The Wolf of Los Angeles.

Four Seasons Hotel, Beverly Hills.

Inside the suite, Alison and Joanna were getting dressed, and the latter was cleaning up the mess on the floor.

On the other side, a middle-aged man with a stubble beard stood in front of a full-length mirror and put on a suit jacket.

Seeing that the person was about to leave, Joanna quickly wiggled her hips and came over, saying as she walked, "Did you enjoy it? I saw the sports watch you were wearing, and your heart rate never dropped below 120 the whole time."

The middle-aged man suddenly realized what was going on and quickly took out his wallet from his pocket: "Here's cash for you. That way it'll be easier for you to handle and you can avoid the tax bureau."

Joanna smiled and said, "Cash is great, I love cash the most."

The middle-aged man counted out a wad of US dollars from his wallet and handed it over: "Count it."

The stack of money contained both small and large bills, and Joanna was a little uneasy about it. She took it and carefully counted each bill, after all, it was her reward for fighting with Alison all night.

The money was all old bills, a bit sticky to the touch, so it wasn't very fast to count.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

The middle-aged man said, "I ordered breakfast for you."

“You’re such a gentleman.” Allison was quite pleased with the man; he had paid a good price and was very capable. “Thank you for breakfast.”

The middle-aged man opened the door, and a group of people wearing dark blue FBI field uniforms rushed in.

The burly man at the front glared at the middle-aged man and shouted into the room, "FBI, let me see your hands!"

The middle-aged man immediately turned around, put his hands behind his head, and leaned against the wall.

Joanna and Allison were completely dumbfounded, having no idea what was going on.

But then a dark gun barrel appeared in front of them, and the two quickly raised their hands.

The stack of banknotes fell onto the carpet like a rain shower.

An FBI agent recorded the whole thing on camera.

Several female agents came from behind and subdued Joanna and Allison.

The two were detained by the FBI for allegedly engaging in illegal paid services.

The middle-aged man was taken away.

The detective leading the team took out a cigarette and handed it to him, saying, "Boss, you've got the meat in your mouth yet?"

The middle-aged man lit a cigarette and smiled lewdly: "This is a perfect pair. They almost killed me. Their technique is amazing."

"It's not just about technology, is it?" The agent understood perfectly: "It's also about their special identities."

The middle-aged man laughed and instructed, "Give the order to everyone to keep their mouths shut and not delay the supervisor's business, or we'll all be in trouble."

The detective quickly replied, "Yes, sir."

Joanna and Allison were taken away; the FBI's sting operation was successful, and they immediately withdrew from the hotel.

The group returned to the FBI's Los Angeles branch, and the middle-aged man immediately went to see the supervisor, Jennifer Ferguson.

“The person has been brought back, and the evidence is sufficient,” he said. “In addition to the audio and video evidence, there are Joanna’s fingerprints on the cash.”

The FBI has been engaged in sting operations for decades and can be considered a master.

Jennifer was quite reassured about this, and instructed, "Focus on the financial aspect of the situation, and make sure they are truly in debt."

The middle-aged man said, "They will definitely be exhausted from worrying about money."

Jennifer nodded slightly and added, "One more thing, we need to guide the conversation towards President Dong."

"Understood." The middle-aged man was not suited to handle the situation personally, but he had skilled interrogators among his subordinates.

Jennifer waved her hand: "Go ahead."

The middle-aged man went downstairs, came to the interrogation room, gave a few instructions to his subordinate in charge of the interrogation, and then returned to his office to wait patiently.

Not long after, a subordinate came in to report: "Joanna Firth reported to us during the interrogation that she and Alison were repeatedly molested by Mr. Dong, and that Mr. Dong once raped Alison."

"You did a good job," the middle-aged man praised first, then said, "According to regulations, we now need to summon President Dong to inquire about related matters."

Because of the Danielle cases and the St. James Island case, although Mr. Dong was released on bail, he is restricted to living in Los Angeles and is not allowed to leave in the short term.

The subordinate, having gathered the necessary documents, said, "I'll go handle the formalities."

Jennifer, on her side, had her assistant call the Free Press Studio, which partners with Twitter.

