31-35

Chapter 31 Every Native is a Treasure Trove

Edward wasn’t good at much, but when it came to running, he was as fast as a rabbit. He dashed to the car, leaped into the driver’s seat, and yelled back at Hawk, who was close behind, “Get in the car!”

Hawk slid into the passenger seat and tossed the car keys to Edward.

Edward started the car, spun the Mondeo around, and sped away from the park.

Hawk kept an eye on the rearview mirror. After a few sharp turns, he saw no one following and said, “Relax, we lost them.”

Edward took a deep breath, removed the camera hanging from his neck, and parked in a nearby lot. “Boss, are all of our jobs this intense? That skinny guy pulled a gun!”

Hawk shrugged it off. “No big deal. It was just a taser. I handled him easily.”

Edward patted his chest, still shaken. “I thought you were going to leave me behind.”

“Am I that kind of person?” Hawk said confidently. “I said I’d have your back, and I meant it. You work for me, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Despite still being a bit rattled, Edward couldn’t help but admire his boss. Hawk had shown up just in time, taken down two guys, and helped him escape. “You’re the bravest and most honorable boss I’ve ever met.”

“Good that you know it.” Hawk grabbed the camera and asked, “Did you get the shots?”

“I’m not sure,” Edward admitted. This was his first time on a job like this, and he had taken a lot of random shots in the heat of the moment. “For some reason, I was more nervous taking pictures than I was during that shootout in Compton.”

He clutched his chest. “My heart was pounding, like when you meet a divorced woman with kids who’s really attractive.”

“You’re an idiot,” Hawk muttered as he connected the digital camera to his laptop and transferred all the photos. One by one, he examined them.

The first three were blurry, showing nothing but tent fabric.

The next three were overexposed, making the subjects unrecognizable.

Then, five more shots showed a man shielding his face from the camera.

The rest? Not worth mentioning.

After sifting through over 20 photos, Hawk finally found one usable shot. Edward had captured Eddie Murphy’s face, with a nearly naked woman in the background, covering her face with both hands.

Hawk turned the laptop toward Edward. “Can you recognize him?”

“Eddie Murphy! Wow, I’ve got some skills. It’s a clear shot, and that girl in the back—what a body! No wonder Eddie dumped your tabloid girl for her.”

Hawk wasn’t impressed. “You ruined dozens of shots. Is this what you call being good at it?”

Scratching his head, Edward said, “Isn’t it just pointing the camera and pressing the button? I’ve taken pictures of people before.”

Hawk flipped him off, then connected his Nokia phone to the laptop, transferring pictures of the tent. He bundled them together with Edward’s photo to create a package to sell.

Like many carefree guys, Edward didn’t care what Hawk was up to. He just asked, “Where are we going now?”

“Hold on,” Hawk replied, pulling out his phone and calling a few tabloid papers. He briefly described what he had and asked for their offers.

Eddie Murphy wasn’t as popular as he used to be. He was also Black, and the woman in the photo wasn’t a celebrity or the wife of a famous person. This wasn’t like Robert Downey Jr. or Sarah Jessica Parker’s complicated stories. The highest bid came from the National Enquirer at $4,000.

Half an hour later, Hawk met with Big Beard Jack at the usual spot.

After inspecting the photos, Jack complained that only one was usable, while the rest were too blurry, so he dropped the price to $3,500.

Given the quality of Edward’s work, Hawk couldn’t argue.

After the deal was done, Jack said, “You’ve snagged two headline-worthy stories in under a week, man. You’ve got a knack for this.”

“I’m new to LA,” Hawk replied. “Once I get settled in, there’ll be more.”

Jack handed him the check. “As long as the stories are juicy enough, you can always reach out to me.”

Hawk had a purpose in mind. “I heard the paper can issue special correspondent credentials. Can you get me a couple?”

Jack didn’t refuse. “The Oscars are coming up soon. Can you land me a big story?”

Hawk wasn’t into making predictions. For one, he had no credibility. Plus, this year’s front-runners were obvious. Denzel Washington and Halle Berry had already won the Screen Actors Guild Awards, which overlap with the Oscars 95% of the time.

Thinking it over, Hawk asked tentatively, “I heard there’s a secret party after every Oscars. Not the official one, but a wild one where people wear masks.”

Jack had heard the rumors, too, and scanned Hawk’s young face before warning, “You’re still young with a long life ahead of you. Don’t get yourself killed.”

Hawk understood the message. “Got it.”

Jack took the storage disk with the copied photos. Before leaving the car, he said, “You’ll get the credentials after the Oscars.”

