Chapter 6: B: The Bel-Air Trap

👉 Previous Decision: You chose Option 6A-2 – Confront Marcus directly in his Bel-Air mansion using Chloe’s testimony.

The keycard to the storage unit felt hot in my palm, but the thought of directly confronting Marcus, catching him off guard with Chloe’s revelations, seemed like a faster route. It was a risky move, but one that could end this quickly.

I drove straight to Marcus Kincaid’s sprawling Bel-Air estate, a mansion even grander than Beatrice’s. The iron gates swung open after I buzzed his intercom, announcing myself. A stern-faced security guard waved me through.

Marcus was in his sun-drenched study, sitting at a massive mahogany desk. He looked up, a look of mild surprise on his face.

“Arthur,” Marcus said, his smile tight. “To what do I owe this… unexpected visit?”

I walked to the desk, placing Chloe’s signed statement about Hobbs’s debts onto the polished wood. “I know about Harold Hobbs, Marcus. And I know you’re blackmailing him.”

Marcus’s smile didn’t falter, but a subtle change came over his eyes, a glint of steel. He picked up the paper, scanning Chloe’s neat handwriting.

“Chloe, hmm?” he murmured, then slowly, deliberately, he tore the paper in half, then into smaller pieces. He let them fall onto the desk like confetti. “A disgruntled employee. Her word against mine, Arthur. Who do you think a court will believe?”

My heart pounded. He was utterly unfazed.

“And you,” Marcus continued, his voice hardening, “are trespassing on private property, Arthur. My property. Without an invitation.”

He pressed a button on his intercom. “Security, we have an unauthorized visitor in the study. Remove him.”

Before I could react, two burly security guards appeared in the doorway. One of them stepped towards me, his hand already reaching for my arm.

“You can’t do this!” I protested, trying to back away. “This is illegal!”

“No, Arthur,” Marcus said, leaning back in his chair, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. “What’s illegal is breaking and entering. And attempting to extort a respected producer with fabricated stories from a disgruntled ex-employee.”

The security guards moved swiftly, grabbing my arms. I struggled, but their grip was firm.

“Consider yourself lucky I’m not pressing full charges, Arthur,” Marcus called out as they dragged me from the room. “Just a warning. Stay away from my estate. And stay away from Beatrice’s.”

I was escorted off the property and promptly arrested by an LAPD patrol car that had been “conveniently” called by Marcus’s staff. The charge: trespassing. Although the charges were later dropped, the incident painted me as erratic and untrustworthy in the eyes of law enforcement. My credibility, already fragile, was now completely destroyed.