Chapter 763: Private Detective!

As Martin finished transcribing the routine scene, he glanced up at Detective Jack, a seasoned investigator from the Boston Police Detective Bureau, and remarked, "Looks like this one's causing you a bit of hassle."

Detective Jack chuckled, his eyes reflecting years of experience, "Ah, just another day at the office. We'll get to the bottom of it."

They exchanged a handshake before Detective Jack's team began gathering evidence, collecting videos, and snapping photos, while Martin's crew members were diligently taking notes.

Soon enough, Brandon found himself escorted from the hospital by the Boston police, his bag revealing a stash sizable enough to raise suspicion of drug possession.

Martin hopped into Bruce's waiting car, the two of them heading back to their hotel together.

During the ride, Martin couldn't help but wonder aloud, "Do you think Brandon was really acting?"

Bruce, having shadowed Martin throughout Hollywood for years, pondered the question. "Doesn't seem like it. These addicts, their reality is often a world apart from ours."

Martin, well aware of the dark underbelly of Hollywood, expressed his concern, "Given our history, it's best we double-check everything."

Understanding Martin's unease, Bruce made a mental note to hire a private detective, not fully relying on the Boston police for such matters.

"This isn't LA," Martin mused, "If Brandon slips through the cracks, they'll just slap him with a drug charge."

Bruce nodded, "We need to broaden our scope beyond just knives and guns when it comes to props."

"Leave that to you," Martin nodded in agreement as they arrived at the hotel.

While Martin headed inside, Bruce parked the car and began making calls, ensuring they left no stone unturned.

Back in the hotel room, Martin found Alexandra and Catherine, who had returned from shopping, eager for the latest gossip.

"So, what's the scoop from the set?" Alexandra inquired.

"Just a minor hiccup, someone goofed up with the props..." Martin divulged, opting to keep certain details about the illicit vitamins to himself.

Catherine breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank goodness you caught it in time."

Martin shrugged off his coat and sank into the sofa, "Hollywood's full of these kinds of mishaps."

Catherine gracefully took Martin's coat, delicately hanging it on the hanger, while Alexandra had already settled onto the sofa, enveloping Martin in her comforting embrace.

Gently guiding Martin to the plush cushions, Alexandra began to sway him rhythmically, as if coaxing out every last ounce of tension. "Feeling a bit wound up? Let me help you unwind," she murmured soothingly.

Martin melted into the embrace, feeling as though he were floating on a cloud.

Observing Alexandra's adept technique, Catherine seethed inwardly at the unfair advantage she held, swiftly joining the comforting fray.

While Alexandra opted for subtle gestures, Catherine dove straight into washing Martin's hair, her direct approach proving equally effective.

In moments, Martin's nerves melted away entirely, his entire being surrendering to relaxation.

As the sisters vied for Martin's attention, employing various techniques, their efforts culminated in a late-night snack outing around ten o'clock.

With a hint of cheese lingering on her lips, Catherine turned to Martin, concern evident in her eyes. "Feeling better now?"

Pouring wine for his companions, Martin's gratitude shone through. "With you two by my side, how could I be anything but content?"

Alexandra's icy gaze sparkled mischievously as she teased, "We sisters are here for you. If you're feeling blue, it's a testament to our utter lack of charm, wit, and humor."

Martin, ever astute, redirected the conversation to Catherine, recognizing her as the focal point. "Are you comfortable with singing and dancing? We'll mainly focus on the dance routines."

Quick on her feet, Catherine assured, "I'm a decent singer, though not a pro. But dancing? That's my forte. I come from a dance-loving family, been honing my skills since childhood, even cheered in middle school."

A silent agreement passed between Martin and Alexandra, the latter gracefully conceding her sister's moment in the spotlight.

Having assessed Catherine's abilities firsthand, Martin revealed, "I have a musical project in the works. Head to my studio in Los Angeles, find Jessica. Here's her number." He jotted it down on a napkin, passing it to Catherine. "The role is a supporting one, next to the lead. You'll need to audition, meet the criteria."

Eager to seize the opportunity, Catherine eagerly accepted, pledging, "I'll head to LA first thing tomorrow."