Hawk knew Jack was dangling bait, trying to reel him in. It wasn’t the first time the fisherman got caught by the fish.

When Edward returned, Hawk took him out for a late-night meal. Meanwhile, he taught Edward how to use a camera and camcorder properly.

This guy was fast, had dark skin, good driving skills, knew LA well, and was a local. Hawk had gained a lot from working with locals in Park City before and thought Edward could be a decent assistant.

Over dinner, Hawk told him, “Learn how to use the camera and camcorder properly. Nail one more big story, and you’ll be promoted.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll practice hard,” Edward said, devouring his burger. He never missed a chance to mention his personal mission. “When I get promoted, can you introduce me to a divorced woman with alimony?”

Hawk asked, “You think you can get money out of them?”

“I left Compton when I was 17. That was 10 years ago,” Edward said proudly. “Half the Black kids from Compton are either dead or missing from street life. The rest are either homeless or in gangs, and even then, they’re just getting exploited. I’m the only one who made it out.”

He adjusted his clean work jacket. “I lived in their houses, ate their food, and spent their ex-husbands’ alimony. Life was great—until I met that bitch, Bree.”

Hawk, meanwhile, was wondering if Edward’s experiences and connections could be useful. Every local is a treasure trove.

Edward circled back. “So, boss, can you help me? I’ll cut you in on any money I make.”

“There might be someone,” Hawk said, a sudden idea popping into his mind. “How about Robert Downey Jr.’s wife?”

Edward was surprised. “They’re not divorced, are they?”

“No, but we could make that happen,” Hawk said as his idea took shape.

Divorce was a financial killer for celebrities, often costing half their wealth.

Edward wasn’t sure. “You think something like that would really make them split?”

Hawk thought of Sarah Jessica Parker and Bo Derek. Hollywood was full of such scandals. These people were probably used to it by now—big fights that end in reconciliation. But someone like Downey, who had a long history with drugs, would get more agitated the more chaos surrounded him, increasing his need for certain things.

That would give Hawk the chance to ruin him completely.

Hawk then asked, “Are your old buddies reliable?”

“As long as the money’s there, they’re more reliable than white folks,” Edward said. “White people are the real problem—they should be sent back to the cotton fields.”

Hawk didn’t push further but noted the information for later use. He had the beginning of a plan for Downey, but he needed more details before putting it into action.

After finishing their late-night meal, they cruised around spots where celebrities usually hung out, but their luck was bad. They didn’t catch anything noteworthy.

During the drive, Eric called Hawk to let him know that Catherine had agreed to help. After the Oscars, she would have a friend introduce Hawk to Tracy’s gym.

With the Oscars approaching, Hawk was busy with both his investigation into Downey and preparing 2,000 business cards.

With Edward on board, Hawk planned to make full use of him.

In the studio, Hawk handed his business card to Edward and said, "Don’t you have a lot of buddies? You can hire a few temporary workers. I'll cover the costs."

With money to solve problems, Edward replied, "Boss, don’t worry." He asked, "Where should we distribute them?"

Hawk, avoiding the media's hotspot areas, took a different approach: "Your target is two areas, focusing on a five-mile radius around the Kodak Theatre and the Beverly Hilton Hotel, especially fast-food joints like McDonald's and Burger King."

Edward was puzzled. "I looked into it. Other media studios develop informants in bars, nightclubs, luxury hotels, and Michelin-starred restaurants. Aren’t we choosing the wrong spots?"

Hawk vaguely replied, "A lot of celebrities love burgers."

He remembered that after 2010, a professional agency had done a study showing that many celebrities, after a week or even two of dieting for the Oscars, would choose burgers as their first meal after the awards ceremony. Many stars would rush to fast-food joints to indulge.

Hawk then gave Edward some extra motivation: "As you recruit informants, you're also screening potential targets. Who knows, there might be a divorced mom in there."

Edward was instantly fired up. "I'll head out right away!"

While Edward went to distribute the cards, Hawk, in disguise, rented a new house in Santa Monica on the west side to serve as a temporary safe house. He also bought a used Chevrolet from a car dealer, keeping it as a backup vehicle in an old public parking lot with multiple exits.

Chapter 32: The Gossip Scandal Is Too Conservative

In Santa Monica, in a street-facing corner apartment, Hawke, wearing a wig and a fake mustache, pulled back the curtains.

The apartment was on the fourth floor, with two windows facing south and east, both overlooking streetlights over nine meters high. These heights were difficult for anyone to scale, and Hawke could easily escape through the windows if needed.

