...Are you sure?"
"Yes, 100%. The room light was definitely on last night."
"But remember, he has roommates... don't forget that."
"Harry, I'm serious. I saw Anson with my own eyes. I don't know where he came from, but he definitely entered the villa."
"No, no, no. Your story doesn't add up. First, you say you saw the room light, now you're saying you saw Anson with your own eyes? Hey, don't try to fool me. I'm not some amateur."
"Sigh, I... okay, I didn't see Anson's face directly, but I did see him enter and turn on the light in his room."
"So, it could have been Chris or James."
Harry Percy displayed his professionalism, grasping onto the key points amidst the fog, leaving the person on the other end of the line speechless.
Being a paparazzo isn't something just anyone can do.
Many people might not believe it, but a lot of paparazzi are actually former private detectives or journalists, each with their own skill set. Why they chose this profession could be due to countless reasons.
The person on the other end of the call was also a paparazzo.
Everyone was searching for Anson's whereabouts because he was the hottest topic at the moment, but honestly, the frenzy seemed abnormal—when chasing rumors about Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston or tracking Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez, it was never this chaotic. Something felt off.
Anyway, Harry was on high alert.
He knew Anson was an opponent who demanded extreme caution, no matter how careful he was, it wouldn't be enough. He needed to give 120% effort.
Just like now.
The colleague on the other end of the call was clearly not taking it seriously enough, mixing guesses and assumptions, with half of what they said likely being unreliable. A moment of carelessness could lead to missing crucial details.
The consequences?
Harry didn't want to think about the consequences, just the thought of it made his scalp tingle.
Then, a sneer came from the other end of the line.
"Harry, are you taking this too seriously? Anson isn't some kind of demon; he's not going to eat you alive. I can hear your knees shaking over the phone."
Harry felt a pang, but strangely, he wasn't angry at all—
There was no need to be angry. These guys had never really faced off against Anson, so they were all overconfident.
Harry didn't bother to argue and threw out a retort.
"You've been waiting outside Anson's house for three days and nights without seeing a single shadow, and now with half of Los Angeles on the lookout, no one has found Anson's whereabouts. Are you sure you're not hallucinating?"
The person on the other end immediately went silent, mumbling without making any sense.
Harry didn't say anything more and hung up the phone with a snap.
Normally, paparazzi work alone, and to uncover exclusives, they need to endure loneliness, each with their own informants and networks.
But this time, no one had any leads, and they gradually started exchanging information. Harry even mobilized a group of companions, determined to dig up Anson, even if it meant digging three feet into the ground.
Not just in Los Angeles, but resources in New York, Chicago, Seattle, Atlanta, and other major cities were also mobilized, yet nothing was found.
Anson had disappeared right under their noses.
Of course, many possibilities existed; maybe Anson had already left North America, but Harry had secretly followed Anson's agent, Edgar, for a while and even kept an eye on Edgar's assistant—
He had a bold guess: Anson was still in Los Angeles.
So, they returned to the most basic and simple method:
Stakeouts.
Five days had passed in the blink of an eye, yet there was still no clue. Although some figures were seen here and there, they couldn't be confirmed.
The whole situation was becoming increasingly strange.
Perhaps other colleagues weren't serious enough during their surveillance, missing the opportunity, as long periods of stakeouts made it hard to stay focused; or maybe Anson never returned, and their judgments were completely wrong, with those figures they saw being nothing more than wishful thinking.
In any case, there were many possibilities that Harry didn't want or dare to think too deeply about.
Taking a deep breath, Harry regained his composure and turned his gaze back to the villa.
So, was the figure he saw in the villa last night really Anson? Or was it one of Anson's roommates? Or was it just a... phantom of the opera?
Calm. He needed to stay calm.
After all, this was a battle of endurance, with no idea when or if they would see any light at the end of the tunnel.
Wait—
Something's happening.
Harry's pupils narrowed as he pressed himself against the seat, hiding his figure. He definitely didn't want to be discovered by Anson.
If his location was exposed, Harry didn't know what storm he would be swept into next.
Now Harry finally understood what Tom Cruise felt like in "Mission: Impossible," sweating bullets from sheer tension, despite remaining still. The sweat poured down, hot and heavy, dripping from his temples.
But Harry remained focused, his attention fully on the villa, completely unaware of his condition.
Until... was that Chris Evans?
Damn!
Wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap, even though his facial features weren't clear, there was no doubt it was Chris. Under the morning sun, it only took a brief observation to distinguish between Chris and Anson, making Harry want to curse—
As expected, bad premonitions are never wrong.
Exhaling a long breath, Harry's tense shoulders relaxed, slumping into his seat like a pile of mush, staring blankly at Chris.
It seemed Anson wasn't there; last night's appearance was probably just Chris. But if Anson's room light did indeed turn on last night, then why? What was Chris doing in Anson's room?
His thoughts paused.
Noticing Chris entering the driver's seat and driving away, Harry, almost unconsciously, started his engine and followed.
Why?
There was no reason, just a gut feeling, or perhaps instinct. Since there were no leads at the villa, he might as well try his luck.
Chris' vehicle showed nothing suspicious, following familiar streets and scenery. As time went on, Harry grew increasingly doubtful that he was chasing shadows.
Chris?
What was he thinking? Why did he think following Chris would lead to a clue?
A quick glance around showed they were heading north of Los Angeles, not quite to Burbank, but in the hills near Universal Studios.
Harry quickly realized Chris was probably heading to an audition. There were three audition companies nearby, so actors were naturally common in the area. Chris' behavior was perfectly normal.
Phew.
Exhaling a long breath, Harry calmed down, realizing this was pointless. He should turn around and head back to the villa, continue the stakeout; but just then, he noticed a figure out of the corner of his eye stepping out.
That was—
Wait, was that... Conor?