66-70

Chapter 66: The Self-cultivation of Actors

The acting community in Los Angeles is vast—it's said that one in five people is an actor. Hawk, under the name Eric, posted a recruitment ad in the newspaper. That afternoon, the studio Eric rented was packed with people. The initial selection process was swift; appearance was the most basic requirement. After that, acting skills, orientation, and psychological stability narrowed down the group significantly.

A few days later, four names were on Hawk's list. He chose the most suitable one for a priority interview. That afternoon, Kevin Lee arrived at Eric’s studio on time. He was thirty years old, had come to Los Angeles at nineteen, and had worked as an actor, both part-time and full-time, for eleven years. His biggest role to date had seven lines in a made-for-TV movie.

Coming down from his office upstairs, Eric told Hawk, “He passed the interview, and his look and vibe are exactly what Miller likes.”

“He’s been a bit-part actor for eleven years without giving up; he’s got a certain persistence,” Hawk replied.

The two went downstairs. Hawk entered an office with a large one-way mirror on the wall, allowing him to see Kevin Lee in the adjacent conference room. Kevin’s hair color, face shape, and general vibe bore some resemblance to Eric’s. He was custom-fit for Miller Collins.

Eric walked into the conference room, and Kevin instinctively stood up, greeting him, “Good morning, Director.”

“Please, sit,” Eric said directly. “My film, Night Journey, has been greenlit, with Castle Rock Pictures as an investor. You can verify that with the Directors Guild and Producers Alliance.”

“I already checked.” Hollywood was full of scams, and Kevin had been deceived countless times in the past, both financially and personally. Since Castle Rock was involved, this project would be theater-bound.

“Alright, let’s get to the point,” Eric said. “The role you’re auditioning for is the male supporting lead, with the most screen time after the male and female leads. I have complete say over the casting.”

Kevin was well-versed in Hollywood’s ways. “What do you need me to do, Director?”

Eric looked serious. “Before you get the role, I need you to do something for me.”

Catching his drift, Kevin unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “Now? I’m ready anytime.”

Eric’s stomach churned, and he coughed, frowning. “Don’t say things like that. I’m into women.”

Kevin was taken aback; things weren’t going at all as he’d expected. What was he supposed to do now, go through some drastic change on the spot? That wasn’t going to work. If the director wasn’t taking advantage of him, Kevin was actually uneasy.

“Sit down first.” Eric took a sip of water to steady himself.

Kevin fell into thought, finally speaking after a long silence. “I don’t mind one-night or even multiple-night stands if there’s a spark with someone, and I can walk away if things go south. But, Director, let me clarify one thing: I don’t do hidden cameras; filming is your job.”

Eric responded, “You don’t have to touch a camera. Just spend time with him in a suitable location.”

After waiting eleven years for this chance, Kevin had nothing left to lose except his body, which he’d given up plenty of times before. After a brief hesitation, he said, “I’d like a contract with the crew first.”

“Have your agent come over. I’ll call the production manager, and we can sign today,” Eric replied.

Actors of Kevin’s level didn’t have exclusive agents, but he could easily hire one temporarily. After signing the contract, Eric took down Kevin’s contact info and told him to be on standby. Kevin offered to stay at the studio, ready to go anytime. The studio was much better than his short-term rental.

Eric then met with Hawk and asked, “What’s the next step?”

“Get him ready and wait for my call,” Hawk replied.

“What should he prepare for?” Eric asked.

“Have him learn your mannerisms and energy,” Hawk laughed. “If Miller Collins couldn’t resist you, it means there’s something captivating about you.”

“Don’t bring that up,” Eric groaned. “Just thinking about it gives me nightmares.”

Hawk left the building and called Edward from his car. Edward reported, “Boss, that guy hasn’t left his house all day.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Hawk instructed. “Notify me at once if there’s any activity.”

Over the following days, Miller Collins stuck to his routine, staying either at home or going to Tracy’s Gym. He and his agent even took a quick trip to San Diego for a team event. Edward and Eric were getting impatient, with Eric stressed enough to get a mouth sore. He made excuses, saying, “It’s just a reaction to Katherine’s discharge.”

Edward sympathized, “Being a director isn’t easy, huh?”

“Stay calm,” Hawk advised like a hunter stalking a fox. “Our man’s been going through Miller’s trash every day. Recently, it’s full of used feminine products. Athletes are driven by hormones; he won’t be able to resist much longer. He’ll be out hunting soon.”

“Your work is tough,” Eric remarked.

Edward proudly replied, “Every dollar we earn is well deserved.”

