The Ford sedan sped east along Seventh Street in Santa Monica, Henry's eyes fixed ahead, his ears constantly catching every sound from the police scanner. Maybe his recent streak of good luck had run out—after circling around Santa Monica, he still hadn’t found any news worth rushing to film.

Night was falling deeper. This was bustling Santa Monica, and instead of thinning, the traffic on the streets seemed to be increasing. Henry deliberately cruised the streets lined with bars and nightclubs, hoping to get lucky and catch a Hollywood star drunkenly causing a scene or something similar.

Although Santa Monica was home to quite a few Hollywood celebrities, such good fortune wasn’t something you could count on every day. After making a round with no results, Henry had no choice but to leave and try his luck in the Santa Monica Valley.

The Santa Monica Valley was inhabited by people of considerable means. For someone in Henry’s line of work, buying property here was out of the question, at least in the short term.

Henry drove slowly along the main road. The entire valley area was unusually quiet. Ordinary people might enjoy the peace here, but he did not.

“Hurry up and let something happen, even a burglary would do.”

Gripping the steering wheel, Henry muttered to himself in the car, hoping that something unexpected or violent would break the calm of this residential area, so he could capture something valuable—at the very least, enough to cover tonight’s gas.

After buying this used Ford, the cost of modifying the passenger seat with a camera mount, and hiring a lawyer for himself, Henry was actually running low on funds. When you’re broke, your ambitions shrink. In his situation, what he needed most was to quickly score another payday, to avoid sitting around and watching his money run out.

But things didn’t go his way. By the time he was about to leave the Santa Monica Valley, the police scanner still hadn’t produced any valuable leads. Instead, there was a report of a car crashing into a streetlight in West Hollywood, and the police dispatch was calling nearby patrol cars to respond.

Henry couldn’t help but press the gas pedal, preparing to head over—after all, it wasn’t far, and if he got there in time, he might catch some valuable footage, at least enough to pay for gas.

Just as Henry stepped on the gas and the car began to pick up speed, a sudden urgent female voice came through the police scanner.

“All units in Santa Monica, a 211 in progress at 17 Bill Road in the Valley! Repeat, this is a 211 in progress…”

Hearing this, Henry didn’t hesitate for a second. He slammed on the brakes and made a U-turn, speeding back the way he came, much faster than before.

Bill Road wasn’t far from the main road he was on—just three intersections away.

The Ford sedan shot forward like a black bolt of lightning. Behind the wheel, Henry was not only alert, but clearly a little excited.

A 211 meant armed robbery, and if he remembered correctly, the area around Bill Road in the Valley was home to some very wealthy people.

News of an armed robbery targeting the extremely rich—how much could that footage sell for?

Chapter 8: This Is the Big Break

Tall palm trees lined both sides of the road in neat rows, behind them long walls, with streetlights on the walls casting a warm yellow glow, illuminating the smooth, straight Bill Road in the Santa Monica Valley. Everything here exuded the unique tranquility and order of a wealthy district, as if the chaos of the outside world could never reach this place.

The roar of a car engine shattered the silence. A black Ford sedan, paying no heed to the fact that this was a residential area, whipped onto Bill Road at over fifty miles per hour. The driver’s skills weren’t great—the car skidded noticeably as it turned, but luckily there was no accident.

The previous owner had been here before. After Henry got the Ford onto the straightaway, he quickly accelerated to seventy miles per hour, charging forward guided by the hazy memories in his mind.

Palm trees and yellow streetlights flashed past the windows. Henry kept glancing to the left front, and after nearly half a minute, finally spotted a luxurious wrought-iron gate. The gate was wide open, like a giant mouth ready to swallow everything.

Henry didn’t stop immediately. Instead, he drove another fifty feet before pulling over at the roadside. He grabbed the camera from the passenger seat mount and got out as fast as he could, running toward the gate he’d just seen.

As always, Henry observed as he ran, turning on the camera at the same time.

The road was clearly visible under the yellow light. After a quick scan, Henry couldn’t help but pump his fist in excitement—he didn’t see any police, police cars, or fellow reporters. This was definitely an exclusive.

Exclusives could fetch top dollar!

Henry wasn’t too surprised. Because he was so close, it had taken him less than two minutes to get here. This was deep in the valley; the police would probably need more time.

Reaching the open gate, Henry didn’t hesitate at all and rushed straight in, not caring that this was private property. After his time in prison, he’d learned a lot from his predecessor’s experiences—one of which was to find himself a lawyer who seemed very competent.