Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

"Hello, Officer Paul? Is now a good time to talk?"

Paul immediately caught on and spoke softly, "Mr. Martin, please hold on a moment."

After a brief pause, his voice returned through the receiver. "Now we can talk."

"Paul, the bodycam footage and warehouse surveillance video I asked you to back up last time—did you do it?"

"Of course. How could I ignore a task entrusted to me by you, Mr. Martin?"

"Good. Send the backup to my email. By the way, your current rank is squad leader, right?"

"No, my position is squad leader, but my rank is already captain!"

"Got it. Are you ready for a promotion?"

"What? I... I'm ready. Thank you, sir."

Martin chuckled. "I'm not your boss."

"To me, you are!"

(Note: Police ranks vary across the U.S. For example, New York has ten ranks: Commissioner, Deputy Commissioner, Assistant Deputy Commissioner, Deputy Chief, Inspector, Assistant Inspector, Captain, Lieutenant, Sergeant, Officer. Los Angeles has nine: Chief, Deputy Chief, Commander, Captain, Lieutenant, Detective, Sergeant, Corporal, Officer.)

After ending his call with Paul, Martin noticed Ivanka smiling at him.

"What's up?"

He glanced at himself, wondering if something was amiss.

"Nothing, I just like seeing you exude this aura of control over everything. I didn't expect you to have a backup plan ready!" Ivanka said, smiling.

"Just a little habit of mine," Martin said, shrugging nonchalantly.

"It's a great habit!" Ivanka praised.

"What did your father say?" Martin asked.

"Don't worry. He agreed to help arrange a meeting between you and President Bush."

That Night

After the coming-of-age party ended and the guests had left, three generations of the Myers family gathered in a hotel conference room.

Martin's grandfather, Chuck Myers, was a distinguished-looking man. At 65 years old, he was full of energy, maintained a great physique, and carried himself with commanding presence in his suit.

"So you're saying that the troublemaker is the father of the murderer you killed, and he's backed by Bush's people?"

"That's likely the case," Martin replied.

Chuck scoffed. "Don't worry, child. The Myers family may not be among America's elite, but we're no pushovers either. If Bush thinks we're an easy target, he's mistaken—"

Chuck shook his head dismissively. "I'll have a word with some friends."

"Indeed, it's time to apply some pressure on the man in the White House. Using Martin to intimidate his opposition? Laughable!" said Grant Myers, Martin's father, indignantly.

But Chuck shot him a glare. "And whose fault is it that we're in this situation?"

Chuck had always been dissatisfied with his son's "mediocrity." At over 40 years old, Grant was just a manager in JPMorgan Chase's investment office.

But his opinion of Martin was the complete opposite. To Chuck, Martin was leagues ahead of his father—capable and decisive.

Grant sulked silently. This was precisely why he had been reluctant to take over the family business—his father was insufferable.

Martin, however, understood why President Bush was using him as the "chicken" to scare the monkeys. Martin's fame and the Myers family's moderate influence made them a perfect target—not too insignificant to make an impact, but not powerful enough to be untouchable.

Even now, as Chuck plotted his response, Bush's advisors must have anticipated it. Clearly, Bush was prepared to withstand the Myers family's counterattack, likely viewing it as a mere nuisance compared to the weight of the oil and weapons industries backing him.

"Grandpa, there's no need to mobilize your network. I've decided to meet with President Bush," Martin said.

"What's there to talk about with him?" Grant asked, baffled. "That guy's personality is impossible to reason with. Are you planning to compromise your stance?"

Martin smirked, his tone calm but confident. "Don't worry, I wouldn't gamble with my reputation. I have my methods, and I'll convince him."

Even Chuck was intrigued. He scrutinized his grandson, noting his sharp features, commanding posture, and unshakable confidence. Finally, he smiled.

"The eagle of the Myers family has grown. Go ahead, test your wings," Chuck said with pride.

He guessed that Martin might have uncovered some dirt on Bush but offered a word of caution. "Just remember, politics should be handled politically. Don't resort to anything else. I know you have a mercenary group!"

"Relax, Grandpa," Martin assured him.

"What? Mercenary group?" Grant exclaimed in surprise. "Is there something I don't know?"

Chuck gave him a disdainful look. "You're unaware of many things! My grandson is far more decisive than you are—a true Myers!"

Grant, now irritated, shot back, "Well, my son is better than your son. Why don't you acknowledge that?"

"Uh..." For once, Chuck was at a loss for words.

Martin suppressed a laugh and quickly changed the subject. "Grandpa, does our family support the Democrats or the Republicans?"

"We're businessmen. We bet on both sides. Never put all your eggs in one basket! Remember, Martin, committing to a side too early is a foolish move. The Myers family stands with the winners."

Martin pondered for a moment before saying, "In the next election, I want to support the Democrats."

Chuck frowned. "Don't let your anger cloud your judgment, Martin. Bush is likely to win reelection."

"I know. That's why I want to place an early bet," Martin explained.

"Oh? You already have a candidate in mind? Who?" Chuck's eyes lit up with interest.

"Barack Hussein Obama," Martin said.

Chuck's brow furrowed. "That up-and-coming senator from Illinois? A Black man? You're betting he'll win in 2008?"

"Exactly. Since Bush is practically guaranteed to win in 2004, why get involved? Instead, let's use that opportunity to express dissatisfaction with Bush and extend goodwill to the Democrats. It's a win-win."

"What makes you so certain Obama will win in 2008?" Chuck asked, puzzled.

"Because he's Black," Martin replied calmly but with conviction.

Chuck was stunned. He thought of recent political trends and the growing unrest within the Black community. Political compromise was inevitable, and what better way to appease that unrest than by electing a Black president?

Given his background and political profile, Obama was the perfect candidate.

Chuck was struck by Martin's strategic foresight and nodded approvingly. Meanwhile, Grant was rambling on about racial politics.

"...The importance of Black voters is growing—they just keep having kids! At this rate, the world will be overrun by those—" (N-Word Hard R)

"Shut up!" Chuck barked.

Grant fell silent.

Chuck turned back to Martin with a smile. "Your idea is excellent. I'll back you!"

Grant: "..."