Chapter 8: This Time, It's a Big One

Tall palm trees lined both sides of the road in neat rows, behind which stretched long walls. The streetlights on the walls emitted a soft yellow glow, illuminating the gentle, straight road of Beal Road in the Santa Monica Valley. Everything here exuded the unique peace and order of a wealthy district, seemingly untouched by the chaos of the outside world.

The roar of a car engine shattered this tranquility. A black Ford car, heedless of the residential area, roared onto Beal Road at over fifty miles per hour. The driver's skill was evidently lacking, as the car skidded during the turn, but fortunately, there was no accident.

Murphy, familiar with the area from previous visits, accelerated the Ford to seventy miles per hour as he drove straight ahead, relying on his hazy memory to guide him.

Palm trees and yellow streetlights flashed by the windows. Murphy kept glancing ahead to the left, and after about half a minute, he finally saw an imposing wrought iron gate, which was wide open, like a giant mouth ready to swallow everything.

Murphy didn't stop immediately but continued forward for another fifty feet before parking the car by the roadside. He grabbed the camcorder from the mount on the passenger seat and quickly got out, running toward the gate he had just spotted.

As usual, Murphy ran while observing his surroundings and turned on the camcorder.

The road was clearly visible under the yellowish light. Murphy glanced around and, seeing no police, patrol cars, or competitors, excitedly pumped his fist. It was clearly an exclusive scoop.

An exclusive story could fetch a high price!

Murphy wasn't too surprised. He had arrived in less than two minutes due to the short distance. Being in the valley's depths, the police would likely take longer to arrive.

Reaching the open gate, Murphy didn't hesitate. He dashed in, not caring that it was private property. After a stint in prison, he had learned many lessons, including the importance of having a good lawyer.

In his line of work, legal disputes were inevitable, and professional problems required professional solutions. This was one reason he was urgently in need of money.

While running and filming, Murphy's mind wandered briefly, reflecting on the high cost of living a decent life in this country.

After more than a year of experience, Murphy confirmed that America was far from the paradise some had once claimed.

Murphy ran over two hundred feet before he finally glimpsed the luxurious mansion hidden behind the front garden trees. Though slightly out of breath, he was more excited than tired.

Such a lavish property wouldn't cost less than several million dollars. The news of a wealthy individual being robbed at gunpoint would undoubtedly be highly attractive, fetching a high price from TV stations.

Despite the lure of profit pushing him to trespass, Murphy didn't lose his head. Approaching the mansion, he left the neat stone path of the front yard and slipped into the nearby woods, using the trees for cover as he crept closer.

Throughout this process, he kept his camcorder trained on the mansion's entrance.

Time was limited, and he couldn't miss any filming opportunities.

Murphy reached the edge of the woods and, through a gap in the greenery, saw a black Cadillac parked near the dimly lit entrance. He instinctively turned on the camcorder's light and pointed it in that direction.

Just one second into filming, a sharp noise came from inside the mansion. Murphy started and quickly turned off the light, stepping back to hide behind a thick palm tree.

"Did I arrive too soon? Are the robbers still here?"

The noise was unmistakably a gunshot. Sweat trickled down Murphy's forehead. With his prison experience, he knew how ruthless armed robbers could be.

"Should I leave while the robbers haven't noticed me?"

This thought flashed through Murphy's mind, but he hesitated for less than two seconds before dismissing it. This was a golden opportunity.

No police were here, and the robbers hadn't left. If he could film something significant, what kind of sensation would it cause?

A year in prison had toughened him considerably. He was no longer the naive, timid student he once was. That hellish life had forged a resilient side in him.

The mansion's front was dark, and there was no light in the woods. Confident that he was relatively safe from detection, Murphy aimed the camcorder at the mansion's entrance, like a hunter waiting for his prey, and held his breath.

He had no idea what was happening inside the mansion, only that someone had called the police, and someone had fired a gun.

He waited for the most valuable shot to appear.

