156-160

Chapter 156: Twitter

In the eastern part of Los Angeles, nestled in the San Gabriel Valley, an old office with red tiles and yellow walls housed the struggling startup.

Inside, Kassim scratched his smooth forehead, a deep frown on his face.

Across from him, a brunette named Laura asked, "Is selling the website really our only option?"

Kassim sighed. "The other option is shutting it down," he replied, glancing outside at their three colleagues still hard at work. "It’s been how long since any of us had an income? Passion can only take you so far. What do we do when we can’t afford food or rent?"

Laura gritted her teeth. "That scumbag Bennett! He dumped his shares and bailed, leaving us—two tech people who know nothing about running a business—to fend for ourselves."

Kassim shrugged, not blaming Bennett. "He didn’t have a choice. He was out of money." Before leaving, Bennett had even transferred his shares to Kassim and Laura.

At the start of last year, the three of them had jumped on the blogging boom, using all their savings to create "Window," a blogging platform, hoping to ride the wave of success.

But nearly a year in, reality had been harsh. The market was oversaturated with similar companies, and carving out a space required resources, funding, and expertise in operations—things they lacked.

The phone rang, breaking the silence. Kassim answered, exchanged a few words, and then hung up. He turned to Laura. "They’re here."

Laura knew this was their only shot to keep the website alive. "Let’s hope they’re serious and not just wasting our time," she said.

They stepped out of the office. Their three colleagues looked at them expectantly as Kassim and Laura made their way to the staircase.

It wasn’t long before two men and a woman came up the stairs.

The newcomers wore expensive business suits. The woman, especially, was decked out in Hermès and Chanel.

Kassim stepped forward and extended his hand. "You must be Mr. Hawk Osmond."

Hawk shook his hand. "Yes, nice to meet you."

After brief introductions, Kassim led the group to the office. A plaque reading "Window Company" hung on the door.

The office was small and cramped. The outer room barely had space for three people alongside the computers and servers.

Hawk got straight to the point. "You’re selling the Window website?"

Kassim nodded. "The company is struggling. Laura and I are tech experts, not businesspeople. We just have one request: don’t shut the site down after the sale."

Laura added, "This is a year’s worth of our hard work."

Hawk studied the pair. With their glasses, greasy hair, unkempt appearance, and plain clothes, they looked every bit the stereotype of tech geeks.

"I wouldn’t buy the site just to let it die," Hawk said.

Kassim hesitated, scratching his oily hair before mustering the courage to ask, "How much are you offering?"

Hawk, aware he had the upper hand, offered a modest sum. "One hundred thousand dollars."

"What?!" Laura exclaimed in disbelief. "That doesn’t even cover what we invested!"

The woman with Hawk, carrying her Hermès bag and exuding haughty confidence, stepped forward. "You seem to forget something," she said sharply. "Let me remind you: Window is a failing website."

Her smile was quick and sharp, revealing two small pointed teeth, as she drove the point home. "There are hundreds of blog sites like Window in the U.S. Many shut down every day. We’re only here because you’re nearby."

Kassim and Laura, neither skilled in negotiation, were at a loss for words.

The woman, clearly well-informed, continued. "Your site launched less than 11 months ago. It has 23,300 registered users. Since last November, your daily active users dropped from 1,140 to 556 last month."

Laura, familiar with the backend numbers, lowered her head in defeat.

"The word 'dire' doesn’t even begin to describe it," the woman said, her tone cutting. "You haven’t paid salaries in over seven weeks. How much longer can you even afford food?"

Kassim couldn’t argue. The harsh truth was undeniable.

The woman turned to Hawk. "Boss, $100,000 is too much. Fifty thousand would suffice."

Hawk waved dismissively. "I said $100,000, and that’s what it’ll be."

The pair played their roles perfectly. Against these two, Kassim and Laura had no chance.

Resigned, Kassim said, "Fine. $100,000 it is. Let’s proceed with the transfer."

Hawk extended his hand, sealing the deal. "What will you do after this? Leaving the industry?" he asked.

Laura replied, "We haven’t decided yet."

Hawk signaled to the woman, who smiled sharply and took over the details.

---

Downstairs, Hawk and Edward exited the building.

"You’re recruiting them, aren’t you?" Edward asked.