Soon, several FBI Chevrolet SUVs left the compound and headed to the Trust Building on 40th Street, where they took Mr. Dong from the top floor of the building.

Accompanied by several lawyers and assistants, Mr. Dong entered the FBI branch office. He was stunned when he heard about the allegations made by Joanna and Allison.

He remembered those two ugly black women; their skin color alone was not within his aesthetic range.

Mr. Dong would rather find a mistress than be interested in this skin color.

Mr. Dong denied all of the accusations made by Joanna and Allison.

Because Joanna and Allison did not provide concrete evidence, the FBI had no choice but to release them temporarily after routine questioning.

Mr. Dong and his entourage exited the FBI office building through a side door, where his car was waiting.

Reporters and paparazzi were also waiting.

A reporter wearing a name tag suddenly appeared in front of Mr. Dong and loudly asked, "Joanna Firth and Allison Firth have accused you of indecent assault and coercion..."

Mr. Dong has been holding back his anger lately, and he was framed by two despicable people. He already likes to swear in front of the media, and this time he couldn't hold back any longer.

He said with a look of disdain, "Who are they? Everyone in Hollywood knows they're notorious sluts. Not to mention they're ugly and promiscuous, even if they stripped naked in front of me, I'd still find it an eyesore."

When the reporter tried to press for more information, the lawyer quickly came over from behind and pulled Mr. Dong back, telling him to stop talking nonsense.

Mr. Dong shut his mouth, lowered his head, and got into the car.

The reporter glanced at the departing vehicle, then turned to the cameraman and asked, "Did you get a picture?"

The cameraman gestured: "All done."

The reporter gave a subtle nod to the FBI agent, walked towards his vehicle, and when the cameraman caught up, said, "Go back and tweet right away."

In less than half an hour, the relevant video had already appeared on Twitter.

The reporter made another phone call.

A few minutes later, driven by Twitter's core algorithm, the video was pushed to the Twitter accounts of Joanna and Allison.

The two men were so broke that they had to seek help from a public interest lawyer to avoid jail time, but each of them received the maximum fine.

When the two came out of the branch office and retrieved their phones, Joanna was on the verge of tears.

She said, "Where are we going to get such a large sum of money?"

Allison offered a random suggestion: "The FBI has temporarily released us to raise money. Or we could sneak into San Diego and cross the border into Mexico, where there are no restrictions."

Compared to her promiscuous sister, Joanna had at least a little bit of sense. She said, "We have no money now. What can we do in Mexico? Join the sex industry in Tijuana? Women there get their heads chopped off by the gangsters if they don't meet their quotas!" The two walked along the street and came to a nearby bus stop, where they hailed a taxi.

While waiting for the car, Allison idly opened Twitter, intending to take a selfie and post some tweets to complain.

As a result, I saw a video of Mr. Dong, her, and Joanna.

Allison quickly glanced at the interview, then handed the phone to Joanna, saying, "Look at this interview. President Dong is cursing us, and he's using really foul language!"

Joanna watched the video, repeatedly cursing with words starting with the letter F, and said angrily, "He's ruined us so badly, and he still says such insulting things to us! That shameless old bastard!"

Allison, thinking of the World One building that had gone down the drain, angrily scratched her dreadlocks and said, "That was a big liar who ruined our lives!"

Although there are various reasons for their current predicament, the most severe blow came from the large loan taken out on the World One Tower property.

While the two were hurling insults at Mr. Dong in a rap-like tone and using profanity, the bank called Joanna again.

The bank explicitly stated that Joanna and Allison's loan program currently meets the criteria for loan withdrawal, and if they fail to repay within the specified period, the bank will initiate procedures to use collateral to offset the debt.

The asset they mortgaged was their only house, a villa in Beverly Hills.

Even though Joanna inherited the less-than-ideal mind of a Black person, she knew that without the property, they might face an extremely terrible fate.

It's not an exaggeration to say that they'd end up homeless on the streets.

Joanna could only plead with the loan officer she was assigned to at the bank, but to no avail, and she ended up hanging up the phone in disappointment.

Allison looked at her helplessly and asked, "What should we do?"

Joanna dared not go looking for clients in that field anymore, after all, the FBI was watching them.