Seconds ticked by. Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps and muffled arguing came from the mansion. Murphy's tension peaked, sweat dripping more freely from his forehead. He could almost hear his heart pounding.

Yet Murphy's hand, holding the camcorder, remained as steady as the Santa Monica Mountains, keeping the lens firmly focused on the mansion's entrance.

The footsteps grew closer, the arguing louder.

Finally, two tall, muscular black men emerged, cautiously scanning their surroundings. Seeing nothing amiss, they ran towards the Cadillac.

Murphy kept the camcorder focused on them, eyes fixed on their dark faces, and switched to a close-up, capturing them perfectly.

Despite the dim light, Murphy's filming skills ensured the faces were clearly visible.

The black Cadillac roared to life and sped out of the estate along the same road Murphy had come.

Parting the greenery in front of him, Murphy left the woods and sprinted toward the mansion entrance. In just a few seconds, he reached the door, raised his camcorder, and turned on the light, filming the open entrance for a while. Listening intently, he heard no sounds inside and clenched his fist in excitement, stepping onto the steps leading into the mansion.

To capture sensational footage and secure high-value exclusives, extreme measures were sometimes necessary.

Cautiously walking up the steps and through the entrance, Murphy quickly scanned the area. Seeing no immediate danger, he aimed the camcorder ahead, filming as he moved forward.

Past the entrance lay a massive living room. Murphy's eyes widened slightly. On a sofa to his right lay a middle-aged man, blood staining his chest, the couch, and the nearby floor. The air reeked of blood and gunpowder, almost triggering a gag reflex.

Murphy remained calm, his hands and the camera steady. He filmed a wide shot before moving closer for detailed close-ups, then focused on a Remington shotgun on the floor behind the sofa, a common household defense model.

After filming the shotgun, Murphy moved through the living room and climbed the stairs to the second floor, recording continuously. In the master bedroom, he found a white woman sprawled on the floor, her back a bloody mess, showing no signs of life. She held a phone, suggesting she might have called the police.

As downstairs, Murphy avoided the blood, filming wide shots and close-ups without checking on the victim's condition.

He knew his purpose there.

Leaving the master bedroom, he checked an adjacent room but found nothing valuable. He quickly descended the stairs. Through a glass door, he spotted two more bodies in the dining room and went over to film them.

"It's time to go!"

Murphy muttered to himself, running toward the front door. From entering to now, over a minute had passed. The police could arrive any second. If they found him, it would not only add complications but also jeopardize the footage.

This was highly valuable news!

Clutching the camcorder tightly, Murphy sprinted out of the estate. He could hear police sirens in the distance. There was no time to lose.

Jumping into the black Ford, Murphy tossed the camcorder onto the passenger seat and sped off. After turning out of Beal Road, he breathed a bit easier but kept driving. Soon, two police cars whizzed past, heading to the scene.

Murphy's tension dissipated, replaced by excitement.

Having worked in this field for some time, he knew how valuable this footage was!

Leaving the Santa Monica Valley, Murphy found a place to park. He immediately pumped his fist in triumph.

"Well done, buddy!" He looked at himself in the rearview mirror, grinning. "This is our exclusive! Ours! We're going to make it big!"

The past year's struggles had shown Murphy the hardships of survival and the difficulty of success.

Now, he understood that to succeed, he had to seize every opportunity and keep moving forward, no matter who or what he encountered.

To achieve success in America, money was an indispensable foundation.

Planning how to sell the footage, Murphy calmed himself a bit, retrieved his laptop from the back seat, and connected it to the camcorder's storage drive, playing the newly shot video.

The footage started from his entry into the estate and ended as he left the mansion. Although it was only three minutes long, Murphy knew it would earn him far more than all his previous earnings combined.

"Perfect!" He murmured, watching the video. "You did an amazing job, buddy!"

After watching the footage again, Murphy paused at the scene of the two black men driving away.

The video showed the car model, license plate, and a clear view of the men's faces. This footage would be crucial evidence for the police.

Murphy frowned slightly, contemplating whether to cut this part and give it to the police.