"That’s not something I should say directly," Hawk replied. "If the woman recruits them and it doesn’t work out, I can always fire them."

Edward nodded in understanding. "So she takes the fall if it backfires."

---

Meanwhile, back upstairs, the woman made her pitch. "You’re losing your site and might leave the industry entirely. But why not come work for my company? You’ll keep doing what you’ve been doing, and we’ll increase your current salary by 15%."

Kassim hesitated. "Still in programming and web architecture?"

"Exactly," she confirmed.

After some discussion, Kassim and Laura agreed, though two of their colleagues chose to leave the industry entirely.

---

Hawk moved quickly to establish the new company, registering it in Delaware to benefit from tax incentives. He leased a four-story building in Silicon Beach, taking advantage of its burgeoning tech scene.

The new company was named Twitter, with Hawk serving as CEO and his assistant managing operations. They began recruiting and revamping the website, focusing on interactivity, user engagement, and easy sharing.

"Let’s make Twitter a platform where people can share and interact effortlessly," Hawk told his team.

And thus, the groundwork for something revolutionary was laid.

---

*Chapter 157: Setting the Target*

Santa Monica, a newly acquired safe house.

The door was knocked rhythmically. Edward went to open it, and a disguised Campos slipped inside.

Looking at Hawk, who was wearing a wig and a fake beard, Campos said, “Boss.”

Hawk gestured to the seat opposite. “Sit.” He asked, “How’s business lately?”

Campos took a seat and replied, “We’ve taken a few private investigator jobs, mostly tracking and photographing cheaters. Also, with the growing Mexican population in Los Angeles, we’ve expanded our network of informants, including people working in hotels, restaurants, and film sets.”

Hawk had a different purpose in meeting him this time. “If you encounter people like your fellow Mexican police officers again, and their circumstances check out, you can consider bringing them into the company. You’ve secured channels for obtaining legal status, right? For candidates worth it, the company will cover the costs, but be mindful of the pace.”

Campos understood. “I’ve already made legal status one of the highest rewards in the company.”

He asked, “Is there any important work coming up?”

“Train a group of skilled photographers,” Hawk said. Although the Twitter version he envisioned wasn’t live yet, preparations were essential. “Big news is coming, and we need people to capture it.”

Campos was aware of the company’s primary focus and had been using tracking and photography assignments to train his team.

The meeting between the two lasted only about fifteen minutes before they went their separate ways.

Returning to his usual attire and Mercedes-Benz, Hawk instructed Edward to drive to Brian’s law firm.

He represented the newly established Twitter company to sign an agency agreement with Brian.

After wrapping that up, Brian specifically called Hawk into his office. “The conflict at the top is heating up and might spill over. Be careful in the near future.”

Hawk was mentally prepared. He knew the risks of getting involved. “Planning to eliminate us?”

“Not that far. If either side starts shooting, things will spiral completely out of control.” Brian sounded confident. “Both sides have families; no one wants to fire the first shot.”

“Don’t overestimate their moral standards,” Hawk reminded. “In the eyes of the big players, we’re just pawns.”

Brian chuckled. “Don’t worry too much. They’ll come for me first before they come for you.”

Hawk patted his shoulder. “You’d better be a solid shield and take most of the hits.”

He joked, “Watch out for them sending a beautiful woman with AIDS for a biological attack.”

At the mention of AIDS, Brian became visibly uncomfortable and retorted in frustration, “I hope you end up in a hundred-person shootout next time!”

The two exchanged jabs, with Hawk reminding, “Didn’t you only test for AIDS last time? Something doesn’t seem right. Look at the red spots on your neck and hands—could it be syphilis?”

Brian noticed redness on his neck and hands but reasoned, “It’s just sunburn!”

“I strongly suggest another check-up,” Hawk said kindly.

Brian looked despondent. “You still want me to meet women?”

“Not during this special time.” Hawk circled back. “You’re the shield; you can’t fall for temptations.”

As Hawk left, he added, “Keep bodyguards with you daily, stay out of trouble, and don’t make me clean up your mess!”

Brian shrugged. “Listen to yourself—you make me sound unreliable.”

Hawk knew Brian staying strong would mean fewer problems for him. Encouragingly, he said, “Remember, our goal is the Oval Office!”

Brian nodded seriously. “We’ve only just begun. There’s no room to falter now.”