After nearly a week of watching, Miller Collins finally made a move. Edward spotted Miller’s Mercedes heading east on Wilshire Boulevard and immediately alerted Hawk. The Mercedes wound through several turns and eventually turned onto Sunset Boulevard, where Hawk took over the tail.

The Mercedes soon slowed down, stopping in front of the Viper Lounge. Hawk had first met Miller there. He called Eric, saying, “Bring the team over to the Viper Lounge on Sunset.”

Miller parked and tossed his keys to the valet before heading inside alone. Hawk parked and followed, quickly scanning the room to locate Miller at the bar, just as he’d been the last time, though this time without Beckham.

Hawk texted Eric, who replied that he’d arrived. Kevin walked into the bar alone, as instructed by Eric, and spotted his target at the bar. While he hadn’t played significant roles, he’d gone through plenty of unique “tests” from directors and producers, so he had some experience. Kevin sat at a nearby barstool, loud enough to be heard but far enough not to crowd Miller.

Kevin ordered a cosmopolitan, one of the most popular cocktails in his circle—a subtle signal. Miller’s attention was piqued, and the name of the drink made him turn instinctively.

One glance, and Miller’s eyes were glued. The guy was slim and tall, with brown hair that hung over his forehead, a long face, a hint of stubble, and a brooding gaze. There was an artistic vibe to him that made Miller think of that young director.

Noticing Miller’s stare, Kevin gave him a slight nod. Miller raised his glass, and Kevin reciprocated with his cosmopolitan.

In a place like this, things tended to move quickly. Miller walked over. After a few drinks and introductions, they started chatting and began to feel comfortable around each other.

“What do you do?” Miller asked.

“Acting,” Kevin answered truthfully. “Though not very successfully. The biggest role I’ve had was a minor part in a TV movie.”

Miller asked for the movie’s name, assuring him he’d check it out. After a single drink, Miller received a call and had to leave early. Hawk and Eric had planned for every possible outcome, including this one. Kevin simply maintained his calm, knowing a cautious star like Miller would hesitate initially.

At the bar entrance, Miller looked back and saw that the artsy guy was still nursing his drink. Miller hesitated, then went back to ask for Kevin’s number.

At home, he soothed Maria, who was irritable from her cycle, then stepped onto the balcony and called a Hollywood friend. “I met an actor today, Kevin Lee. He said he’s been in a TV movie. Know anything about him?”

The friend replied, “Never heard of him, but I know someone in that crew. I’ll ask around.”

Miller was anxious but waited patiently. A few minutes later, his friend called back. “Yeah, there’s a guy by that name, apparently a struggling actor with decent skills. My friend also warned me—he’s gay.”

“I know.” Miller felt a thrill inside.

The next morning, Hawk received a call from Eric: Miller wanted to meet Kevin. Hawk advised, “Tell Kevin that if Miller wants to go further, suggest meeting at home, not a hotel.”

Hotels could be tricky, especially for daytime rendezvous.

---

Chapter 67: The Battle of Revenge

---

The red Wrangler turned off 20th Street and entered the Palisades neighborhood. Behind the wheel was Miller Collins, who rested his right hand on Kevin's leg. They exchanged a glance, filled with affection.

In the traffic behind, Edward was following in a black van at a cautious distance. In the passenger seat, Hawk confirmed that Miller was heading to the rented house. He’d prepared several plans beforehand, for various scenarios involving the beach, a park, the house, or even a hotel. The hotel was the least ideal option, and the house was only marginally better. To avoid suspicion, Kevin couldn’t just take Miller to a remote area. The house, however, was manageable. Hawk had even brought climbing steps designed for streetlight poles.

The flow of traffic slowed down, and so did the van. After a turn, they spotted a bucket truck ahead, with a worker in a reflective vest maintaining the streetlight poles. Hawk had seen the same truck during a previous visit. After so many days, it was still there, working at a leisurely pace to avoid unemployment.

Thinking quickly, Hawk said, "I checked out Miller's house—there's a pool in the front yard. Send Kevin a message to take him to the front."

Eric immediately grabbed his phone and typed a quick message. Just as the Wrangler pulled off the road, Miller pressed a remote to open the gate and drove inside. While Miller was parking, Kevin took out his phone, glanced at the new message, then put it away. Stepping out, he looked at the pool’s clear blue water and said, “Wow, that’s a gorgeous pool. Can we swim later?”

“Of course.” Miller took Kevin's hand. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Kevin followed him inside.

Not far away, Edward parked the van. Eric looked towards the house, frustrated by the tall black walls and trees blocking the view. “How are we supposed to film? Should we sneak in? That jerk might have a gun. Maybe you guys wait here while I go in alone with the camera?”

