“Name.” Los Angeles, Beverly Hills Police Station, interrogation room.
The lighting was stark white, casting a cold, temperature‑less glow into every corner.
The walls were a monotonous off‑white, their rough texture seeming to silently recount the countless stories that had unfolded here.
The camera in the corner stared silently, like an eye that never closed, recording everything that happened.
A male and a female white police officer sat at a metal table, with a young man in his twenties sitting across from them.
His hair was disheveled, and his wrinkled shirt gave him a disheveled look.
Yet, seeing him lounging in the metal chair with a mocking, disdainful smirk on his lips, it seemed he wasn’t the least bit worried about his current dire situation.
He was even nonchalantly twisting the platinum cufflinks on his shirt, his gaze sweeping over everything in the interrogation room as if he hadn’t heard the question at all.
“I am asking you a question.
Name.” The young man’s behavior clearly irritated the older white police officer, who raised his voice and demanded an answer again.
The other man gave a wicked smile, and after a long pause, spat out a name: “John.” “Mr.
Ernst Garfield, when did you change your name?” Ernst scoffed, “If you already know, why ask?
Is it fun for you?” He tapped on the metal table in front of him.
“Do you know how much I donate to the Beverly Hills Police Foundation every month?
Everything here is funded by my contributions.
Is this how you treat taxpayers and honorary citizens of Los Angeles?” He pointed his thumb toward the one‑way mirror on the side.
“That old guy Alke should be watching from next door, right?
Why don’t you let him come and ask me yourself?” Ernst was furious.
He had transmigrated, and to make matters worse, he had done so in bed.
Being in bed wasn’t the problem; the problem was that there was a stunning, delicate beauty in the bed with him.
If he were still wondering why he was in this unfamiliar environment, would he even be a man?
It was very smooth, but why was it so much bigger?
Before he could think, the police knocked on the door.
Ernst was startled, thinking to himself that the police in this great America really had nothing better to do, especially here in Los Angeles, the entertainment capital of California.
You don’t even care about people getting high on weed, and you consider this a case?
Before he could even react, he was brought to the police station.
Along the way, Ernst figured everything out.
He hadn’t been arrested for soliciting prostitutes; someone had reported him for rape.
What Ernst couldn’t figure out was how he, a top student who graduated from a top‑tier university in Shanghai in 2026, had transmigrated to Los Angeles in 1996, becoming this 24‑year‑old young man named Ernst Garfield.
However, the original body’s background wasn’t bad—a wealthy heir who achieved fame at a young age.
His father was an executive at MGM and held a significant amount of shares.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to enjoy life before dying in a plane crash last year.
Ernst inherited all of his estate, a fortune amounting to 28 million dollars.
As for why it was Ernst, that was because his mother, Sylvie, and Ernst’s father, Garrins, had been divorced for over three years, making Ernst the first heir.
He himself was also quite talented; during college, he wrote a best‑selling novel and earned a net worth of millions of dollars.
So, he wasn’t worried about his current situation at all.
This was free America, where capital is law, and he was fortunate enough to be among those who possessed capital.
“Mr.
Ernst, please mind your attitude.
If we didn’t have concrete evidence, we wouldn’t have forcibly summoned you.” Summoned?
I think you have a misunderstanding of the word summoned.
“Evidence?” Ernst gave a disdainful smile.
“Show it to me.” The male police officer’s expression darkened at Ernst’s attitude; when had they ever been treated like this?
However, knowing the other party’s background, he signaled, and the female officer tapped away on a heavy laptop before turning the screen toward Ernst.
In the video, every scene of the man and woman entering the hotel was very clear, although some overly explicit shots had obviously been cut.
The video was quite long, lasting 91 minutes.
Ernst inwardly grumbled, “They really know how to edit.” “Mr.
Ernst, the evidence is solid.
Do you have anything else to say?” “Say what?” Ernst shrugged.
“We were just hugging.
Is that against the law?” The female officer was very angry.
“You call this hugging?
Hugging without clothes on?” “Who said we weren’t wearing clothes?
Did I enter the hotel naked?” “I’m talking about on the bed!” The male officer was clearly very angry, his voice rising significantly.
Ernst stared at the screen intently for a few seconds, his face calm.
“That’s right, I’m talking about on the bed, too.