Hawk exited the firm and got into the Mercedes.

Edward set down his newspaper. “Boss?”

“To the office.” Hawk picked up the newspaper Edward had been reading.

It was Monday’s edition of Entertainment Weekly, featuring the latest Oscar nominations and commentary.

The second-page headline criticized the lack of diversity among nominees for Best Picture, Director, and Lead Actors, with figures like Will Smith and Spike Lee leading the charge.

Even with the Best Supporting categories, only Queen Latifah had a nomination.

It seemed everyone had forgotten that last year’s Best Actor and Actress were both Black.

Spike Lee had yet again cursed out the Oscars.

Will Smith also accused the Oscars of disrespecting Black talent.

No special treatment, of course, equaled disrespect.

After finishing Entertainment Weekly, Hawk tossed it aside and picked up the Los Angeles Times.

The front-page story caught his attention.

The Clintons were in Los Angeles promoting Bill Clinton’s autobiography. They attended a star-studded party hosted by Sean “Diddy” Combs, with guests like Leonardo DiCaprio, Will Smith, and Jennifer Lopez.

The article was accompanied by a high-quality group photo provided by the event organizers.

In the picture, the Clintons were in the center, surrounded by celebrities.

Hawk even spotted familiar faces, including Steve Knott near Diddy and Josh Hartnett and Alison Faith in the back row.

Hawk speculated that the Clintons were here not just for the book promotion but also to support the embattled Democratic Party.

Arriving at Ocean Park Boulevard, the Mercedes pulled up in front of the Twitter office building.

Workers were installing the company’s bluebird logo atop the building.

Hawk toured the tech department, where the beta version of the platform was up, though only the web version for now.

The trending news section prominently featured the Clintons' party and the Oscar controversy.

In his office, Caroline was on the phone, arranging advertising, forum promotions, and celebrity registrations.

She had secured sign-ups from stars like Dwayne Johnson, Steve Knott, Josh Hartnett, Alison Faith, and Sarah Parker under Hawk’s name.

Hawk wasn’t idle either, calling Eric Eason and Catherine to help promote the platform.

He even remembered Brian’s connection to Tom Cruise and asked Brian to facilitate a recommendation.

Hawk suggested to Susie that the LAPD open an official Twitter account for timely updates.

Not even Frank, the troublemaker, was spared.

Frank had one condition: “You promised me I could be a consultant for your new company.”

Hawk looked out the window at Venice Beach’s parking lot across the street. “I’ll help you move tomorrow.”

He asked, “Can you handle Venice Beach? Don’t let the local gangs chase you out.”

Frank was confident. “One phone call, and it’s settled.”

Hawk hung up.

“Boss,” Caroline came over to report. “Since the site launched, we’ve gained 455 new users.”

Hawk nodded. “No rush; every beginning is hard.”

Caroline handed him a fax. “This came from Mary Ferguson.”

Hawk read it carefully and called Mary.

Mary got straight to the point. “The site’s live. What’s your next move? You promised 200,000 active users by May.”

Her tone softened. “You need to prove Twitter’s potential and value for me to secure more resources at the board meeting.”

Hawk replied, “The plan will be implemented soon.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Mary hung up quickly.

Hawk knew the biggest challenge now was attracting users to the site.

His strategy involved leveraging explosive news to draw traffic.

For the public, juicy scandals had far more appeal than political news—unless it was something on the scale of 9/11.

In planning, Hawk initially identified two sports stars: golf legend Tiger Woods and four-time Tour de France champion Lance Armstrong.

Woods, infamous for his sex addiction, was still just dating and lacked the shock factor.

Armstrong, however, was a compelling choice—an inspiring athlete and a doping case waiting to explode.

Still, Will Smith had unmatched star power in comparison.

By 2003, Smith was nearing the peak of his career, rivaled by few in Hollywood.

Hawk recalled the Los Angeles Times article about the Clintons and Sean Combs’ party.

It was clear the event was no ordinary gathering.

But for now, Hawk knew better than to provoke such heavyweights.

Focusing on Will Smith was safer. Armstrong remained a backup option.

Hawk decided on his target and instructed Caroline to gather initial information.

(End of Chapter)

---

Chapter 158: Overflowing with Conspiracies

East Hollywood, Ranch Park.