Hawk grabbed his arm. “Hold on.”

Eager for revenge, Eric asked, “What’s our plan, then?”

Edward chimed in, “Don’t worry. Our boss is the master of climbing poles; we call him the Pole God!”

Eric, who’d read all sorts of bizarre books for his creative work, asked, “Climbing poles... do you mean, like, stringing someone up?”

“No.” Edward mimed a motion. “Up and down, up and down, until he had calluses on his gun hand.”

Eric replied, “But I can’t climb, and I want to handle this revenge myself.”

Ignoring the banter, Hawk studied the scene for a moment. Satisfied they wouldn’t be seen, he said to Edward, “Drive back to the bucket truck.”

Eric thought back to the height of the trees and the black wall, then remembered how high the bucket truck could reach. Grabbing Hawk’s arm, he said, “You’re a genius!”

Hawk reconsidered using the climbing steps. “You’ll operate the camera yourself. Let it all out.”

Eric thought about the humiliation he’d suffered, clenched his fist, and hit the seat back. “I’m going to ruin that jerk!”

Edward drove back to the truck and parked nearby. Hawk got out and approached the workers. A Mexican worker in a hard hat shouted, “Dangerous work area! Keep away!”

Hawk called back, “Who’s your boss? I have a business proposal.”

Edward and Eric followed him over. Edward, hands on hips, yelled, “Want to make some easy money? Come here, quick.”

A big man in a hard hat peered over from behind some cones, then spotted Edward. He grinned and yelled back, “Savior! You troublemaker!”

Recognizing the voice, Edward was surprised. When the man got closer, he exclaimed, “Big Daddy Bull?”

The man walked over. “I almost didn’t recognize you! Still causing trouble with those women?”

Edward defended himself, “Hey, I’m helping them. Without my support, they’d wither in loneliness.”

It surprised Hawk that Big Daddy Bull knew Edward, but he decided to go ahead with the plan. Clearing his throat, Hawk introduced himself: “This is my current boss. And this here is Big Daddy Bull, my former boss—used to do landscaping but switched careers.”

Hawk got to the point. “I need to borrow your lift truck, two hours max.”

Big Daddy Bull named his price without hesitation, “$1,000—and that’s because of my respect for the Savior.”

Eric quickly pulled out cash, counted it, and stuffed it into Bull’s hand. “For the next two hours, you work for us.”

Pocketing the money, Big Daddy Bull called to his crew, “Take a break, guys. Follow me.”

Hawk asked, “Got extra hard hats and vests? One for each of us?”

In this area, police cars patrolled regularly. Happy to help for the right price, Bull grabbed the gear from his truck. Hawk, Edward, and Eric each put on a hard hat and reflective vest.

The Mexican driver retracted the bucket arm, and the crew moved the cones back onto the truck. Bull got into his pickup, and together, the three vehicles drove towards Miller’s house.

They parked by a pole near the house. Hawk noticed a black-and-white police car approaching and cautioned Edward and Eric, “Just act busy, no talking.”

The three men put on hard hats and, like the other workers, unloaded cones and placed them around the truck. The police car slowly rolled up, and the officer on the passenger side leaned out. “Bull, you’re working faster today?”

Big Daddy Bull waved him off, “Gotta pace myself, man. If I finish too fast, I’ll be broke.”

The officer chuckled and rolled up the window as the car drove off.

Hawk returned to the van, handed Eric the camera, and checked the bucket. “Are you sure you’re good? Don’t push it.”

Eric grinned, feeling exhilarated. “Scaling heights is part of filmmaking. Piece of cake.”

Hawk nodded. “You’re better at filming than I am, so I’ll leave it to you. But stay safe—safety first, no matter what.”

Eric agreed. As the bucket truck extended its support legs, Bull helped him climb into the bucket, and the driver raised it.

Hawk pointed to the trees outside the black wall. “Position the bucket behind those branches. Use the leaves as cover.”

Big Daddy Bull instructed the driver to do just that. Hawk took Eric’s phone and sent Kevin a quick message.

As the bucket rose, Eric reached the canopy level. He had a clear view over the black wall and into the property. Below, a sparkling blue pool shimmered in the sunlight.

Eric gave Hawk an “OK” sign. Positioned behind the branches, he took off the camera’s lens cap, aimed at the courtyard, and held the camera steady. He knew that Hawk had gone through great lengths to give him this opportunity for revenge.

At that moment, the side door of the house opened, and two men in swimwear walked towards the pool. Eric zoomed in, capturing their faces in clear detail. They jumped into the pool, playing around, until they suddenly embraced. Kevin leaned back onto the poolside edge as Miller approached him.