Hawke took out an envelope, spreading the photos he brought on the table in a circle, with Robert Downey Jr. at the center. Surrounding him were photos of Downey’s wife, Deborah, his agent, and close companions. Hawke marked the pictures of Deborah and the two companions with a pen. The thought from that night, influenced by Edward, made Deborah the emotional trigger point.

For everything else, Hawke needed more information on Downey, especially the people around him, who were key. For Hollywood stars, companions are often closer than wives. The two friends Hawke had marked were those who appeared most frequently beside Downey in both his photos and related online reports—one was a heavyset man, the other bald. Hawke couldn’t find much information about them online. He packed up his things, went downstairs, and took an old subway to Inglewood, where he found a private detective agency, the kind that specializes in catching cheating spouses.

Speaking briefly in an East Coast accent, Hawke handed over the photos of the heavyset man and the bald one, along with $1,000 in cash as a deposit, leaving a new phone number for contact. Downey’s companions wouldn’t be with him 24/7, and Hawke wanted to know what they did during their off time.

Before noon, Hawke returned home in his usual appearance, picking up a copy of the National Enquirer along the way. Eddie Murphy’s scandal was on the front page. Hawke dubbed it “Hookergate.”

Before long, Edward came back, excitedly shouting, “Boss, listen to me! You were right, developing news sources is my chance!” Hawke acknowledged his enthusiasm and asked, “Did you meet someone you like?”

Edward pulled up a chair, sitting across from Hawke. “Over on Highland Street, a divorced woman in her 30s with two kids, raising them alone—it’s exhausting!” He said sympathetically, “I’ve decided to help her, she shouldn't suffer alone.”

Hawke agreed, “Raising two kids on your own is definitely hard.”

“Boss, when will I get that special correspondent ID you mentioned?” Edward asked eagerly, “I’ve already made my first move, handed out my business card, and got her contact info. But I spoke too fast and told her I was a reporter…”

Hawke understood and said, “You’ll have to wait a few days.”

Edward pressed, “Can you call to hurry it up? Having that ID when I meet her would help a lot.”

Hawke replied, “Depends on how you do.”

Edward asked, “Anything I can help with?”

Hawke responded, “Clean up the first floor.”

Edward, full of enthusiasm, immediately grabbed cleaning supplies.

Just then, someone knocked at the door. Hawke opened it to see Frank, the RV guy, holding a few cans of beer and a paper bag. “Told you I’d treat you to drinks. Can’t go back on my word.”

Hawke stepped aside, “Come in.”

Edward, hearing the commotion, came out, exclaiming, “Free beer at noon!”

Frank, unfazed by anything, snorted and asked, “Want some fried chicken with that?”

Edward, having grown up in chaotic, impoverished Compton, was thick-skinned. “If you’re paying, I’ll eat.”

Frank put the beer down and actually pulled fried chicken out of the bag.

“I’ve got sausages, canned beef, and sandwiches,” Hawke said, heading to the fridge.

Frank looked at Edward. “And you, just bringing your mouth?”

Edward, offended, fired back, “Hey, old man, don’t think I don’t know who you are. You’re the guy who picks up cans around here! Tomorrow, I’ll fill some empty cans with crap and toss them in every trash can on this street. See how you pick them up then!”

Frank, unbothered, shot back, “No problem, I’ll just go pick cotton.” He then turned to Hawke, “Hey, man, got any watermelon? I’m in the mood for some.”

Hawke brought the food over and said, “Both of you shut up, or I’ll throw you both out—Frank to pick cotton, and Edward to pick up cans.”

Finally, they both quieted down and sat at the table. Despite the verbal sparring, Frank handed Edward a beer. Edward dove into the fried chicken without hesitation.

Frank examined a camera and asked curiously, “Aren’t you going out to cover the Oscars tonight?”

“The Oscars don’t start until 5 PM, and the stars are behaving themselves, prepping for the ceremony,” Hawke replied, sipping his beer. “The mainstream media will cover everything the audience wants to see. We can’t compete with those big media outlets for regular news.”

He pointed out the window, “When night falls, and the ceremony ends, that’s when they get drunk and loosen up. That’s when it’s freelance journalists’ time.”

Frank nodded, “Exactly. Once they’ve got their fame, they drink too much and think they’re gods.”

Hawke asked, “You seem to know a lot about them?”

Frank downed his beer and opened another, reminiscing. “The stars, directors, and producers who seem so polished in public are all jerks in private. They’re just miniature versions of Washington politicians—glamorous on the outside, filthy underneath.”