Aware of her sister's excitement, Alexandra swiftly ushered them back to the room, ensuring Catherine's impatience didn't overshadow the evening.

As Martin settled in for the night, he couldn't help but appreciate the complexities of human interaction, understanding why some chose the path of least resistance. After all, psychological and spiritual fulfillment were truly worlds apart.

The following morning, Catherine Daddario, having secured her tickets, bid farewell to Boston and boarded a direct flight to Los Angeles.

As the crew resumed filming after a brief hiatus, Bruce found himself not only scrutinizing props but also ensuring Martin's well-being on set, leaving him stretched thin.

Martin, feeling the strain, noticed a dip in his performance, resulting in a flurry of NGs—those dreaded "no good" takes.

The fickle nature of performance baffled him; what flowed effortlessly one day seemed unattainable the next, leaving the entire crew in a collective state of torment.

Thankfully, Martin's dual role as actor and producer commanded cooperation from all, including director Villeneuve, who promptly rearranged the shooting schedule, prioritizing action sequences where Martin thrived.

Amidst the vibrant set of a studio-decorated flower shop, Martin engaged in a riveting shootout with Charleston's underworld boss and his cronies, a spectacle of flying petals and sprayed blood executed flawlessly by Martin, scene after scene.

With meticulous adjustments and Martin's regained focus, the crew found their rhythm once more, culminating in Alexandra's final scene before departing.

Moved by Martin's gesture of gifting her the blindfold prop, Alexandra seized the moment, sharing a passionate kiss and teasing, "We might just have to use this tonight."

And indeed they did, albeit in jest, as Martin's penchant for playful antics never veered far from the norm for art films in the Sacred Valley.

The following morning, with no scenes on the agenda, Martin personally escorted Alexandra to the airport, their bond evident to anyone familiar with her acclaimed performances, particularly in works like "True Detective," "Bereavement," and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre."

Upon returning to the hotel from the airport, Martin settled into the lobby rest area, anxiously awaiting Bruce's return from his reconnaissance mission in Boston.

Bruce entered the lobby, clutching a bottle of water, and took a seat opposite Martin, his expression grave. "The Boston police didn't uncover anything substantial," he reported.

Martin's response was stoic, unsurprised by the lack of progress. "If Brandon orchestrated this deliberately, he wouldn't leave behind easy traces."

As Bruce took a sip from the water bottle, he divulged the results of the investigation. "According to Boston PD, Brandon's transactions seem routine. He sourced the items locally after arriving in Boston, with frequent interactions with Hollywood circles."

He continued, "Boston's a hotspot for Hollywood shoots, and many industry insiders dabble in such dealings. Carrying such substances is risky, especially on flights, so a discreet network has naturally formed here. However, we're in the dark about connections specifically tailored to Hollywood. To regular users, it's no secret. Brandon's financial records turned up nothing unusual."

Martin mulled over the information. "And the dealer?"

"Checked and under police custody," Bruce confirmed. "Seems like a run-of-the-mill transaction."

Martin's suspicion deepened. "Could this really be just a slip-up?"

Bruce shared Martin's skepticism. "It's too textbook."

Martin pressed on, "What's Boston's next move?"

"Brandon's posted bail and been released," Bruce explained. "Usually, it won't escalate to trial, just hefty fines. Massachusetts prisons are overcrowded. But Detective Jack emphasized our input carries weight."

Martin's resolve hardened. "If push comes to shove, we'll pursue this."

Bruce nodded in agreement. "We won't let a prop master off the hook."

Concern etched on his face, Martin queried, "What if he's imprisoned?"

Bruce's response was blunt. "Not California, not Atlanta."

Understanding the implications, Martin suggested, "Public apology, hefty fine. It's the logical course."

"Agreed," Bruce nodded. "He resides in Los Angeles."

Martin wasted no time. "Hire reputable private eyes to tail him, dig deeper."

Bruce assured, "I'll handle it."

Though hopeful it was an isolated incident, Martin couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was more to this than met the eye.

Once ensnared in such vices, the repercussions could be devastating, a ruinous fate awaiting the unsuspecting.