Eric zoomed in further, recording everything. Eventually, Miller looked up, wiped his mouth, and suddenly noticed a glint in the trees. He squinted, then shouted, “Hey! Stop filming me!”

Seeing he’d been noticed, Eric panicked and shouted, “Get me down! He saw me!”

The bucket slowly descended.

Inside, Miller realized something was off. “Come on,” he said, grabbing Kevin’s hand. “Let’s get inside.” Kevin, acting startled, stumbled as he ran.

Back inside, Miller grabbed his clothes, hurriedly dressing, and made a call. Kevin, looking panicked, played his role perfectly.

After hanging up, Miller reassured him, “It’s okay. I can handle this.” He took a small gift box and pressed it into Kevin’s hand. “No matter what happens, don’t say a word.”

Chapter 68: Sowing Discord

Outside the black wall, the lift bucket reached the bottom.

Hawk quickly asked, “Were we spotted?”

“He saw me,” Eric handed the camera to Hawk, a grin sneaking up on his face. “Got everything on tape that we needed.”

This wasn’t a place to stay long. Hawk turned to Edward and Eric, saying, “Let’s move.”

He glanced at Big Black. “You’re not coming?”

Papa Bull waved his hand, smiling. “Safe travels.”

Even with all of Hawk’s planning, surprises were inevitable—like Edward knowing Big Black.

But if Hawk dared to use him, he wasn’t afraid to take risks.

The three of them got in the car, and Edward floored the gas pedal, making the van lurch forward.

Sitting in the back, Hawk pulled out his laptop, connected it to the camera, and started downloading the footage to play it back.

The daylight provided plenty of light, and with Eric’s professional skill, the video was clear; as soon as Miller and Kevin appeared, their faces were visible.

As for what happened afterward—it was a bit too much to watch, some of it risqué, even by Saint Valley standards.

The video ended when Eric got spotted.

Hawk prepared a few storage drives to make copies and told Eric, “You’re really good with the camera; maybe you should teach the Savior a thing or two.”

Edward, driving, said, “Boss, don’t you think there’s something uniquely real about my videos?”

Eric, clearly in a good mood, replied, “Real? More like terrible quality.”

Then he added, with a hint of worry, “I just hope Miller didn’t recognize me.”

Hawk, busy making the copies, replied casually, “Doesn’t matter.”

Edward, however, chimed in, “It’d be even better if he recognized you. Let him know who got him—that’s the real thrill of revenge!”

Eric glanced at the driver’s seat. “Savior, your theory is pretty unique, but it actually sounds logical.”

Hawk said, “If Papa Bull recognized the Savior, our risk of exposure would increase. But it doesn’t matter since we’ll eventually have to face similar situations—it’s better it happens sooner than later.”

Edward scratched his head. “I didn’t expect to run into Papa Bull here; he wasn’t by the lift when we came through earlier.”

“No worries.” Hawk finished another copy and handed it to Eric. “You keep this one.”

He continued briefly, “A famous celebrity often represents complex interests. In the past, we moved quickly enough that the target never knew who we were, and the buyer bore all the real pressure.”

Eric replied, “I’m not scared.”

Hawk reminded them, “Be extra vigilant these next few days—don’t get reckless. Stick with me.”

Edward had no problem with this, but Eric needed to call Catherine first to let her know he’d be working with Hawk on a new project.

After making several copies, Hawk directed Edward onto Santa Monica Boulevard. When they passed a Bank of America, Hawk had him pull over, went inside with a copy, and rented a safety deposit box.

---

Elsewhere, Miller hurried out of the building after making a few phone calls.

The lift was still parked where it had been, with workers servicing streetlights and poles.

Miller immediately spotted Papa Bull and strode over, demanding, “Were you the ones messing around?”

“Not us,” Papa Bull replied with a grin, showing a row of yellow teeth. “They borrowed our truck, then took off.”

Several workers came over, standing behind their boss.

Miller cooled off, speaking calmly, “Who were they?”

Papa Bull had his reasons for sticking around and smiled at Miller meaningfully.

Miller quickly understood, fishing out his wallet and handing over all his cash. “Tell me who they are, and how I can find them!”

Papa Bull pocketed the money. “There were three of them; I only know one of them. They call him Savior. His real name is Edward Connor, from Compton. I even have his phone number…”

Miller took down the name and number, and after noting the group’s numbers, turned and walked off, taking a call from his agent. “Get over here, now!”

He hung up, caught his breath, and dialed the number he’d just saved. Better to settle things quickly.

---

Back in the van, Edward’s phone suddenly rang.