Hawk checked the drawers and storage compartments inside the RV, locking all the latches to prevent anything from falling out during the drive.

Footsteps sounded overhead as Edward removed the sunshade. He shouted down to Frank, who was packing up folding tables and chairs, “Hey, old beggar, why don’t you just throw all this junk away?”

Frank turned around and asked, “If I toss it, are you going to buy me new stuff?”

Having recently invested in the company, Edward was strapped for cash. He muttered, “Bringing all this stuff along is just going to embarrass the company.”

“Bah!” Frank spat at him. “A cotton picker like you has the nerve to look down on others?”

Hawk opened the RV window and yelled, “Hurry it up, you two idiots. If you keep wasting time, I’ll hang you from a streetlight and use a slingshot on you.”

Edward wisely shut his mouth.

Frank picked up his pace as well.

Half an hour later, Edward drove the RV out of the parking lot.

Hawk lounged in a recliner and asked Frank, sitting across from him, “So, you’ve been in Hollywood for decades…”

“Not decades, and I wouldn’t call it ‘dominating,’” Frank replied, feigning humility but oozing arrogance. “I’ve simply stood at the peak and admired the most beautiful views.”

The man was as infuriating in conversation as he was pompous, so it was no surprise Edward was curious about his ex-wives. Frank continued, “Unlike you two—still stuck in the valley.”

Hawk ignored the boast and asked, “What do you know about Will Smith?”

Frank immediately caught on. “You’re planning to dig up dirt on Will Smith?”

Hawk saw no need to deny it. “Something like that.”

Frank nodded. “Those Black folks are always tricky. They make a fuss over everything, yet Black audiences make up an increasing share of Hollywood’s consumer base every year. You can’t afford to ignore their voices.”

Returning to the question, he continued, “People say Hollywood is chaotic, but the Black rap and hip-hop scenes are even messier. Will Smith was heavily involved in rap and hip-hop for years. As for his wife, Jada, she’s always had a thing for rappers.”

Hawk raised an eyebrow. “So Jada chose Will Smith because of that?”

“No, not exactly,” Frank replied, shaking his head. “Jada had a male best friend, her acting school mentor and the famous rapper Tupac. He was shot and killed in 1996.”

To someone like Hawk, that screamed conspiracy. “Will Smith’s doing?”

“They didn’t marry until 1997. Probably not,” Frank replied.

Hawk remembered gossip from his past life. Jada had allegedly had an affair with one of her son’s friends—a rapper, no less.

So Mrs. Smith had a type?

Frank continued, “Rumors are just that—rumors. People say all sorts of things. Someone even claimed Tom Hanks is a pedophile. Who’s going to confirm that?”

Edward, focused on driving, suddenly chimed in. “Why not ask Haley Joel Osment? He acted alongside Hanks in Forrest Gump. Played his son, right?”

Then, as if a light bulb went off, Edward added, “Now that you mention it, Haley’s turned into a total slob these past few years. From the most talented child star to a bear of a man—maybe that’s why?”

“I’m talking about rumors,” Frank grumbled. “Go confirm them yourself.”

Hawk jotted the note down but steered the conversation back. “Let’s talk more about Will and Jada Smith.”

Frank thought for a moment and said, “About ten years ago, my company co-invested in a show called The Fresh Prince. During filming, Will Smith met an actor named Duane Martin. He’s a former NBA player—tall and athletic. They quickly became close friends and have remained so ever since.”

Hawk thought to himself that the money spent on Frank was already worth it for this tidbit alone.

“So, Will Smith is gay?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Frank replied. “Hollywood is full of surprises.” He added, “Remember Salma Hayek? A few years ago, she starred alongside Will in Wild Wild West.”

Edward, ever eager to jab at Frank, joked, “What? Your little girlfriend got seduced by Will Smith?”

Frank exploded. “I swear, one day, I’ll send you off to pick cotton!”

Regaining his composure, he continued, “Will was one of the producers. If you don’t let him have his way, how do you think you get to be the lead actress? Salma told me herself…”

Hawk nodded slightly. “Duane Martin. Got it.”

Frank smirked. “Careful—mess with too many people, and you’ll end up on someone’s hit list.”

Hawk replied, “I’ve changed professions. I’m a newsman now, not a filmmaker.”

The RV drove onto Ocean Park Boulevard, and Edward pulled into a parking lot near the Venice Beach boardwalk, directly across from Twitter’s headquarters.