Even with her limited intelligence, she couldn't think of any good solutions, and said, "Whoever harmed us, we'll keep an eye on them. Right now, we can only focus on biting President Dong."

…………

Woodland Hill, Ferguson Estate.

The sky was completely dark, and no lights were on in the vast manor. Only the slightly old-fashioned buildings were silhouetted against the moonlight.

From a distance, it looks like a ghost castle.

In particular, all the people walking through were wearing hooded black robes.

With hoods covering their heads and long robes trailing on the ground, they looked like a group of ghosts drifting by.

Suddenly, a campfire was lit in the open area, the flames leaping in the wind and illuminating a large area nearby.

The surrounding area was filled with people in black robes, each standing still and staring at the temporary platform in front of them.

Erica pushed her black hood back slightly, turned to look at Hawke beside her, and thought to herself that only her boyfriend could come up with such an unreliable method.

In her eyes, those inexplicable things could all be solved with modern weapons.

Hawke looked devout, or at least appeared to be so.

He noticed Erica was lost in thought, gently kicked her black robe, and whispered a reminder: "Pay attention."

"Mm," Erica responded, her gaze falling on her grandfather, parents, and other relatives in front of her.

She may think about some things, but when she actually does them, she still takes the people around her into consideration.

Erica quietly moved closer to Hawke, and as her grandfather had planned, she took out a black raven ornament and stuck it on her forehead.

Hawke is doing something similar.

This is a ritual, a special ritual of the Cult of the Cursed.

The ritual inherited a fine tradition from high-level American political activities, using mysticism to both curse opponents and pray for oneself.

However, this ritual was a new creation by Paul Ferguson, which combined various occult rituals.

In the midst of this silence, the leaping flames of the campfire crackled and popped.

A man dressed in a long black robe with a bald eagle embroidered on his hood strode out of the crowd and climbed the wooden steps to the high platform.

Brian turned his attention to the West, where Washington is located, and launched a curse from the leader of the Cult of the Damned against his rivals, including Obama, Joseph, and Tom Emmer.

When the curse ended, he suddenly realized that he had overlooked the clown, President Dong.

Brian muttered to himself, suddenly remembering how Hawke and Erica were always subjected to inexplicable attacks in his words, and each attack involved a gun.

Therefore, his curses also included words like "President Dong" and "gun".

The curse ended, and Brian whispered a blessing.

However, he felt that he was the leader of the Cult of the Cursed God, and judging from Hawke and Erica's experiences, curses might work, but blessings might not.

Brian completed the ceremony meticulously.

As he turned around, someone poured oil into the campfire.

With a loud bang, flames shot into the sky.

Brian strode down the platform, and someone threw his companion onto the wooden platform, which was then engulfed in flames.

Apart from the sound of flames burning, everyone at the scene remained silent.

This strange ritual, like many things promoted by the occult, is both inexplicable and utterly illogical.

After a long time, the flames went out, and the ceremony ended.

Paul Ferguson nodded to the butler, who then gave the order, and the lights suddenly came on.

Ferguson Manor was once again brightly lit as usual.

Paul was tired after standing for so long, and said to Hawke and Brian, "You young people chat, I'm going back to rest."

Erica took off her black robe and helped her grandfather back to the villa.

Jennifer followed.

The others followed behind and walked back.

Brian walked up to Hawke, wiping the dust off his face as he went, and said, "I still don't understand the specific purpose of these rituals."

Hawke laughed and said, "Actually, I don't really understand it either. I haven't studied the occult much."

Brian said with a dark expression, "You made such an unreliable suggestion without even doing any research."

“The problem is that the Donald Party has been stirring things up.” Hawke’s reasoning was very sound: “Look, after the Laugh Tale and his wife Hillary colluded with Satanism, Laugh Tale won two consecutive elections.”

Brian nodded. "It seems so."

Hawke is a typical pragmatist: "We shouldn't ask why, we should just look at the final result."

Brian touched his face, then clutched his chest and said, "I have a strange feeling. My head and heart are burning. Maybe it's really working."

Hawke frowned: "Are you sure it's not because the fire is burning too brightly, or because you're warming yourself by the fire?" (End of Chapter)