He took a look, seeing an unknown number.

Answering, a strange voice came through: “Edward Connor, Savior, right? This is Miller Collins.”

Edward put it on speakerphone.

Miller continued, “Now that I know who you are, I can find out where you are. I don’t know what you want, but I advise you to hand over what you’ve recorded. Otherwise, I’ll use my millions to hunt you down, and it won’t be a pleasant conversation then.”

Without hesitation, Edward replied in a mocking tone, “Oh, I’m so scared. Please, don’t come after me!”

Miller’s tone suddenly shifted, “You just want money, don’t you? Bring it back, and $500,000 is yours.”

At that number, Edward couldn’t help but breathe a bit faster.

But Hawk, calculating as always, remained silent.

Eric couldn’t hold back and shouted, “You think money can fix this? I’m the one who recorded it! Eric Eason!”

Miller caught on. “You? That trash director! You think just recording it means it’ll get out? My team, my sponsors, my agency—they’ll all come after you! No media will touch it, even if you handed it over!”

He continued fiercely, “I could crush you like a bug!”

Eric thought about the information they’d gathered; Miller’s influence was indeed formidable.

Miller tried to divide them, “Hey, Savior, and the other guy—bring me the footage, and I’ll give you a million dollars. Today.”

A seven-figure offer—tempting for anyone, especially broke guys like Hawk and Edward.

Eric’s hand trembled, and he looked toward Hawk, worry clear on his face.

Hawk, prepared for this, finally spoke up, “No media would take it? Doesn’t matter. We’ll make three hundred copies and mail them free of charge to TV stations, newspapers, magazines, and websites nationwide. Someone’s bound to report it.”

Miller’s voice turned icy. “You idiots, it won’t work…”

“No, you’re the idiot,” Hawk shot back, hitting right where it hurt. “Oh, by the way, your team, your teammates, your sponsors—I’ll send them all a copy. Do they know you’re gay? I bet not. I’m just the guy to let them know.”

He slowed his words down. “Once they know, well…that’ll be interesting. Will they still want to shower and change around you? Might be bracing themselves for a surprise.”

Silence hung on the other end of the line.

When you go after someone, you go for the heart, and Hawk twisted the knife. “Hmm… your sponsors, too—big brands, right? All men’s products, I think? They like their spokespersons rugged and strong. How will they react knowing you’re gay? Should I call them for you?”

“No!” Miller shouted, nearly screaming.

Hawk knew he had Miller on edge. “And your wife, your daughter—do they know you’re into guys? Or that you’re the one being dominated? I have your wife’s number. I could make that call anytime.”

Miller, once so imposing, fell silent, and the call abruptly ended.

Edward commented, “He thinks we don’t know anything, but we know more than he does!”

Eric looked at Hawk, lost for words.

How many friendships could survive a million-dollar test?

He copied Edward’s tone. “Boss, I was worried about him being strong, but now I see he only seems strong.”

“Still, don’t get complacent,” Hawk warned. “He has money, and money can do a lot.”

Eric didn’t hesitate. “I’ll listen to you.”

Edward asked, “Boss, was all that true?”

Hawk replied, “Mainly to put him on the defensive, keep him from leveraging his power. Miller’s a pro athlete, valued for his manly image, but being gay would destroy that. Football doesn’t welcome gays.”

If it were ten years later, Hawk would never have said those things on the phone.

He checked the time, adding, “To avoid Miller and his power coming after us, we need allies to share the pressure.”

Edward’s quick on the uptake. “Media—big media!”

Hawk nodded. “I checked. None of Miller’s sponsors are major Fox advertisers. Channel 11 is still our best choice.”

Fox makes for excellent protection.

Chapter 69: You Messed With Someone You Shouldn't Mess With

In the business van, Hawk pulled out his Nokia and dialed Megan Taylor’s number. “Are you at work? I just got a major scoop—it’s as huge as Donnie getting taken down. The ripple effects could be even bigger.”

Megan’s voice immediately shot back, “Where are you?”

Hawk glanced out the window. “On Santa Monica Boulevard, heading into Westwood.”

“I live in Westwood. Just come to my place.” Megan gave him an address.

After hanging up, Hawk relayed the address to Edward.

The van took a south turn at the next intersection, making its way toward West Olympic Boulevard. In under five minutes, they pulled up in front of a single-story cottage.

Hawk grabbed his laptop, got out alone, and stood by the door’s video intercom, pressing the bell.

The door clicked open, and Megan’s voice echoed, “Close the door behind you.”