Frank had called in a favor with an old friend, and the parking lot manager had reserved a spot for them. The area had all the utilities they needed, and if Frank wanted to beg or sell trinkets, the boardwalk was fair game. Despite it being mid-February, the area was packed with tourists.

At Twitter’s office, Hawk had already coordinated with security. Frank could come and go as he pleased. He even instructed Caroline to seek advice from Frank whenever necessary.

Later, back in the office, Hawk called Campos and relayed Frank’s suggestions, putting together a strategic plan.

Campos wasted no time. Within days, he reported back with new information.

Caroline, too, used her own channels to gather materials. When Hawk took her collection to meet Campos, she stopped him.

“You mentioned recruiting operations specialists and editors. The process starts today…”

“Handle it yourself,” Hawk replied. “You’re capable enough and already know the type of people I need.”

Caroline nodded. “They’ll need to know how to handle text and images and have some grasp of public opinion management.”

Hawk nodded slightly, then left with Edward.

Strictly speaking, the positions they were hiring for were essentially professional trolls for online media.

Half an hour later, Hawk and Edward met Campos at a safe house.

Campos had used the last few days to leverage his network of Mexican informants, gathering valuable intel.

Hawk handed over Caroline’s materials, including a few photos. “Will Smith is set to work on I, Robot with 20th Century Fox. He’s co-producing the project with Akiva Goldsman. The lead actress, Bridget Moynahan, got into the cast through him.”

Campos, who had tailed Hollywood stars before, immediately understood what that meant.

A woman entering a project through a man? The implications were clear.

Campos added, “We’ve already found the same thing.” He handed Hawk additional photos. “These show Will Smith and Bridget Moynahan entering and exiting the same hotel at different times. We’re working on capturing direct interactions on video.”

Hawk reviewed the photos. Alongside shots of Will and Bridget, he paid special attention to those of Duane Martin.

Duane, a New York native, had briefly played in the NBA as a free agent but never appeared in a game. He later transitioned into acting, debuting in NBC’s sitcom Out All Night. His most notable role was in Scream 2.

From the early ’90s, Duane and Will had been as close as brothers.

While Hollywood friendships like theirs weren’t uncommon, Hawk trusted Frank’s instincts.

Hollywood’s scandals often outstripped even the wildest imaginations of its critics.

As Hawk finished reviewing Duane’s file, Campos pointed to another document. “This one’s about Jada Smith.”

“Boss, your mention of Tupac and rappers saved us time. Among Jada’s circle of friends, we identified a key figure: Nate Dogg. He’s the cousin of Snoop Dogg, a Grammy-nominated rapper, and one of Tupac’s close friends. Since Tupac’s murder, Nate and Jada have maintained a close relationship.”

Hawk scrutinized the report, then turned to Edward. “Do you believe an African American woman can have a purely platonic friendship with an African American man?”

Edward, too familiar with his own community, scoffed. “I’d sooner believe Frank is Abraham Lincoln reincarnated.”

Campos added, “I’ve never believed in pure friendship between men and women.”

“Our targets are clear,” Hawk concluded.

He pinned five photos to a whiteboard: Will Smith, Bridget Moynahan, Duane Martin, Jada Smith, and Nate Dogg. “These five are our focus. Will Smith’s connection with Duane Martin is a top priority. Campos, you handle it personally.”

A married Hollywood power couple with extramarital affairs might be big gossip, but it couldn’t beat the shock factor of Will Smith being outed as gay.

Campos packed the photos and documents. “I’ll get started immediately.”

Hawk added, “If you run into trouble, call me right away.”

After Campos left, Hawk followed suit, turning to Edward on the way out. “When we get back, look into Lance Armstrong.”

“The Tour de France champion?” Edward asked.

“Exactly,” Hawk replied. If the Smith investigation hit a dead end, he’d move on to his backup target.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 159: The Secret Operation on Oscar Night*

Early the next morning, Campos received information from his informant and immediately passed it on to Hawk.

After hearing the news, Hawk turned to Carolyn and asked, “How old is Will Smith’s son this year?”

“Jaden Smith?” Carolyn thought for a moment. “He was born in 1998, so he’s not quite five yet.”

She hesitated to ask aloud but couldn’t help wondering: Is Hawk planning something involving a kid?  

