In less than two minutes, the car had stopped at the curb beneath the apartment building.
The middle-aged man in the passenger seat leaned out the window and glanced around, recalling for a moment before saying, "The lead actress of The Princess Diaries, Anne Hathaway, lives here, right?"
Sophia Santi widened her eyes in surprise. "You know her?"
"Of course. This girl is about to become famous. The Princess Diaries has gotten great public reviews."
That damn bitch. God is so unfair.
Sophia cursed inwardly and then, thinking of something, hugged the paper bag close to her chest and said, "Don't think you can take the money back. And I want the rest of the payment too."
The middle-aged man chuckled. "Don't worry, as long as the information you provide is true, we won't go back on our word. You might not realize it, but a negative story about Martin is worth a lot."
"Heh, the fall of a national idol, a real-life superhero. How intoxicating. I prefer destroying stars over creating them!"
His last sentence seemed directed at Sophia but felt more like he was talking to himself.
"Boss, you're getting more twisted by the minute!" the young man in the backseat muttered.
"Shut up, John. You and Curson (the driver) stay in the car. Don't fall asleep, keep an eye out for Martin trying to escape. Get the cameras and night vision gear ready."
"What? Why do I have to stay behind? I want to watch the show too," the young man, John, complained.
"Heh, watch the show? Can you pick locks or use hidden cameras?" the middle-aged man responded.
"Well, I'm learning!" John replied.
"Then wait until you've learned," the middle-aged man said, dismissing him.
Turning to the silent person sitting next to him, he said, "Stephenson, you come with me."
Then to Sophia, he added, "You lead the way."
Sophia, hearing the authoritative tone in his voice, suddenly felt that this man was powerful. She also recalled his earlier mention of "lockpicking" and "hidden cameras," sending a strong thrill through her.
"Okay, I'll take you up. I'm Sophia Santi. What's your name?"
"You can call me Desborough."
Sophia gave him a deep look, remembering his name, then got out of the car and quickly walked toward the apartment building.
After entering the passcode, the front door opened, and the three of them slipped inside.
Desborough suddenly asked, "Sophia, does this building have a back door?"
"No, it's an old building."
"There's a fire escape at the back, but it's rusted shut, and several floors are missing."
"Alright, let's go up. What floor?"
Desborough relaxed and soon, the elevator reached the seventh floor.
The three of them stepped out, and Sophia pointed to Anne Hathaway's door. "It's right here. I live across the hall. I saw it myself."
"Great. You wait here, the rest of the payment will be given to you."
Sophia returned to her apartment and peeked through the peephole, her eyes often darting to Desborough.
Looking back, she still thought that the way this middle-aged man gave orders was incredibly commanding.
"Boss, you were acting again just now. Looks woman is already in your grip!" Stephenson, who had been silent up until now, suddenly snickered.
"These kinds of women who clearly failed in Hollywood are easy to handle. Just act like you have power, and they'll rush to you like moths to a flame, willing to do anything for even the slightest chance."
"This woman is pretty enough. If she serves me well, I might be able to help her out. I've got Hollywood connections, and those underground films are always looking for beautiful actresses willing to strip."
Desborough laughed at this, then turned to Stephenson and said, "Alright, get the lockpicks out. I'll get the hidden camera ready."
For reporters from The World News, skills like lockpicking, bugging, and secretly filming were a must. Many celebrity privacy leaks were done by people like them.
Not just celebrities, but many politicians had also been targeted by this media, with scandals often exposed through spying and surveillance.
The work of The World News was even more secretive and daring than that of its predecessor, The Sun.
In the future timeline, this paper would even have hacked into Prince William's email, forcing the British Royal Family to involve the police.
After a moment, Stephenson opened the apartment door lock.
The two of them stealthily entered.
Anne Hathaway's apartment wasn't large—one bedroom, one living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom.
The lights in the living room were off, and it was pitch black.
Desborough switched on a small flashlight attached to his shoulder and scanned the room.
He quickly located the bedroom and pointed.
They crept toward it.
First, they pressed their ears to the door. They could hear noises coming from inside, and it sounded intense.
Desborough lowered his bag, took out a pinhole camera, and slid the tiny lens under the door. After adjusting the angle, the footage appeared on the laptop outside.
Desborough shook his head. The angle wasn't good, only showing vague shapes on the bed.
So, he pulled the camera back out and slid it in through the top of the doorframe.
This time, the view was much clearer.
In the dim light, they could see two people on the bed, engaged in...
"Damn, we can't see their faces!"
"Turn around, hurry!"
After giving Stephenson the command to start filming, Desborough urgently whispered.
And perhaps, just maybe, the universe had heard his request because the man on the bed slowly turned his head.
"Boss, he turned around. Is it really Martin?" Stephenson asked excitedly.
Desborough was equally excited, eyes fixed on the man's head on the bed. He adjusted the camera, preparing for a close-up of his face.
The man's head turned slowly, awkwardly. It felt unnatural—nobody would make such a move while doing... that.
But Desborough and Stephenson, caught up in the excitement of getting big news, didn't notice anything strange.
Finally, the man's head completed the turn.
Desborough and Stephenson's faces went pale, and instinctively, they leaned back, stifling a scream as they collapsed to the floor.
"G-Ghost!" they screamed inwardly.