Hawke, who used to rely on online gossip to understand Hollywood, now realized that the scandals on the internet were too tame. What really went on far exceeded the boldest rumors online.

Eric Isen had once said something spot on—if you want to latch onto someone powerful, sometimes you have to kneel and use your mouth. Lucky ones get to do it for women. Unlucky ones, it could be worse than George, not just a man, but maybe a black guy and a freak.

Edward, tossing aside a chicken bone, sneered, “How would a can-collecting bum know any of this?”

Frank muttered, “Because I used to be one of them. I did a lot of bad things.”

“Bull!” Edward shouted. “I’ll bet my ancestors never picked cotton!”

Hawke asked curiously, “So what about now?”

“I got too full of myself, thought I was invincible,” Frank said vaguely, “Messed up some projects. Didn’t want my ex-wives taking my money to support other men…”

Edward, clearly empathizing, added, “Those guys live in the houses you bought for your ex-wives, spend your alimony, and bully your kids on the side.”

He continued, twisting the knife, “And when they’re in the mood, they probably pull out your wedding photos and hang them above the bed while they do their thing. It’s just so damn thrilling!”

These words hit hard. Frank glared but had no comeback, because it was uncomfortably close to the truth.

Hawke, concerned Frank might have a stroke on the spot, nudged Edward under the table and slid a beer in front of the old man. “Drink up,” he said, trying to defuse the tension.

Edward backed off a bit. “You’re not just making this up, are you? That really happened?”

Frank couldn’t drink anymore. He stood up, saying, “I’m going to rest. We’ll drink again another day.”

Hawke saw him out, while Edward mumbled to himself, “Was that guy really something once? And ex-wives… plural? I need to get on his good side, find out more about those ex-wives.”

Night fell, and the Oscars ceremony began.

Hawke drove, taking Edward into Hollywood. But he didn’t head for the Kodak Theatre, where reporters were swarming. You couldn’t even find a place to relieve yourself without stumbling into several journalists.

After driving around for a while, Hawke only managed to snap a few pictures of negligible value.

By around 10 PM, the business cards he had handed out earlier finally paid off. He received a call from someone on the south side of Highland Street, near Santa Monica Boulevard.

Chapter 33: Gandalf's Smashing Incident

"Faster! Faster!"

In the passenger seat, Edward was even more eager than Hawk, like a journalist chasing the truth. He kept shouting, "If we don't get the scoop, our special press passes will be useless! Without them, I'll be just a fraud, and I won't be able to stay at her house!"

He was more invested than Hawk, "Boss, you don't want me homeless and wandering the streets, do you?"

Hawk ignored him, turning the steering wheel sharply as the car swerved off Highland Street and onto a more deserted road.

After driving for a bit, the phone rang again. Edward picked it up and saw a bald guy under a streetlight talking on his phone. He said, "Hey man, is that you, baldy? I see you."

The guy on the other end replied, "Are you in the black Ford?"

Hawk stopped the car next to him.

Edward got out and asked, "Where is he?"

The bald guy pointed ahead, "Over at McDonald's. Gandalf’s gone mad, swinging his staff around and smashing things. I tried to calm him down, but he almost hit me, so I ran."

Edward pulled out $20, handed it to the bald guy, jumped back into the passenger seat, and shouted, "Huge story! Up ahead at McDonald's, Gandalf came out of the movie and almost hit this bald guy with a fireball. He must've mistaken him for a goblin."

Hawk felt confused but stepped on the gas, sending the car roaring ahead. Forget Gandalf, not even Galadriel could stop him from making money.

The McDonald's sign came into view, and the sound of smashing could be heard in the distance.

Getting a little closer, Hawk saw it clearly—it really was Gandalf smashing things.

Ian McKellen, who played Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings, looked like he'd had too much to drink. He was using a broken wooden stick to smash the glass door of the McDonald's.

The McDonald's, which should’ve been open 24/7, was dark, with the doors locked.

Hawk glanced at the quiet street and figured the place had probably closed down.

Hollywood's traditional districts had been turning into slums in recent years, with severe population decline.

Hawk instructed Edward, "Take a picture."

Edward quickly grabbed his camera, focused, and snapped a shot.

At the McDonald's door, Ian McKellen, hiccupping from the alcohol, was swinging the stick, smashing the glass door while shouting, "Open up! Open the door! I want a burger! I want a burger!"

His shouts got louder, "Open up! I want a burger!"

The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring was a box office hit, and the cast had been celebrated at the Oscars. After the awards, they’d all gone out for drinks. Ian McKellen had too much to drink and insisted on eating a McDonald’s burger. He snuck out of the party, took a car, and drove to the closest McDonald's he could remember, but it was closed.