Then again, she reminded herself that her boss had much higher moral standards than most people in Hollywood.

Hawk didn’t elaborate further because the information from Campos was unusual.

Recently, Sean Combs had hosted a party for the Clinton couple, with Will Smith and his wife bringing their son along.

Hawk mentally tuned out anything involving Sean Combs’ parties.

The Clintons—especially Hillary—were notoriously ruthless.

As March rolled in and the Oscars approached, all of Los Angeles’ media focus shifted to the ceremony.

Even paparazzi, who normally roamed across the city, abandoned their usual targets to stalk nominees for major awards.

Will Smith, who had criticized the Oscar nominations, wasn’t included on the list of presenters and had announced that he and his wife would boycott the event in protest.

---

*Hughes Aircraft Facility - I, Robot Set*

A Mexican man named Domingo had spent over two weeks waiting for Will Smith and Bridget Moynahan to appear together on set for rehearsal.

Domingo was a temporary set builder who had paid a hefty price to infiltrate the crew.

More importantly, Domingo’s carpentry skills met the necessary standards.

As lunchtime approached, Domingo noticed Will Smith and Bridget Moynahan leaving the rehearsal area and heading toward the trailers parked on set.

He slung his large tool bag over his shoulder, excused himself with a restroom break, and split from his coworkers heading to lunch.

The set was bustling with people, so Domingo wasn’t in a hurry. He ducked into a restroom, entered a stall, and pulled a small camera out of his bag. After adjusting the lens and starting the recording, he placed the camera back in his bag.

Emerging from the restroom, he quickly scanned his surroundings. Seeing no one paying attention, he slipped into the trailer area.

The Hughes Aircraft facility had been converted into Los Angeles’ largest film production zone. The enormous hangars made for excellent sound stages, but the lack of built-in amenities meant heavy reliance on trailers.

Over 20 trailers of various sizes were parked on-site.

Domingo had scoped out the area beforehand and quickly located the trailer assigned to the female lead. Peering inside, he saw the curtains wide open, confirming that the trailer was empty.

He moved on to the male lead’s trailer. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, except for one at the rear side, which had a small gap—something Domingo had tampered with earlier to ensure a clear angle for filming.

Both trailers had been secretly accessed by Domingo in previous days.

He positioned himself at the predetermined angle, quickly verified that there were two people inside, and discreetly extended his camera to film through the gap.

The two individuals inside were engaged in intimate activities.

At first, their faces weren’t visible due to their positioning.

After a brief wait, they shifted positions, and Domingo managed to capture clear footage of their faces.

Following his boss’s instructions, he didn’t risk capturing additional footage. He reviewed the recording, ensured it was sufficient, and quickly shut off the camera. Hiding it back in his bag, he exited the area without delay.

On his way to the cafeteria, Domingo called his boss to report the successful operation.

At lunch, he mingled with his coworkers, acting completely normal. Afterward, during a casual outing, he slipped into a convenience store to buy cigarettes and discreetly handed the camera bag to Carlos.

Carlos immediately drove off.

By the afternoon, Edward had the footage in hand and delivered it to Hawk’s desk.

Hawk reviewed the video carefully. Although the footage wasn’t perfectly clear, being shot through a curtain gap, it unmistakably showed Will Smith and Bridget Moynahan’s faces and what they were doing.

The operation, which had taken over two weeks to execute, had finally yielded results.

Carolyn approached Hawk and asked, “Should we release it now?”

“Not yet. Wait a little longer,” Hawk replied. He then turned to Edward. “Were they aware they were being recorded?”

Edward had already checked. “No, they weren’t.”

Hawk secured the storage drive and instructed Carolyn, “Someone will show up before the end of the day to sell this footage. Meet them personally and purchase it at the standard price.”

Carolyn nodded. “Understood.”

---

Later, a Mexican woman arrived at Twitter Inc. to sell a newsworthy video. Carolyn handled the transaction personally.

Hawk also called Campos, advising him to remain patient and not rush the next steps.

“If you can get a video of Will Smith in a compromising situation with another man, that would be even better. If not, this one is still sensational enough.”

---

*March 23, 2003 – 75th Academy Awards*

The Kodak Theatre was the center of attention nationwide as the Oscars unfolded.

Media reporters swarmed the event.

