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"...Catch him, the paparazzi is trying to take pictures."
Lucas stood at the hospital room door, watching Harry's figure retreating like a beaten dog, shouting out loud, paying no mind to the hospital's order at this point—
To be precise, the strategy was to blow things up as much as possible; the bigger the scene, the better. Inevitably, it disturbed the peace, like poking a hole in the sky.
Fortunately, Anson was in the VIP ward, where each room had excellent soundproofing, so no patients were disturbed. Instead, the nurses at the station and some passing staff caught sight of the commotion and immediately noticed the paparazzo sprinting down the hospital corridor.
Squeak.
Harry, in his haste, was in such a rush that the footsteps and shouts behind him closed in, right on his heels. Panicked, he slipped, his whole body shooting forward like a bowling ball, sliding uncontrollably across the white tiles before crashing into the wall, coming to a violent stop.
Even the onlookers winced involuntarily at the sight.
But Harry didn't care at all. He scrambled to his feet, using both hands and feet, and without even thinking of a direction, darted off in any random way.
Thud, thud, thud.
The sound of footsteps quickly approached from behind, pounding Harry's heart with every step. He ran faster and faster, rivaling an Olympic sprinter.
At the door, Lucas didn't give chase. He stood there stomping his feet, making noise by stomping against the tiles, shouting for the men in black suits to chase after Harry. He watched as Harry's figure disappeared, arms crossed over his chest, exuding a cold, unapproachable aura as he kept staring in the direction Harry fled.
The atmosphere was chaotic and tense.
A nurse nervously approached Lucas, carefully seeking his approval before entering the room to check on the "shaken" Anson.
After a quick examination, the nurse left, and rumors began to spread like wildfire throughout Mount Sinai Hospital:
A bold paparazzo had sneaked into the VIP ward, trying to secretly take pictures of Anson.
Anson was startled, Lucas was furious, and just as the incident where Anson got injured on set hadn't calmed down, the media frenzy surged again. Despite the unclear condition of the patient lying in the hospital bed, they still showed no mercy.
Hollywood really is a ruthless place.
In no time, gossip and sighs spread across the hospital.
Lucas patiently continued his act at the door, making sure the situation had calmed down before finally reentering the room and closing the door.
"So, what exactly is your plan?"
Lucas walked to the bedside, glancing at the pills on the nightstand, which the nurse had brought for Anson—
Phenobarbital.
Used to calm people down, but it can also suppress breathing and circulation, and it's addictive.
Silently, Lucas pocketed the pills.
Anson noticed this and looked at Lucas with a speechless expression.
Lucas met his gaze unashamedly. "Why did you let him go?"
Things had gone a bit off track.
The original plan was to lure the snake out of its hole and catch Harry red-handed. No matter how he tried to argue, they just needed to search his camera to find the evidence—
The truth would be revealed.
However, Anson had let Harry leave.
Lucas was slightly surprised, confused even, but in the blink of an eye, he decided to play along and put on a good show.
In that short time, Lucas quickly grasped the situation and adjusted on the spot, making noise without knowing Anson's full plan.
That way, regardless of what Anson had in mind, Lucas had a backup plan—
Even if Anson wanted to let Harry go, Lucas wasn't willing to.
"Don't tell me you were convinced by his sweet talk. I'm not a prosecutor, but his words are totally untrustworthy. We have to consider the credibility of witnesses, after all."
Lucas deadpanned.
Anson couldn't help but laugh, "Thanks for the cooperation."
Lucas: "What if I hadn't cooperated and insisted on catching him?"
Anson: "Same result. Honestly, I was hoping you'd use force, and we could have a Colombian soap opera right here."
Lucas: "...So, what's your plan?"
After all that, Lucas circled back to his question.
Anson chuckled, "I just realized that I'm not sure if his camera even has any pictures from the set. If not, they might be on his computer or in a darkroom at his place. Either way, if we can't catch him red-handed, we might need the NYPD to issue a search warrant."
"You know how messy that can get."
"Even if we catch him, what's the endgame?"
"The police arrest him, and then what?"
Lucas paused. Dealing with paparazzi legally was much harder than it seemed. If it weren't, Sean Penn wouldn't have resorted to punching a photographer to get justice himself.
Even with solid evidence, at most, Harry would face a charge of accidental injury. Whether it's detention or a fine, it likely wouldn't be severe, just a slap on the wrist.
And the result?
Harry might even become famous overnight. Far from ruining his career, it might actually boost it.
Absurd? Yes, but that's reality.
Lucas looked at Anson, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
Anson continued, "Even if we could punish him legally, a fine of a few thousand dollars or a hundred hours of community service won't hurt. Or if you beat him up and he ends up in the hospital, he might even win sympathy and gain more attention."
"Lucas, do you know how to really hurt someone?"
"Take away what they care about most. Some people care about money, some about reputation, some about family, and some about their lives. Everyone values something different. But if you take away what they value most, that's how you really hurt them."
His voice was calm, tranquil, but beneath that, the scars were visible.
It wasn't anger or hatred, but a sense of weary experience, of someone who's been through the wringer.
Lucas quietly watched Anson, his deep eyes reflecting a quiet sadness.
Noticing this, Anson turned away, embarrassed. "What? Do I seem scary to you?"
Lucas: "No."
Anson was surprised and looked back at Lucas.
Lucas: "Anson, remember this—you're my brother. I'll never think you're scary."
Anson's eyes grew warm, and he quickly closed them. "Ha. Ha. Lucas, be careful with those words."
Lucas didn't mind, "On the contrary, I'm happy for you. My brother has grown up. He's no longer the little fledgling I had to shield; he knows how to fight back, how to protect himself."
"Though I wish you never had to learn these things, since you wouldn't need them, you chose Hollywood, and you had to grow up."
"So, what's the strategy in your mind? How do you plan to hurt him?"