Chapter 40 The Party Begins

In the early hours of the next day, Anton arrived in Los Angeles.

Los Angeles, home to Hollywood, was teeming with celebrities, and the reporters here were even more relentless than those in New York.

A group of people with cameras stood openly at the airport exit, waiting for Anton to appear.

With their network of contacts, they knew Anton's next destination as soon as he boarded a plane, even a private one. Someone was always willing to leak information to them.

Both the regular and VIP exits were covered, leaving Anton wondering how these reporters had managed to slip past security.

Every exit had eyes watching.

Los Angeles reporters were truly the kings of intel in the city.

Be it underground gossip or major international events, reporters were omnipresent.

"Fire everyone on that plane and replace them with new staff," Anton said, visibly irritated as he scanned the eager faces of the reporters waiting outside the door.

He knew that someone among his private jet's staff had leaked his information.

"Understood," Betty replied. "Would you like me to call airport security?"

"Yes, call them over," Anton sighed. He was truly at a loss with these reporters and lacked the experience to deal with them.

As the hidden owner of The Bugle, he understood better than anyone that answering even one question here would land him on the front page tomorrow.

He couldn't doubt it—he was famous enough for it now.

A few minutes later…

Surrounded by security guards, Anton got into a car and left, leaving no opening for the reporters.

As they crowded around, pointing their cameras at his face, it seemed they didn't even need to ask any questions.

The crowd of reporters followed Anton's car to a mansion near Los Angeles.

"What's he doing here?" one reporter asked in surprise.

"A party," another replied. "Jim moved the celebration up to 8 p.m. tonight. Anton's here to attend it."

"What?" the reporter exclaimed. "Wasn't the party scheduled for tomorrow?"

"It was moved up a day. Don't you know that? Maybe you should quit and go home to raise kids—this industry isn't for you."

The others cast scornful glances at him, as if he were utterly useless.

Time quickly shifted from the early morning to the evening.

Rested and refreshed, Anton drove to the party venue. In the passenger seat sat his personal assistant, Betty.

The reporters, of course, eagerly followed along.

Meanwhile, in New York…

Following Sloan's orders, Brotherhood members gathered near the Empire State Building.

Fox, the Mechanic, the Gunsmith, Mr. X, Exterminator, and the Butcher—all the top assassins were mobilized to take on Carlos.

They were among the world's best.

The full mobilization indicated how challenging they knew it would be to face Carlos.

Once a comrade, Carlos had never failed and was a legendary figure in the Brotherhood, admired by many in the assassin world.

His terrifying gun-fighting skills instilled fear among Brotherhood members.

Even High Table assassins ranked Carlos as one of the hardest people to kill, placing him above Sloan.

Technically speaking, John Wick was known as the "King of New York Assassins," but in reality, he wouldn't stand a chance against Carlos—at best, he could rival someone like Fox.

If John Wick could kill Carlos, the High Table wouldn't fear the Brotherhood so much.

But what the Brotherhood members didn't know was that their every move was being watched by a pair of glowing red eyes.

Whoosh!

In the dark, a towering figure lurked, with two long, pointed ears atop its head, resembling a humanoid rabbit.

Los Angeles, party time.

One celebrity after another arrived to attend this celebration for Batman Begins, which had surpassed $600 million at the global box office.

The journalists eagerly snapped photos, their flashbulbs adding a glitzy, almost surreal atmosphere to the party.

Naturally, they were kept outside the doors, able only to shoot from a distance, eyes full of anticipation.

A few female reporters, however, managed to link arms with "big names," walking proudly into the venue and drawing envious glares from the male reporters.

As one of the main figures of the event, Anton stood at the entrance, greeting the guests—some familiar, some not.

For the moment, everyone acted like long-lost friends.

Next to him was Jim Lambert, who had returned to prominence as a top producer thanks to Batman Begins.

Jim was radiating confidence, having shaken off the gloom of previous years.

"When are you planning to start shooting Batman's sequel?" Jim finally found a moment to chat with Anton as the guests arrived.

"It's already in the works," Anton replied. "Besides Batman, I have a few other projects lined up to run concurrently. Jim, have you thought about what I asked Betty to discuss with you?"

"You mean joining your new DC company?" Jim hesitated. "That decision affects my career planning. I need more time to think about it."

"That's fine, but I'm not very patient," Anton said nonchalantly. "You know, Hollywood doesn't have just one producer. Everyone's working hard."

Jim's expression shifted slightly. "I know. I'll get back to you soon."

"Alright, let's head in," Anton said, changing the subject. "Everyone's here; it's time for the main event."

With that, he walked into the crowd.

Jim lingered a moment, watching Anton in the crowd, a slight smile on his face, then followed.

Another ten minutes passed.

Anton's gaze shifted.

If someone had been watching his eyes, they might have noticed that he seemed to be seeing a different scene altogether.

The vision was not of the party, but a scene cloaked in deep darkness.

New York, Empire State Building.

Carlos, disguised as a janitor, moved through the hallways.

This showdown—whether it was the Brotherhood tracking him down or him deliberately revealing his location—was intended to allow him to give the Brotherhood's top assassins a heavy blow with full preparation.

Years of being hunted had made him weary of this life.

He intended to settle things with the Brotherhood's elites once and for all.

Either he would die, or they would.

Click!

Suddenly, the building's lights went out, someone having cut the power.

In the evening, a power outage was common enough not to attract much attention—except Carlos, whose eyebrows shot up.

It seemed the Brotherhood was already in the building.

Meanwhile, the Brotherhood members, seeing the darkened lights, also suspected it was Carlos's doing.

Neither side realized a third party was watching them from the shadows.