Like the characters he played—Magneto and Gandalf—McKellen had a fiery temper. Fueled by alcohol, he went berserk, smashing the glass door, demanding a burger.

As he kept smashing the door, he noticed a car approaching—a black Ford. Just like a drunken British hooligan, he yelled, "Get lost! Don't mess with me getting my burger. Get out of here!"

He saw that the car wasn’t leaving but was slowing down instead. So, he grabbed an empty glass Coke bottle from the steps and hurled it at the car.

Hawk hit the gas, and the car shot forward.

The distance was too far, and the bottle smashed on the sidewalk, sending shards of glass flying.

"Damn it!" Hawk cursed, "British people really are hooligans!"

Edward opened the car door, ready to get out with his camera.

Hawk, provoked and inspired, came up with a new idea and stopped Edward, quickly explaining his plan.

Edward was surprised, "You think that'll work?"

"Why not? You’re Black!" Hawk reminded him, "If anything goes wrong, just accuse him of racism."

Edward suddenly remembered that his ancestors had picked cotton and eaten fried chicken. If he didn’t use that to his advantage at a time like this, how could he honor their hardships?

He nodded slightly and ran towards Ian McKellen.

Hawk, meanwhile, grabbed a camcorder from the back seat, got out, turned it on, and found the perfect angle to start filming as Edward approached McDonald's.

Edward got a little closer and began rapidly snapping photos with his camera.

McKellen turned around and cursed, "You bastard, get lost! Get lost now!"

The British gentleman had become a full-on hooligan, and drunk McKellen was waving the stick, "If you don’t leave, I’ll smash your skull in!"

"This is a public area! I have the right and freedom to film!" Edward yelled back, asserting his rights. Then, turning his back to Hawk's camera, he muttered softly, "Hey, British troublemaker, are you the stirrer or the one being stirred?"

McKellen, who was gay, flew into a rage and swung the stick at Edward.

But as Hawk's protégé, Edward knew how to act fast. He quickly took two more photos before turning to run.

McKellen's swing missed, and his anger grew as he chased after Edward.

Edward, running ahead and taking photos, had time to snap one more picture.

Not far away, hiding behind a streetlight, Hawk filmed the entire scene with his camcorder.

The higher the stakes, the more you needed to capture it in a simple and straightforward way.

Hawk, determined to never make fake news when he started his studio, believed in authenticity.

During the incident on Hobart Hill, Edward had already shown his talent for running.

Now, fully in the zone, Edward sprinted past a Mondeo and kept running, giving Hawk more time to film.

McKellen couldn’t catch up to Edward at all.

But then, unexpectedly, five people turned the corner ahead of Edward, with the most handsome one shouting, "Ian, what’s going on?"

McKellen yelled, "Orlando, Sean, John, stop that bastard!"

Edward knew things had taken a bad turn and immediately turned to run back the other way.

Orlando Bloom, Sean Astin, and John Rhys-Davies, along with two others, immediately started chasing after him.

They saw the camera in Edward’s hand, and didn’t need to guess—he was a paparazzi, the scum of the earth.

Now trapped between the group and McKellen, Edward turned a corner and ran into the street.

Hawk filmed the bizarre scene, then ran to the car, got in, hit the gas, and swung the car around, opening the passenger door.

The open door was perfectly timed for Edward, who dove in.

As soon as Edward shut the door, Hawk floored it, leaving nothing but exhaust behind.

Behind them, McKellen, leaning on his stick and breathing heavily, shouted to Orlando, "How did you guys get here?"

"You disappeared suddenly, and someone saw you drive off," said Orlando. The Lord of the Rings cast had gotten close during their long shoot in New Zealand. "We took a van to look for you. Elijah and Billy went north, and we came south."

He looked at the disappearing taillights, "What happened?"

"I wanted a burger," McKellen, still drunk, muttered, "I wanted a McDonald's burger."

John Rhys-Davies called Elijah Wood to bring the van.

Orlando asked a few more questions, piecing together the situation, and whispered to the others, "This could be trouble. We better notify the director and producer right away."

Sean Astin agreed, "We should call them now."

At a nearby hotel, where the Lord of the Rings cast had been celebrating, the party was suddenly put on hold as they scrambled to deal with the mess Ian McKellen had caused.

(Gandalf’s smashing incident is based on a real event that happened after a BAFTA award ceremony.)