Walking through the small yard, Hawk reached the front door just as Megan opened it. She was wearing a silk loungewear set, her face free of makeup. “You got here fast. I didn’t have time to change.”

Hawk complimented her, “You look great without makeup.”

“Thanks.” Megan shifted to business. “You’ve been slacking lately, no big scoops in a while. So, who’s it on this time?”

Hawk sat on the couch, flipping open his laptop. “San Diego Lightning star receiver, Miller Collins. He’s gay and hooking up with men.”

Megan turned to him, surprised, and sat down beside him. “I thought he had a family.”

“He’s the NFL’s model husband with a wife and kids.” Hawk clicked on a video file. “Might be a bit hard to watch.”

Megan, seasoned in all kinds of news, watched calmly. Like before, she paused the video at close-ups to confirm identities and stopped again at the more explicit parts to gauge the content.

After watching, Megan commented, “We’ll have to blur out key parts. Takes away some of the appeal.”

Hawk nodded. “The other person isn’t a public figure, so we’ll blur his face.”

“Got it,” Megan replied. “So, name your price.”

Instead of giving a price, Hawk said, “Just ten minutes ago, Miller himself called me, offering $1 million to buy back the footage.”

He shook his head slightly before Megan could respond. “I turned him down. Claire already called, saying Midnight Entertainment’s ratings are dropping—they need this kind of story to make a comeback. This should help you out.”

Megan looked at him, her gaze complex. “What’s your point?”

“First, the price has to be right. Second, you’ll need to hold your ground. This has to run as a Midnight Entertainment headline, or there’s nothing for us to talk about.”

Megan placed her hand firmly on his laptop. “This story’s mine.”

She pulled a small phone from her pocket and dialed Claire’s number. “Check how many brands San Diego Lightning’s Miller Collins endorses. Are any of them major sponsors for Channel 11 or other networks?”

Hawk kept quiet. Megan wouldn’t entirely trust him anyway.

A moment later, Claire called back. “No primary sponsorships, though there’s some advertising on Fox. Limited scale.”

Megan hung up. “I guarantee it’ll air.”

“Make the terms clear, though,” Hawk insisted. “If you get permission and don’t run it, I’ll go to other media.”

Megan needed big stories, and even more, a reliable supplier of big stories. She looked at Hawk squarely. “If anyone puts pressure on me, I’ll quit if I have to.”

The show’s ratings were directly tied to her future.

“$150,000,” Hawk said, stopping her from negotiating. “The higher the sunk cost, the less pressure you’ll face.”

Megan replied, “$150,000 is my highest limit, so I can do that.”

Hawk tilted his head toward the door. “Let’s head to the station.”

“Let me change first,” Megan said.

---

Santa Monica, Palisades.

Miller ended his call, returning to his home in a daze, as if Hawk had drained him of all spirit.

After a while, he came to and noticed Kevin was gone, leaving a note weighed down by a gift Miller had given him.

The note held just one line:

“Goodbye.”

Miller frowned, setting the note aside as his agent and publicist arrived.

Last to show up was Henry, an old friend covered in tattoos.

Miller quickly explained everything, including Hawk’s demands.

His publicist and agent weren’t surprised by his actions with men—celebrities without skeletons and scandals? Impossible.

His agent looked worried. “Hawk’s right—this will be trouble if it reaches the team. You’re in contract negotiations, and we’re aiming for a big one.”

He rubbed his temples, exasperated. “Sponsors are a bigger headache. They’re fast when there’s profit, but if handling this eats up too many resources, they’ll drop you instantly. Not only will they cut ties, but they could also sue for breach of contract.”

Miller held out hope. “They can’t help me keep it under wraps?”

The publicist dashed that hope. “You’re not Jordan, Manning, or Woods. To them, you’re not that valuable. If a major outlet gets hold of this, they’d rather replace you. High-profile crises often start with sponsors backing out.”

Miller’s heart sank.

“You’re up against a pro this time,” his agent said grimly. “He planned this and researched you beforehand.”

The publicist added, “That Kevin guy was probably bait.”

Miller had already considered this.

His agent refrained from saying he had tangled with the wrong people, though he clearly felt it.

Miller looked between his publicist and agent. “What do I do now?”

The publicist paced. “Three parts: First, contact them again—offer anything, even personal apologies or a ransom price, to delay it reaching the media. A confidentiality agreement would be ideal. As long as it doesn’t get to the big outlets, we can work something out.”

Miller sighed. “I offered a million dollars, and they turned me down. I don’t have that much cash, and they’re too sharp to trick.”

The publicist nodded and continued, “Second, apply media pressure. I’ll do what I can, but don’t get your hopes up. If it’s with smaller outlets, maybe. But if it’s with World News or Fox, it’ll take at least $5 million to contain.”