This is a problem with your equipment.
We were wearing clothes, but your equipment didn’t load them.” The two officers were stunned, speechless, wondering how a person could be so shameless.
Before the two officers could speak again, the interrogation room door opened.
A lean old man appeared in the doorway, his police uniform very clean and well‑fitting.
However, the first thing that caught one’s eye was the large gold watch on his wrist, which flashed with a blinding light from time to time.
A Rolex, Ernst recognized it.
Not because he saw the logo, but because this very watch was one Ernst had given him, costing him over twenty thousand dollars.
The reason was simple: it was just because Ernst had been speeding once and crashed into someone’s house.
“Ernst, I’m very sorry I’m late, letting my friend suffer such grievances.” The newcomer looked very sincere, as if he were truly facing an intimate friend.
But Ernst inwardly mocked him, knowing his lawyer had arrived.
“Chief Alke, you certainly arrived just in time.” Ernst chuckled twice to express his dissatisfaction.
“Sorry, I just got back to the station.
My secretary told me your agent and lawyer had arrived, and that’s when I knew you were arrested.” Ernst shook his head.
“It was an invitation, not an arrest.” This point was very important; the interrogation room camera was still recording.
An invitation means assisting with an investigation, while an arrest means being a criminal suspect.
Once he admitted to being arrested, it would be an indirect admission of his guilt.
Ernst couldn’t guarantee that this bloodsucker Alke wouldn’t maliciously edit the footage.
Alke’s expression froze for a moment, but he quickly recovered.
For a second, he was a bit dazed; the feeling Ernst gave him was as if he had become a different person.
The previous version of him was arrogant and domineering, relying on his father’s connections in Hollywood and his own capital from achieving fame at a young age to act recklessly in Hollywood.
Ernst’s scandals were so numerous that even the tabloid papers didn’t want to report them, and the public was sick of them.
Even though he was only 24, the number of women he had slept with could form a reinforced regiment, with enough left over for an honor guard.
With a father who held immense power in Hollywood, and being young and wealthy himself, even though people knew what kind of person Ernst was, there were still plenty of women who chose to throw themselves at him like moths to a flame.
Some wanted to use his connections to meet more Hollywood elites.
Some women were confident in themselves, thinking they could tie down this Hollywood Playboy and marry into a wealthy family.
But today’s situation made Alke change his impression of Ernst; perhaps he wasn’t such a fool after all?
“That’s right, an invitation.
We invited Mr.
Garfield over to assist with an investigation.” Ernst didn’t want to waste any more time with him.
“Can I leave now?” “Of course.” Alke nodded.
“If there’s anything else you need to cooperate with later, I will communicate with you personally.” Ernst narrowed his eyes; this meant he was fishing for benefits.
“I am willing to cooperate.” Ernst left, and the subsequent matters would be handled by his lawyer.
Arriving at the police station entrance, his agent, Craig, was waiting by his Volvo.
Seeing Ernst’s figure, Craig trotted over, and the two walked while talking.
“The situation is a bit troublesome, but don’t worry.
Wenger has already thought of a solution.
Remember, just stick to the story that it was consensual.” The car started, and Ernst lounged in the passenger seat, listening to Craig’s instructions.
“Someone is trying to screw me over.” Ernst’s expression was grim, dark and terrifying.
Clearly, this was a premeditated act; he had been set up.
But then again, even if it had been forced, so what?
Such things are too common in the circles of capital.
For the other party to dare to come forward and call the police, she must have someone backing her; otherwise, she wouldn’t dare do this.
As long as she still wanted to develop in Hollywood, this was equivalent to burning her own bridges.
Are female roles really that easy to get?
Any significant role comes with a price tag.
Fame from a single role?
Where is there so much luck?
The entertainment industry is essentially just trading seduction for status.
If your legs aren’t good enough to spread, you should leave this circle early.
For her to dare do this, someone must have promised her benefits—the kind she couldn’t refuse.
Also, the fact that the police dared to come directly to bring him to the station meant someone had clearly pulled some strings, wanting to nail this down while he was on his own.
If it were the old, arrogant, and domineering Ernst, he would certainly be spouting off right now, leaving evidence for them.
Fortunately, he had called Craig immediately.
“I don’t know yet, but I will find out.”