Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

"Why are you here?"

As soon as Martin got out of the car, he walked toward Lindsay.

Lindsay pouted, looking worried. "I was a little concerned, so I came along with Officer Paul, the team leader. You're not mad, are you?"

The girl looked at Martin cautiously.

"Of course not. Why would I be mad at you for doing the right thing?" Martin lovingly hugged her and ruffled her hair.

Rachel McAdams watched their interaction enviously, wishing she could take Lindsay's place.

Then, out of the corner of her eye—

She saw Wentworth getting out of Martin's car.

And right after him, a curvy young Caucasian woman.

"Wentworth, why are you in Martin's car?"

Rachel McAdams was so shocked that Wentworth couldn't help but feel a little smug.

Trying to sound nonchalant, he said, "Martin and I have known each other for a long time."

But that momentary smugness was quickly replaced by worry. "Charles was my recommendation, and Amanda's disappearance is partly my responsibility, so I had to come along."

If anything happened to Amanda, he feared Martin would cut him off for good.

Damn it. He swore to himself: from now on, unless he knew someone inside and out, he would never blindly vouch for them again—if he even got another chance!

Rachel hadn't expected Wentworth to have ties with Martin. But seeing his anxious expression, she knew that if this case wasn't handled properly, it could seriously damage Wentworth's career.

So, being smart, she didn't press further. Instead, she nodded toward Chelsea and asked in a low voice, "Who's she?"

"Chelsea, a dancer. She's Charles' lover. Martin paid a price to get this location out of her."

"Oh!"

Hearing that she was just a dancer with no real connection to Martin, Rachel immediately lost interest in engaging with her.

Meanwhile, Chelsea was staring in shock at Lindsay, who had just thrown herself into Martin's arms.

"Wait… isn't that Lindsay Lohan, the actress?!"

Then Chelsea turned to look at Martin, her shock deepening. What did Lindsay just call him? Martin?

Martin Meyers?!

What the—? It was actually Martin Meyers?!

"Alright, let's head in."

After finally calming Lindsay down, Martin shook hands with Officer Paul and naturally took over command.

And Paul didn't show the slightest resistance.

Martin was a major financial backer of both the LAPD and the Hollywood police force. With that status, he had only needed a little magic to win over Officer Paul.

With their leader showing no objections, the lower-ranking officers naturally followed suit.

Everyone instinctively clustered around Martin as they entered the warehouse manager's office.

Paul then used his authority to locate the warehouse Charles had rented—except it wasn't just one warehouse. It was three.

A short while later, the group drove to the warehouse entrance.

"This is it—1011, 1012, and 1013. The three units are connected," the warehouse manager said.

"Open it," Paul ordered.

The manager rolled up the shutter of warehouse 1011, releasing a gust of dust along with a faint, strange odor.

What the hell was that smell?

As soon as a few officers pulled out five cardboard boxes from inside, the strange odor intensified.

The officers opened the first box, and their expressions immediately changed—it was filled with women's underwear of all kinds, and all of them appeared to have been worn.

"Holy shit!" Chelsea gasped. "No wonder I could never find my panties after spending the night with him!"

"This guy is definitely a pervert," Paul said, his expression darkening.

If there had been any doubts before, they were gone now—Charles was almost certainly connected to Amanda's disappearance.

The officers opened another box—more underwear.

Then the third box. This time, it wasn't underwear but photographs of women, some clothed, some not. Many were clearly taken secretly, filling nearly half the box.

The fourth box contained newspapers. Each newspaper had sections circled in red or blue ink. One officer quickly flipped through them and suddenly exclaimed—

"Holy shit! The circled sections are all news reports on murder cases from recent years. Could he have done all of them?!"

"Wait—" The officer stared at a specific article, growing even more shocked. "This is the Ashley Ellin murder case! Damn it, could Charles actually be Michael Gargiulo?!"

Paul, now just as excited, snatched the newspaper. Sure enough, the Ashley Ellin murder case had been marked in red ink, with a smiley face drawn next to it.

"Charles Gargiulo… Michael Gargiulo… I should've realized it sooner! Haha! There's no way he's getting away now!!!"

Paul shouted in exhilaration.

Then, the officers opened the last box.

A powerful stench immediately burst out—it was filled with used tissues, still stained with filth.

"Holy shit, this fucking freak!"

The officer who opened the box recoiled instantly, gagging and covering his nose.

Martin, Lindsay, Rachel, and the others all hurriedly backed away.

Paul pinched his nose and pointed at two officers. "You two, seal this up. It's all evidence."

The unlucky officers held their breath as they reluctantly moved in.

Martin, meanwhile, turned to the stunned warehouse manager. "Open another one."

The manager opened warehouse 1012, revealing a second-hand Cadillac.

"Fuck! That's my car!" Wentworth shouted.

The officers searched the area, but aside from the car, there were no other clues.

Finally, the manager opened warehouse 1013.

Inside were numerous plastic mannequins, all in different poses. The one thing they had in common? Each had stab marks all over them.

"This bastard was practicing his knife skills on mannequins?!" Paul exclaimed.

"Martin, we still haven't found Amanda. What do we do?" Lindsay asked worriedly.

Martin, rubbing his chin, remained silent, his gaze fixed on the carpeted floor of the warehouse.

"Alright, take everything. We're wrapping up."

"Wait!"

Just as Paul gave the order, Martin stopped him.

"Mr. Martin, is there anything else?" Paul's obedience surprised even his own officers.

What a suck-up!

Some of them secretly rolled their eyes.

[GodOfReader: Sorry for not updating yesterday. My professor, who's practically on his deathbed, gave us a ton of projects to complete in just one day. Thanks to him, my groupmates and I only got three hours of sleep. I just got back from school and immediately started updating.]