Miller didn’t have that kind of money.

He had traditional roots and no connections in the media world.

The publicist added, “Apart from standard methods, there are unconventional options. Who are these people?”

“Eric Ethan, a small-time director. He only made one tape. The other’s Edward Connor, known as ‘The Savior,’ a tough guy from Compton. And there’s one more I haven’t identified.”

“These guys don’t seem high-level,” the agent remarked.

High-end PR, like high-end business strategy, is often simple and understated. “Let’s dig into them and use standard tactics to stall.”

He turned to Henry. “As for unconventional methods, we’re out of options.”

Henry responded, “Leave it to me.”

The agent began calling industry contacts.

Hawk and Edward had sold plenty of stories before, so it didn’t take long for the agent to connect with National Enquirer and Hollywood Life, learning about West Coast Media Studios.

From there, he found more details.

Henry, from a white gang, quickly gathered his crew.

---

Century City, Fox TV Center.

Hawk signed the agreement, pocketing a $150,000 check.

Megan had just returned from the Channel 11 director’s office and motioned Hawk into her office.

Sitting on the sofa, Hawk asked, “You handled things with the director?”

“Relax, the story will air,” Megan assured him. “To avoid leaks, only three of us—myself, Claire, and our director Cynthia—know the details. Since it involves three ad sponsors, per protocol, we’ll notify them three hours before airing.”

“I trust you’ll manage the pressure,” Hawk said, standing to leave.

Megan stopped him. “One thing, Hawk.”

He looked back at her.

“A media contact asked about this scoop. I brushed them off, but they mentioned someone’s asking about West Coast Studios.”

Hawk nodded. “Understood.”

“Stay sharp,” Megan advised. “I’m expecting more scoops from you.”

“Thanks.” Hawk left her office, headed downstairs, and met up with Edward and Eric. He told Edward to drive back to East Hollywood.

“Someone’s on our trail,” he informed them.

Edward replied, “I’ve had repeated calls; I didn’t pick up, just like you said.”

Hawk warned, “Stay alert on the road.”

Eric was tense. “Is this high-stakes business warfare?”

Hawk nodded, taking off his jacket, strapping on a shoulder holster, and slipping a legally purchased Glock 19 into it. He then found his recently acquired gun permit in his pocket.

The van moved smoothly, returning to East Hollywood.

Hawk pointed to Ranch Park. “Don’t go back to the studio. Park at Frank’s.”

He had already anticipated the possibility of serious business warfare and prepared accordingly.

Chapter 70: This house is terrifying

As darkness settled, Hawk sat on the roof of the RV, binoculars raised, watching the studio across the street.

Edward took a sip of water and asked, "Boss, want me to call in Big Ugly and the others?"

Hawk waved him off. "No need. Let’s see what happens first."

Eric looked remorseful. "I'm sorry I dragged you into all this trouble."

Hawk shook his head. "Old buddy, let’s skip the formalities."

Eric pressed his lips together tightly.

"Ah," Frank sighed quietly, watching Hawk. "This idiot will probably take a bullet for that jerk before long." He took a sip of cold beer and said, "Hey, fellas, any thanks for letting you bunk here?"

Hawk raised an arm and gave him a middle finger.

Frank scowled. "I was living a peaceful life, content and carefree. And here you all are, trying to ruin my retirement."

Edward scoffed, "Last time we threw a party, you said you needed more excitement. We’re giving you front-row seats, free of charge."

Hawk raised his hand to interrupt. "Something’s happening."

Frank perked up, suddenly looking twenty years younger as he rushed over and grabbed Edward’s binoculars, focusing on the street across from them. "Four guys just got out of that black Chevy. Looks like they’re heading for your studio."

Hawk had already seen them.

Edward and Eric started to speak, but Hawk said softly, "Not yet. Just wait."

Frank told Edward, "Cotton-picker, get my Taser out of the bottom drawer."

Hawk muttered, "You're getting old."

Frank shot back with a sly grin, "Without some thrills, I'm worried I might not be able to lift a gun again."

Edward went to retrieve the Taser.

Across the street, Louis, Harvey, Puyol, and Sergio got out of the Chevy, checking their weapons and scanning the area. The darkened building was clearly empty.

One of them called, "Boss, we're here. No sign of their car or anyone inside."

On the other end, Henry replied, "Get inside, and bring back all the video equipment, computers, disks, and storage drives."

"Got it." Louis hung up, pulled on his gloves, and asked, "Any cameras?"

Harvey shook his big mouth. "I don't see any."

