"Who are you?"
Matthew flipped on the dome light inside the Ford van. The light spilled through the window, illuminating the figure outside—confirming it was a woman.
Matthew's eyes sharpened with caution. This world was full of sunshine, but where the sun didn't reach, darkness thrived. People swallowed by darkness sometimes did reckless things over the smallest gains.
"Are you…" The woman lifted a baseball bat, revealing a long ponytail of brown hair. She pointed toward the mansion nearby. "The one who sent all those women inside?"
Matthew didn't answer right away. Instead, he sized her up. She was slim, about five foot seven, with striking features: full, luscious lips and a chest that seemed too prominent for her slender frame.
She wasn't his type, but she had a distinct kind of beauty — edgy and unforgettable.
"Get in," he said, opening the other door. "Let's talk inside."
The woman circled to the passenger side and climbed in, setting her purse at her feet.
Matthew relaxed. He recognized her. Angelina Jolie wouldn't come robbing some loser in the dead of night — unless she'd lost her mind.
Thanks to having seen Tomb Raider more than once, Matthew was certain this was the real Angelina Jolie.
"You still haven't answered my question," Angelina said.
"Sorry," Matthew replied stiffly, "I can't answer that. It's against my professional ethics."
Angelina didn't respond. She pulled a wallet from her coat pocket, casually pulled out five crisp green bills, and laid them between the two seats.
Matthew glanced down, saw the "100" on the notes, and nodded. "Yeah, I delivered six women, Miss Jolie."
Professional ethics? In someone with only a few dozen dollars to their name and no idea how they'd eat tomorrow? That was a luxury Matthew didn't have.
Still, he wasn't dumb — he knew who she was.
Angelina Jolie, a name that carried weight in Hollywood, wasn't surprised Matthew recognized her. She expected that.
Matthew eyed her again, puzzled. What was a Hollywood star doing here, in this time and place, sitting in his van?
He pocketed the money and shrugged off the question.
Angelina seemed pleased by his greed.
"Want to make more money?" she asked suddenly.
Matthew turned to her sharp, angular face. Angelina Jolie had a reputation — wild, reckless — but he wasn't stupid enough to think she came here for romance. There was something more to this.
Why would a famous Hollywood star show up here at night and come to a tough-looking driver like him? Probably something shady.
He quickly ran the possibilities through his head. Could he benefit?
"Who doesn't like money?" Matthew said with a grin.
Angelina pointed again toward the mansion. "Do you know who's throwing a party in there?"
"Johnny Lee Miller," Matthew said, recalling what he'd read. "That big star from Trainspotting!"
"You know him?" Angelina asked.
"Uh… no, not really. I've only seen his photos," Matthew admitted.
"That's enough," she said with satisfaction. "Follow my instructions, and you'll get five thousand dollars."
Five thousand dollars. Matthew perked up but played it cool. "I'm not doing anything illegal."
Five grand wasn't worth a stint in jail.
"It's simple," Angelina said, pulling a small handheld DV camera from her bag. "Take this. Go inside the mansion, secretly film that bastard Johnny Lee Miller fooling around with other women. Bring the footage back to me, and the five grand is yours."
"What?" Matthew's eyes widened. "You want me to spy on them?"
Then he paused. "Why the hell do you need to spy?"
Angelina looked him in the eye, cold. "Are you in or out?"
This was risky. Johnny Lee Miller was rich and powerful. Matthew's mind raced — why would Angelina want this? He had to be sure, or he'd be walking into a prison cell.
He remembered what it felt like to fight for his pay before — American prisons were supposed to be worse.
Looking from Angelina's sharp face to the mansion's imposing walls, he suddenly guessed.
"Johnny Lee Miller is your… husband?"
Angelina didn't deny it. Everyone knew that already, probably assumed he knew too.
"You want me to help catch him cheating?"
Confirming the relationship cleared things up for Matthew. "Or you're planning to divorce him?"
Angelina looked surprised at how fast he figured it out.
"You don't need to know," she said, placing the camera on the seat between them. "So, are you in or not?"
Matthew didn't answer immediately. The risk was real, but it wasn't impossible. Still, five grand? Sitting next to him was Angelina Jolie — even without her future fame and fortune, she was a well-known Hollywood star.
Hollywood… the name kept echoing in his mind.
He blurted, "Why don't you just go yourself?"
Angelina snorted. "If I show up at the mansion gate, they'll know I'm there." Her expression darkened, voice barely above a whisper. "I want that bastard to pay."
She'd already hired private investigators, even faked a job filming Soul Reaper Girl out of town to give Johnny an opportunity. But the mansion was surrounded by tall walls topped with electric fences. The PI couldn't get inside.
They traced the high-end driver for the red penguin company — but he quit to gamble on stocks. The new driver had no experience.
Luckily, the PI kept watching. When Angelina heard the news, she came straight here.
Divorce was inevitable. But with so much joint property involved, she needed something heavy enough to make Johnny back down.
Knowing her, she had to be the one to handle it — the raw satisfaction of punishing betrayal was hers alone.
No bodyguards, no managers — just her. Get the proof, then rally her forces to ruin him.
If any other star showed up, Matthew would think they were crazy. But Angelina? She was a ticking volcano — wild and dangerous.
He wasn't afraid of the fire. Instead, he felt a thrill, like luck had finally smiled on him.
A few months ago, some guy came to LA with nothing and did nothing. Now Matthew was the driver for some major client. Turns out, the client was Angelina Jolie's husband.
And angry Angelina was about to settle scores.
This was opportunity knocking.
Someone like Matthew knew opportunity trumped talent every time.
He might be a nobody, but he knew how to grab the chance.
Angelina Jolie — the key to the Hollywood door. But how to hold on?
The sudden luck made him almost giddy, but he steadied himself. "Okay! I'm in."
With five grand, he could rent a place, get a foothold in LA, then start chasing his Hollywood dreams.
"Great!" Angelina said immediately. "Get me what I want, and my bodyguard will hand over the cash."
Matthew looked at her again — she wasn't just a pretty face. That last line was a warning. The bodyguard was nearby.
"Deal!" Matthew held out his hand.
Angelina ignored it. He withdrew his hand, annoyed. "Wait here. I'm going now."
He slipped the DV camera into a tote bag, covered it with his jacket, and headed for the mansion gate.
"Back again?" The guard blocked his way. "Wasn't someone already dropped off?"
"Hey man," Matthew said, nodding toward the Ford. "The company told me to wait there, but there's no bathroom, and I gotta go. Can I use yours?"
He'd already dealt with them when he first drove in.
The guard eyed the bag in his hand.
"It's my clothes," Matthew said openly. "And some toilet paper."
The guard waved him through. "Go in, follow the driveway to the fountain, then turn right for 200 feet. The bathroom's there."
"Thanks," Matthew said, stepping inside.
"Don't wander off!" the guard called after him.
"Relax," Matthew replied.
He headed toward the fountain in front of the mansion, ready to take his chances. If he could get some footage, he'd have bargaining power with Angelina Jolie.