**Chapter 271: Information Overload**

*Smack!*

Harry clutched his head, utterly despondent, slumping into the passenger seat as a torrent of emotions—regret, frustration, disappointment—overwhelmed him. His eyes began to well up with tears.

But!

After taking a deep breath, Harry sat up straight, pulling himself together. Moping wouldn't change anything; he needed to stay focused. The day wasn't over yet—he still had to track down Anson and Kristen. As long as he could get those photos, the entire day's work could still be salvaged.

...Wait a minute, who is that?

Looking up, Harry saw Anson at his door, embracing someone warmly. The figure looked somewhat familiar, just enough to make Harry gasp in shock.

No way!

Harry sucked in a breath sharply. That person was—

Jake! Jake Gyllenhaal!

Jake might still be a rising actor, but there was no way Harry, a seasoned paparazzo, wouldn't recognize him. After all, the Gyllenhaal name had presence in Hollywood, and with Maggie Gyllenhaal's career also flourishing, Harry recognized Jake instantly.

But…

Does Anson know Jake? Why is Jake standing at Anson's door? Isn't Anson supposed to meet Kristen later? Was the whole thing with Kristen a lie? What's the connection between Anson and Jake?

Wait, wait, wait—if Anson knew Jake was here, he definitely wouldn't have invited a paparazzo to drive him home!

So, is this all some kind of setup? A pre-arranged show for the paparazzi? But why? What's the purpose?

Or is it just a coincidence? But could it really be that simple? Just an accident? There are no accidents in Hollywood!

Ugh!

Harry felt like his brain was about to explode.

He was so overwhelmed by the chaotic flood of thoughts that he completely forgot his instincts, even failing to pick up his camera to capture the scene in front of him.

If Anson knew what Harry was thinking, he would've burst out laughing.

There's no need for that, really. Not everything is so complicated, and not every situation is a conspiracy. Sometimes, coincidences do happen.

"Jake?"

It wasn't just Harry—Anson, too, was surprised to see Jake Gyllenhaal in front of him. Delight flickered across his face, but before he could fully react, Jake had already pulled him into a big, enthusiastic hug.

Anson looked slightly annoyed: Great, another hug monster, just like Chris.

"I didn't get the dates wrong, did I? You said you'd be here the day after tomorrow?"

Not long ago, Jake had contacted Anson, telling him he was coming to New York to audition for a role but wasn't sure how long he'd stay. He asked if there might be a chance to meet up during Anson's breaks from filming.

Anson had warmly extended an invitation, offering Jake a place to stay at his apartment during the auditions, and suggesting they could hang out after Anson's daily shooting schedule.

Jake had happily accepted.

But things had shifted slightly—Jake arrived two days earlier than expected.

Jake released the hug and flashed a slightly shy, yet charming smile. "Yeah, I came two days early. If you've got other guests at your place, I can find somewhere else to stay…"

Without missing a beat, Jake playfully teased Anson, his bashfulness not diminishing the humor in his words.

Anson raised an eyebrow subtly, responding with a meaningful tone, "You think I'm that careless?"

They exchanged a look and burst into laughter.

Anson patted Jake on the back. "Let's head upstairs. No need to stand around here in the cold. New York's March winds are still biting."

Jake glanced behind Anson and asked, "Where's your assistant? Is everything okay?"

"Assistant?" Anson followed Jake's gaze, then saw Harry, who was visibly conflicted. Anson chuckled heartily, "That's not my assistant; that's a paparazzo. No worries."

"Uh…," Jake responded, caught off guard.

Anson didn't elaborate further and led Jake into the apartment building, leaving Harry scrambling in the driver's seat to fetch his camera from the back.

Regardless of the situation, a paparazzo's priority was always to capture the moment, whether or not the photos would be useful later. But by the time Harry fumbled to get his camera and snapped a shot, it was too late—he only managed to capture two blurry figures.

"Damn it!" Harry cursed under his breath. He had already messed up several times that afternoon, but after a few deep breaths, he regained his composure. No matter what, he could still follow Anson's next move. Whether it was Jake Gyllenhaal or Kristen Dunst, there was always something to uncover. Even if he didn't get a blockbuster scoop tonight, he could still dig up something significant.

With his professional instincts back in place, Harry quickly got out of the car to survey the building. He checked for other exits, only to realize the building had three. With only himself to cover them, it was impossible to monitor all of them at once.

Panic began to set in.

Rushing back to the main entrance, Harry hid his camera and tidied himself up before confidently walking into the lobby. There, he was met by a uniformed doorman standing sternly at the front desk, like a guardian.

But Harry had regained his cool, explaining he was there to visit his friend Anson Wood. He mentioned that a mutual friend had just arrived, and he was only a bit late.

His colorful and half-truthful story seemed to work. The doorman, unsuspecting, replied, "Mr. Wood has already left."

Harry was thunderstruck, frozen in place as if struck by lightning.

After regaining his senses, he quickly asked, "Did they call for a cab? Which company?"

Paparazzi had their own ways of gathering information. In big cities like Los Angeles and New York, while it was possible to hail a cab on the street, it was often easier to call a cab company directly. And in high-end private apartments like this one, the doorman often acted as a concierge, frequently handling such requests.

If Harry knew the cab company, he could track down the destination by location and time, and he could still catch up with Anson. Anson shouldn't think he could get away that easily…

"What?"

Harry couldn't believe his ears, staring in shock at the doorman.

This reaction made the doorman suspicious. "You can just call your friend directly to confirm. No need for me to relay messages, right?"

Harry, like a malfunctioning robot, struggled to control his expression and muttered, "Right, I'll call him now."

He even forgot to counter the doorman's suggestion by saying something like "Anson doesn't like to carry his phone." After all, it was still common in 2000 not to carry a phone everywhere.

But Harry had no mind for excuses now. He left the apartment building in a daze, standing on the street, feeling utterly defeated.

Anson hadn't called for a cab.

Either he hailed one on the street—unlikely, since Harry hadn't seen any cabs around the building's exits—or Anson simply walked away.

So, he just… left?

Now, trying to find Anson in New York was like searching for a needle in a haystack.