Even paparazzi concentrated solely on Oscar-related venues: the theater, hotels hosting after-parties, or even burger joints frequented by celebrities.

Stars unrelated to the Oscars were largely ignored.

In Calabasas, Los Angeles, a mansion called "Dream Castle" sat atop a hill.

This was Will Smith’s home.

The hill had a single main road, and a museum parking lot near the entrance had become the stakeout location for Campos, Garcia, and their team.

They had been monitoring the area for nearly a month, swapping vehicles, shifts, and disguises to avoid detection.

During this time, they had observed Duane Martin visiting the Smith residence but couldn’t follow him in without risking exposure.

As night fell, the area grew unusually quiet.

Ordinarily, paparazzi would gather here, but tonight they were all chasing the Oscars.

Campos nudged Garcia awake in their Chevrolet. “A car’s coming down the hill.”

Garcia grabbed his binoculars but couldn’t make out much due to the bright headlights. “Looks like two cars.”

Campos picked up his radio. “Everyone, get ready to move.”

Three other vehicles quickly mobilized.

Campos had resources and connections to secure legitimate papers, allowing him to recruit a diverse team of Mexicans, including former police officers and refugees from drug cartel violence.

As the first car turned onto the main road, Campos motioned to Garcia. “I’ll take the lead car. You follow the second one. Don’t act unless you have a clear shot.”

Garcia nodded and switched vehicles.

The first car belonged to Will Smith, driven by his assistant and companion, Bilal.

Smith arrived at a quiet residential street near Lake Balboa Park, where his friend Duane Martin lived. To avoid drawing attention, Smith donned a hoodie and slipped into the house unnoticed.

From their perch atop an old water tower in a nearby park, Campos and his team captured every move.

Patience paid off when their cameras finally caught something noteworthy.

(End of chapter)  

Chapter 160: Using Money to Solve Problems

After crouching in an awkward position for so long, Campos felt his legs go numb.

However, the sight of Will Smith and Duane Martin suddenly appearing invigorated him. He quickly adjusted his camera to capture the clearest possible shots.

Next to him, the sound of Juan pressing the camera shutter echoed.

Through his lens, Campos noticed that the two men’s actions were anything but ordinary.

They had discarded their bath towels and moved forward, disappearing behind a window.

Campos cursed under his breath, thinking he had missed the best shots, but the two men soon reappeared in front of another window.

Los Angeles, with its perpetually sunny weather, favored homes with large windows and doors designed for optimal lighting.

Campos silently thanked the architect as he continued filming.

Behind the second window was a couch. Will Smith bent over, leaning against the sofa, while Duane stood behind him, pinning him down.

(This description is based on the words of Will Smith’s assistant, Bilal.)

At this point, Campos had captured more than enough.

Taking advantage of the fact that they hadn't been spotted, he turned off the camera and said to Juan, “Let’s go.”

Juan nodded and tried to stretch his stiff legs to climb down, but after crouching in that awkward position for so long, his legs weren’t responding well. His foot slipped, and as he instinctively reached out to grab the steel frame for support, his camera fell.

Campos, quick on his feet, reached out and grabbed him just in time.

Juan steadied himself, but the camera continued to fall, clanging against the steel frame as it descended.

The series of sounds, though not loud, broke the street’s otherwise quiet ambiance. The narrow street amplified the noise, carrying it through the open car window and catching Bilal’s attention.

Bilal turned toward the direction of the noise and spotted the water tower in the park. Squinting, he saw two men climbing down from it.

Though the night sky was dim, the moonlight was just bright enough for him to make out the camera gear strapped to one of the men’s backs.

Bilal pushed open the car door, pulled out a revolver, and dashed across the street, shouting, “Stop! Don’t move, or I’ll shoot!”

“Run!” Campos didn’t waste a second and urged Juan to hurry.

The two men were about twenty meters apart, and Bilal’s revolver, small as it was, wasn’t going to hit anything unless he had the sharpshooting skills of Detective Erica from a Hollywood action movie.

Once they climbed down from the water tower, Juan grabbed the broken camera and followed Campos as they sprinted away.

Bilal refrained from shooting. Any commotion would only make matters worse for them.

He chased after the two men from behind a fence while simultaneously pulling out his phone to call Will Smith. “Two paparazzi were just here, and they might’ve caught something on camera. You need to act fast.”