"Puyol, it's your time to shine," Louis said, nodding toward the door.

Puyol grabbed gloves from his tool bag, then glanced at the "West Coast Media Studio" plaque by the door and got to work. In no time, he’d picked the lock. Sergio stayed outside as a lookout, while Louis and the others went in, flashlights scanning the rooms.

Puyol instinctively checked the corners and immediately spotted a safe. "I’ll get this open," he said.

Louis told Harvey, "Search the other rooms."

Puyol squatted by the safe in the corner, quickly opening it. Inside were stacks of CDs—exactly what they were after. Their boss had ordered them to take anything that could store photos or videos.

As Puyol reached in, he noticed something strange: the CD cases felt flimsy, like thin paper, and his gloved hand sank right through them. Sharp, needle-like points pierced his gloves, stabbing into his fingers. A wave of numbness and searing pain shot through him, immobilizing him on the spot.

Meanwhile, Louis and Harvey were still stuffing videotapes into their bags, unaware of Puyol’s plight. When they turned to grab what looked like another CD case, Harvey’s fingers poked through the thin paper cover, and needles hidden beneath punctured his glove, delivering an electric jolt.

Harvey convulsed, his eyes rolling back as he crashed to the floor.

Startled, Louis turned to see Harvey spasming on the ground. "What happened to you?" he asked urgently, but Harvey couldn't answer.

Now on high alert, Louis drew his gun and called to the corner, "This isn’t right. Get out—now!"

But Puyol didn’t respond. Flashing his light, Louis saw him slumped over the safe, his head resting against it.

"What the hell kind of place is this?" Louis was spooked. "Is everyone here a monster?"

He tried to shake Harvey, but his body convulsed silently, no longer responsive. Desperate to escape, Louis turned to leave. He couldn’t worry about the others; he’d call his boss from a safe spot—he’d know what to do.

Outside, Hawk, dressed in jogging clothes with earbuds in, jogged toward the studio, looking like just another night runner. Sergio glanced at him, then returned to watching the street, oblivious as Hawk passed by.

When they were only five meters apart, Hawk smoothly drew a Taser from his jacket and fired at Sergio’s chest. The darts hit their mark, and Sergio dropped to the ground, convulsing.

Hawk quickly disarmed him and motioned to the others across the street. Edward, Eric, and Frank hurried over. Frank handed over a couple of shoelaces and had Edward and Eric twist Sergio’s arms behind his back, expertly tying him up.

Hawk headed for the studio’s entrance and whispered, "Make sure he stays quiet."

Frank removed his shoe, yanked off his sock, and stuffed it into Sergio’s mouth. The foul stench made Sergio gag and faint.

Edward asked, "Old beggar, where’d you learn this?"

Frank smirked, "Tied up plenty of actresses back in the day. Lots of 'em begged me to do it."

Even Hawk looked tempted to abandon the mission and teach the old guy a lesson.

"Call 911," Hawk ordered.

Eric pulled out his phone and dialed, speaking in a low voice.

Hawk made his way to the studio’s door, hugging the wall. Suddenly, a panicked white man burst out. Hawk stuck out a foot, tripping him hard. Louis sprawled across the ground, his gun skidding away.

Edward wasted no time, leaping over and pressing a heavy knee on Louis’s neck. Louis struggled to breathe. "I can’t breathe… I can’t breathe," he gasped.

But Edward didn’t ease up. "Help me out here!" he called to Eric and Frank, who tied Louis’s wrists and ankles.

Frank glanced at the scattered contents of the bag and warned Hawk, "Camera's busted."

"It’s just a prop," Hawk replied.

Just then, a patrol car pulled up, and two officers stepped out, securing the weapons. Hawk flashed a card and explained the situation to one officer. After verifying, the officer called for backup, and when another squad car arrived, they entered the studio, finding two unconscious men.

Hawk followed, deactivating the traps under the desk.

One officer radioed for medical assistance, while another asked Hawk, "What happened here?"

"I work in media and PR, so I deal with some… situations. I added a few security measures."

"We’ll need a copy of the surveillance footage," the officer replied.

Outside, Frank pulled out his phone, calling a friend. "Hey, ran into a bit of trouble. Some idiots broke into a friend’s studio, armed and dangerous. We took care of them."

Edward overheard him, raising an eyebrow. "Old beggar, you weren't bluffing?"

Frank laughed, "Who’d need to bluff with kids like you around?"

Edward hurried back to find Hawk, who nodded when he heard Frank’s call had gone through. "If he’s helping us, I’ll owe him for it."

About ten minutes later, a sergeant arrived with additional officers to secure the scene.