Chapter 34: The Savior

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The Mondeo turned onto Santa Monica Boulevard. Hawke slightly slowed down and pulled into the parking lot of a supermarket, parking the car.

Edward was still excited and asked, "Boss, didn’t I do great? I easily pissed off that old British scumbag! Of course, you taught me well, and I didn’t do too bad either."

Hawke took out a digital camera and carefully reviewed the photos they had taken. He said seriously, "Edward Connor, I’m officially informing you now that you’ve passed the entry assessment for the West Coast Media Entertainment Studio and are now a full-time employee."

In many situations, they needed the “old black” (Edward) to charge ahead recklessly. After a brief consideration, Hawke added, "Your weekly salary will be 400 dollars."

"Awesome! Now I just need to find a divorced woman with child support and I’ll be middle class," Edward said, his thoughts clearly not on the same page as most people. "If I could find two, I could just relax."

At that moment, he realized something was off: "Wait, no, I’d get drained. Those women are all too thirsty."

Hawke ignored his crazy ramblings and started transferring the photos from the camera to his laptop. He also checked the footage from the camcorder—both the angles and clarity were good. However, because of the distance, the two men’s voices couldn’t be heard clearly.

After finishing transferring the photos, he started exporting the video.

Edward snapped out of his fantasies about alimony and divorced women, glancing at Hawke's laptop screen. "So, is it time to contact the buyers and turn this into cash?"

Hawke nodded slightly and, after processing the video, watched it carefully.

Since Edward was going to handle the sale this time, Hawke asked for his phone and made the call from inside the car.

Hawke had considered selling the footage and photos back to the film crew, but since he had no real power or backing, it would be too easy for someone to turn it into a case of extortion. Those kinds of cases were endless.

Selling news stories, on the other hand, had a well-established system, and the risks of entertainment news were relatively low.

Hollywood film crews that were willing to spend real money for PR usually did so with media outlets.

Hawke reached out to The Enquirer, U.S. Weekly, The National Enquirer, and Hollywood Life. This time, The National Enquirer offered the highest price.

Edward was curious. "Why is everyone else only offering 3,000 dollars, but The National Enquirer is willing to give 5,000?"

Hawke ignored The Enquirer’s Jack and explained, "The author of The Lord of the Rings is from the UK, where the book has a huge influence. Ian McKellen is a British actor, and The National Enquirer is the weekend edition of the British tabloid The Sun."

The success of The Lord of the Rings, coupled with Gandalf’s fame, made a big difference.

Edward scratched his head. "This is so complicated. It's much easier to either run around making money or just lay back and let it come to me."

Hawke started the car and headed toward The National Enquirer’s office in Los Angeles. As they drove, he told Edward, "In a bit, you’ll take the photos and make the deal, signing an exclusive rights agreement in your name."

"By myself?" Edward, who had never done it before, felt unsure. "Aren’t we selling the video too?"

Hawke responded, "The video is a separate news story, unrelated to the photos you took. We’re two different journalists who captured two different stories."

Edward, not the sharpest in these matters, was completely lost.

Hawke explained further, "If you sign an exclusive rights agreement for a news story, you can’t sell it to multiple media outlets. It would cause unnecessary trouble."

The West Coast Media Entertainment Studio was still small and weak, unable to compete with larger media outlets.

Hawke’s idea was simple: Edward was one journalist who took photos of a story, and he was another journalist who recorded video footage, both of which were independent of each other.

The National Enquirer’s Los Angeles office was located in a small, independent three-story building.

Hawke parked the car in a visible spot near the entrance and gave Edward the storage disk and a phone number, telling him to go inside and make the deal. The price had already been negotiated over the phone. As long as the photos checked out, they’d pay 5,000 dollars.

Edward pocketed the storage disk, and just before getting out of the car, he asked, "Boss, aren’t you worried I might just take the money and run?"

Hawke patted him on the shoulder. "I saved your life from a gun barrel. You’re not the kind of guy who’d forget that."

"I’m a savior composite!" Edward replied, getting out of the car and heading toward the office.

Hawke didn’t understand at first, but after a moment, he realized Edward was referring to a mix of Edward Furlong and John Connor from The Terminator.

After Edward entered the office, Hawke got out of the car and chatted with the security guard at the entrance, offering him a pack of cigarettes in exchange for some information. He learned that the building typically had only two exits, and the fire escape was in the back.

Hawke slipped the guard 20 dollars and asked him to call if he saw Edward leave.

The Mondeo was parked in a noticeable spot by the front entrance.

Hawke then went to a nearby convenience store, quickly bought some beer and snacks, and circled around to keep an eye on the fire exit.

