office.

Seeing Arnold, Owen instructed, “Notify the lawyer.”

Arnold nodded, pulled out his phone, and started dialing.

As the group left City Hall, camera flashes went off. Reporters were clearly taking photos.

Owen turned his head and spotted a female reporter holding a camera.

On the other side, a male journalist was filming with a video camera.

Outside the City Hall, a crowd of over ten curious citizens had gathered, drawn by the sight of the police vehicles.

Covina was a small town, where any commotion could attract half the population.

The crowd quickly realized that Mayor Owen was being escorted out of City Hall by five armed LAPD officers.

“What’s going on?” someone asked curiously.

“Looks like he’s been arrested,” another person speculated.

The five officers kept a close formation around Owen as they walked, making it clear the situation was serious.

When Owen was placed into the police car, the crowd swelled to over thirty people.

The police vehicles drove off, followed closely by reporters eager to capture more footage at the West Division.

In the crowd, someone remarked, “My cousin works at Parker Center. I just asked him, and it seems Mayor Owen was taken in for soliciting prostitutes.”

Another person chimed in, “That’s right, it’s about prostitutes. My aunt works at the 911 dispatch center and mentioned it last night.”

Gossip spread rapidly, especially since Owen had indeed been taken away by the LAPD.

Initially, the discussion was about Owen and prostitutes.

By the time it reached the outskirts of the crowd, the story had evolved into Owen assaulting a prostitute.

By the time the rumors spread further, the story became about Owen assaulting over ten minors.

Before noon, a new scandal had emerged: Owen’s alleged involvement with transgender individuals.

---

Ocean Park Boulevard, Twitter.

In the newsroom, Sasha personally compiled the material: photos of Owen being escorted by the LAPD, footage of last night’s LAPD operation, and records of Madame Selena’s involvement, including notes and financial ledgers referencing Owen.

Using a pseudonymous account, she posted the news as a tweet and published it.

Afterward, she picked up the phone and called Caroline. “It’s been posted.”

In the operations department, Ms. Meh logged into the backend, located the news, and ensured it was prioritized for visibility to the right audience.

Once finished, she also picked up the phone.

When the call connected, now dressed in pink attire, Ms. Meh smiled coyly, “Boss, it’s out.”

Hawk replied, “Got it. Keep following up.”

---

In the office of a citrus products sales company in Covina, during the lunch break, employees took a moment to browse the internet.

Corte logged into Twitter and noticed a red-highlighted news article titled “Mayor Owen’s Long History of Soliciting Prostitutes.” It instantly caught his attention.

He clicked on the headline, and the page loaded.

The article detailed the LAPD’s crackdown on a prostitution ring, the evidence gathered, and records linking Mayor Owen to the scandal—all corroborated by the events at City Hall earlier that day. The proof painted a picture of a man with a seemingly perfect family but indulging in illicit activities.

Corte immediately shared the article.

He turned to his colleagues and said, “Big news in Covina! Check Twitter!”

“I’m already on it,” said the coworker to his left, engrossed in the gossip.

“What’s the big news?” asked the person to his right.

“About Mayor Owen,” Corte replied.

The colleague opened Twitter and asked, “Wasn’t he just taken away by the LAPD?”

“Yeah, and now someone’s leaked a whole set of evidence,” Corte explained.

Within five minutes, nearly everyone in the office was eagerly consuming the gossip about Owen Nester.

Today, almost no one in Covina was talking about anything else. The entire town was abuzz with discussions about Owen Nester.

Compared to rumors about Brian Ferguson and a single questionable receipt, this scandal was far more explosive.

Brian wasn’t married and had no family obligations.

But Owen Nester, taken away by the LAPD with damning evidence surfacing, had a seemingly happy family life.

For Hawk, ruining Owen Nester’s reputation was far easier than salvaging Brian’s image as an anxious bachelor.

---

 (End of chapter)