Will Smith, still disentangling himself from Duane, asked, “You were outside. How could they have caught anything?”

Duane added, “They climbed the water tower in the park across the street to get their shots.”

Realizing the severity of the situation, Will instinctively glanced out the window, where the silhouette of the towering structure loomed in the moonlight.

“This is bad,” he muttered. “Catch them if you can!”

“I can’t!” Bilal panted. “They got in a car and sped off, but I got their license plate.”

Duane overheard the conversation and asked, “Will, what’s going on?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Will said, addressing Bilal. “Make sure you remember the license plate. I’ll handle it.”

He hung up and began pacing back and forth, his long legs moving awkwardly as he racked his brain. Finally, he pulled out his phone and called his agent.

“It’s me, Will. I’ve been caught by paparazzi! Yes, it’s serious. If those pictures get out, I’m finished!”

In Century City, at the CAA office, James Rock jolted upright from his chair. “I need details. What exactly happened?”

Will confessed, “Duane and I were caught… probably on camera!”

“Damn it!” James cursed before calming himself down. “Don’t panic. Come straight to CAA. I’m here. You’re one of our top clients, and the agency will mobilize every resource we have to help you.”

Will added, “Bilal got their license plate number. Start looking into it.”

For an agency like CAA, this wasn’t a tall order. James nodded. “Tell me the number.”

After a brief pause, Will relayed the plate number. Minutes later, the results came back—it was a fake.

This wasn’t surprising. Paparazzi often used such tricks.

James wasn’t fazed and immediately initiated CAA’s emergency protocols.

As part of their comprehensive services for high-profile clients, CAA had a network of shared managers.

Maha Dakhil, who handled media affairs, received the call and left the Oscars after-party immediately.

Meanwhile, Will Smith was en route to CAA headquarters.

---

*On Fountain Avenue*, Hawk had been watching the Oscars with Erica when he received a call from Campos. He grabbed his jacket.

“Urgent?” Erica asked.

Hawk, ever the dramatist, replied, “A key step toward becoming a billionaire.”

“Go ahead,” Erica said, tossing him the keys to her Mercedes. “Be careful.”

Hawk pocketed the keys, secured his handgun, and drove off in the bulletproof Mercedes, making a call to Edward first, then another to Carolyn.

“Get to the office now,” he instructed.

Carolyn groaned. “I was about to start my beauty sleep.”

Hawk dangled a metaphorical carrot. “Want to become a million-dollar CEO?”

“On my way,” Carolyn replied, fully aware of the manipulation but unable to resist.

Edward, being closest, arrived at the office first and woke up Frank, who had been sleeping in his RV.

Within minutes, Hawk and Carolyn also arrived.

Inside the Twitter office, a small team was still on duty.

The four gathered in a meeting room as Hawk briefed them on the situation.

Mid-discussion, Hawk’s phone rang again. He listened intently before declaring, “We’ve just confirmed it. There’s also a video of Jada Smith with Nate Dogg.”

Carolyn’s energy spiked. “This means we’ve got two videos of Will Smith cheating—one of them involving a man—and one of Jada Smith with a rapper!”

Frank, ever the pragmatist, cautioned, “Don’t get too excited. Will Smith is worth over a hundred million. Now that he’s aware of the photos, he’ll spare no effort to find you. CAA is the best in the business—they’ll leverage every channel to pressure you.”

Hawk shrugged. “Money can do a lot, but this is a make-or-break move for Twitter. It’s worth the risk.”

---

*At CAA’s headquarters*, Will Smith sat in the conference room, his anger replaced with cold determination.

“This has to stay buried,” he demanded.

James Rock took over. “We need to throw money at this problem.”

Maha raised an eyebrow.

James explained, “We’ll contact telecom companies and send a mass text across L.A., offering a huge reward for anyone with information on the paparazzi.”

Will hesitated. “That’ll draw attention and make me the center of public scrutiny.”

James retorted, “Think about your career. If these videos go public, you’ll lose everything. The studios won’t touch you with a ten-foot pole. Bury the videos first. We’ll come up with excuses later.”

Will clenched his fists, then nodded. “Do it. Use the money.”

That night, as the Oscars wrapped up, Los Angeles residents received a mysterious text message:

*(To be continued.)*