Inside the office, since everything had already been arranged by Hawke over the phone and the photos were clear and eye-catching, Edward’s transaction went smoothly. After signing the exclusive rights agreement, he received a 5,000-dollar check.

As Edward walked out of the office and into the lobby, he glanced at the number on the check and, instinctively, stuffed it into his coat pocket. The urge to run with the money crossed his mind.

He glanced outside. Under the streetlight, the Mondeo stood out.

His gaze shifted to the fire exit sign, and he unconsciously took two steps in that direction before stopping.

At that moment, he remembered how Hawke had tackled a guy to the ground and saved him from a taser.

Edward wasn’t grateful to Hawke; he just remembered how easily Hawke had taken on two men, defeating them with ease.

He touched his neck and stomach and turned around without hesitation, heading out the front door.

When he reached the car, he found it was locked, and Hawke wasn’t there.

A short time later, Hawke walked over from the convenience store, holding a bag of groceries. "All done?" he asked casually.

Edward, feeling a bit guilty, quickly handed him the check. "It went really smoothly."

Hawke took the check and handed Edward the grocery bag. "I bought some beer, let’s celebrate."

Edward flashed a toothy grin, hopped into the passenger seat, and cracked open a can of beer. After taking a big gulp, he leaned back and closed his eyes, completely satisfied.

Hawke said, "You did great tonight. Once we sell the whole story, you’ll get a 200-dollar bonus."

Edward was over the moon. "Boss, you’re more generous than all the divorced women I’ve ever pursued!"

Hawke couldn’t help but feel that Edward’s talents were all geared toward dealing with divorced women.

With their first deal done, the two drank a can of beer each and had a bite to eat.

Edward asked, "Who are we selling the video to?"

"Television stations," Hawke replied, flipping through his phone for contacts. "Nowadays, video footage doesn’t fetch much in print media. Only TV stations can fully take advantage of video."

Edward asked again, "Do I need to handle this transaction too?"

"This time, I’ll do it," Hawke said as he found the right number and dialed. After a brief conversation, the person on the other end was very interested and told him to come over.

Hawke drove west along Santa Monica Boulevard, heading into Beverly Hills, and quickly reached Century City.

He had already called multiple TV stations, including Channel 11. First up was Channel 11, as Frank had recommended.

The station had been acquired by Fox News and moved to the Fox Television Center, now directly managed by Fox News.

---

Chapter 35: Midnight Entertainment

Fox Tower, Fox Television Center.

In the offices of Channel 11, assistant producer Claire hurriedly walked through the workspace, opened the door to a control room, and said, “Megan, we’ve got a big scoop that could be the headline for the 11 p.m. Midnight Entertainment. The offer is high. Do you want to check it out?”

“Take me there.” As the producer and anchor of Midnight Entertainment, Megan removed the hair tie from her wrist, pulled her waterfall of blonde hair into a ponytail, transforming from a sweet-looking host into a sharp, capable producer.

Claire walked through the lobby, opened the door to a reception room, and followed Megan inside.

There was only one person in the room. Megan gave him a brief glance. He had short black hair, an ordinary appearance, and a calm demeanor—nothing stood out.

Claire introduced, “This is Megan, producer of Channel 11’s Midnight Entertainment.”

“Nice to meet you.” Hawk stood up to shake hands, noticing that Megan, wearing heels, was almost the same height as him.

He handed over a business card and introduced himself, “Hawk Osmond, founder of West Coast Media Entertainment Studio.”

Megan nodded slightly, took the business card, and handed it to Claire, getting straight to the point. “Let’s see the news.”

Hawk didn’t waste any time. He pressed play on his laptop, turning the screen toward Megan.

Megan’s eyes were fixed on the screen as she carefully watched the video.

The footage was clear, but the only downside was that the audio was unclear. This kind of outdoor recording without professional microphones was typical.

She watched it once, then played it again, pausing at a few key moments.

The man chasing and attacking was Ian McKellen, who played Gandalf, and the one being chased was a Black man with a camera around his neck, clearly a paparazzo.

Five other people appeared in the background. She instantly recognized Orlando Bloom, and also recognized Sean Astin and John Rhys-Davies. However, she couldn’t name the other two men, though they looked familiar.

Megan instructed Claire, “Find out who those two are.”

Claire replied, “I know them. It’s Dominic Monaghan and Greg Parker—actors from The Lord of the Rings.”

Megan turned the laptop back toward Hawk and asked, “How much are you selling it for?”

Hawk smiled, “Why don’t you make an offer? This is headline-worthy news.”

Megan could see its value and tentatively offered, “$4,000.”

Hawk didn’t say a word, simply closed the laptop, and started packing it into his bag.

Megan didn’t speak either, just quietly watched him.

When Hawk had packed the laptop and was about to walk out the door, Megan finally said, “Wait!”

Hawk stopped and looked back at her.

Megan said, “$6,000. That’s the most I can do.”

Hawk shook his head. “Oscar night, the cast of The Lord of the Rings chasing down a reporter and infringing on freedom of the press? Isn't that worth $20,000?”

Freedom of the press? That angle wasn’t far from what Megan had in mind.

This news was indeed valuable. Since Fox had acquired Channel 11, the station had deep pockets, but Megan couldn’t blow almost a week’s budget on just one story.

The show was about to start soon, and Megan didn’t have time to drag things out. She said directly, “$10,000. If you don’t agree, walk away. I can assure you, no other station in Los Angeles will offer more than Channel 11.”

Hawk remembered something Frank had mentioned and replied, “Deal.”

He then added a condition, “But I have one request.”

Megan glanced at her watch. “Don’t make it unreasonable.”

Hawk said, “I want two special correspondent badges for Channel 11.”

Megan didn’t have that much authority. “I can only give you Midnight Entertainment badges.”

Hawk agreed, “That’ll do.”

Megan instructed Claire, “Get the paperwork done quickly.” She then looked at Hawk, “The cast of The Lord of the Rings collectively attacking a reporter and infringing on press freedom? I love it. If you get more big scoops, make sure to come back.”

Hawk had no objections.

The process moved quickly. Both parties signed an exclusive rights agreement. One side received a check, the other took the video.

An assistant from the show had been waiting the whole time and immediately took the video to be processed.

As Claire walked Hawk out, arranging for the correspondent badges, she asked, “I’ve never seen you before. Are you new to this?”

Hawk gave a noncommittal answer, “I’ve handled a few big headlines before.”

“Impressive.” Claire said enticingly, “Get more big scoops, especially involving major stars. If it’s explosive enough, we can pay six or even seven figures.”

Hawk, well aware of how entertainment news often outvalued regular news, said, “If I get something, I’ll contact you.”

Claire handed him her business card. “Call me directly.”

The badges were brought over, and Hawk collected them before quickly leaving the station.

Claire returned to the control room, where the purchased video had already undergone basic editing, focusing mainly on the visuals.

Megan adjusted the show’s schedule. “Make this the headline story, push the Oscar results to later.”

“But that’s the Oscars!” the director protested.

Megan checked her watch. “The ceremony ended almost two hours ago. The results are public knowledge by now, so they’re less compelling. Gossip around the Oscars is far more interesting.”

She asked, “What’s The Fellowship of the Ring’s global box office so far?”

Claire quickly answered, “Over $825 million.”

Megan spread her hands. “Look how popular this movie is. And now, two of its biggest stars, Gandalf and Legolas—Orlando Bloom—were caught on camera attacking a reporter. That’s gold!”

“No, no…” She raised a finger, directing the video editor, “Focus on the person being chased.”

The playback froze on Edward’s image.

He wasn’t a public figure, so they blurred his face to protect his likeness. But it was still clear he was Black.

As both the anchor and producer, Megan was always focused on ratings, which were crucial. She said, “The audio isn’t clear, but look closely at Ian McKellen’s lips in the close-up. Doesn’t it look like he’s saying the N-word?”

The room fell silent.

The director gulped and said, “That could get us into trouble—we’d probably get a lawsuit.”

Megan had already thought of a way. “The video is clear, and we even have a close-up of Ian McKellen. Find a linguistics expert to analyze the footage live. I’ll frame it as someone questioning if Ian McKellen was being racist! Where’s the legal advisor? Assess the risks.”

A man wearing glasses said, “It’s still suggestive, so there are risks.”

“But the risk is much lower, right?” Megan saw the legal advisor nod and said, “Good. That’s our plan. Editors, start writing the script!”

Then she called out, “Claire, find a linguistics expert within five minutes.”

When the boss speaks, everyone scrambles. Claire rushed to find an expert.

Megan let her hair down and went to the makeup room to change her dress and touch up her makeup.

According to Fox News CEO Roger Ailes’ rule, all female anchors, whether covering serious news or not, had to wear short skirts and stockings, with a camera set up specifically to shoot them from below.

As the clock neared 11 p.m., Megan entered the studio, sat in front of the main camera, glanced briefly at the teleprompter, and began that night’s Midnight Entertainment.