Jon's eyes widened slightly at the mention of the names. He couldn't meet Lucas's gaze, lowering his eyes to the floor instead. He tried to recover, forcing himself to appear calm—but Lucas noticed the subtle shift.
As an actor, reading people's expressions and body language was second nature to him. Jon's hesitation was practically screaming.
"It's one of them, isn't it?" Lucas said quietly, eyes narrowing. "You can tell me. You've already come this far."
Jon hesitated again, swallowing hard. After a moment, he gave in with a sigh. "I… I can't say for certain it was Katherine," he admitted, voice low. "But all signs point to her. She was the one who got us into the project—with your father's backing, I assume. I only spoke with her once… but I recognized her voice. And she's the one who pulled the strings so we could sneak those recordings and leak materials."
Lucas leaned back slightly, absorbing every word. "Can I see your phone?"
Jon shook his head immediately. "I don't have it. When the police arrested me, I panicked. I hid it in my couch—wedged it deep in the cushions."
Lucas glanced toward the two-way mirror, knowing the officers behind it were listening. Without a word, he stood.
On the other side of the glass, the police chief had already sprung into action. He turned to his officers with urgency. "You heard him—get to his place. Tear that house apart if you have to. We need that phone."
The chief's pulse quickened. He could already see it—this case could be his golden ticket. If they recovered that phone, he'd not only solve a high-profile leak but potentially forge connections with Warner Bros. and Lucas Knight himself. A promotion wasn't just a dream now—it was a real possibility.
Even if it wasn't, just having Lucas owe him a favor was more valuable than any medal.
---
One Hour Earlier – Beverly Hills
A sleek, modern mansion glistened in the warm sun. Valued at well over $10 million, it was the kind of home reserved for the elite. On a spacious balcony, Katherine lounged in a designer bikini, reclining on a luxury beach chair, sunglasses catching the sunlight.
Beside her, another stunning young woman—clearly an assistant—was gently rubbing sunscreen across Katherine's back.
"Mmm… this is heaven," Katherine purred, stretching. "The sun, the view… and your hands aren't bad either."
She gave the assistant's rear a playful slap, smirking. "Now be a good girl and get me my juice—"
A phone rang abruptly, cutting the moment short.
The assistant moved to grab it. "Let me—"
"Don't touch my things!" Katherine snapped.
"S-sorry, Miss Katherine," the girl stammered, stepping back.
Katherine snatched the phone, glanced at the caller ID, and answered briskly. "What?"
"Miss… we have a problem," a deep voice said on the other end.
Katherine's smile faded. Her brows slowly knit together as she listened. After a tense minute, her expression darkened like a brewing storm.
The assistant stood frozen, unsure whether to stay or run.
Katherine clenched her jaw. "So that idiot actually got caught?"
"Yes," the voice replied. "We don't know if he had the phone on him."
"Damn it!" Katherine cursed under her breath. "If that phone's in police hands, we're screwed."
"I doubt he kept it on him," the voice said cautiously. "He probably stashed it somewhere."
Katherine's eyes narrowed with a flicker of hope. "Then go search his place. Flip the damn house if you have to. Find that phone before they do!"
"Yes, Miss. Understood."
"Don't come back empty-handed," she snapped and ended the call.
Turning to the assistant still standing awkwardly nearby, Katherine barked, "What are you waiting for? Go get my juice!"
The girl jolted into motion, scurrying away. Meanwhile, Katherine leaned back in her seat, her mind racing.
'If they get that phone… everything will fall apart.'
---
Present time.
Police Chief Ali and his team arrived at Jon's house in haste. As soon as they stepped out of their vehicle, Ali noticed the front door slightly ajar.
He narrowed his eyes, stepping forward to inspect the damage. "Looks like someone broke in," he muttered, running his fingers along the splintered wood. His face darkened. "Someone's already been here."
He turned sharply to his men. "Everyone, move! Check the couch—see if the phone is still here!"
"Yes, sir!"
The officers immediately swept into the house. Inside, the living room was in chaos—cushions ripped apart, drawers yanked out, the TV smashed into pieces. The refrigerator door hung open, with rotting food spilled across the floor. Cockroaches scurried from the mess, and rats darted into dark corners.
"Whoever was here didn't just rob the place," one officer muttered, adjusting his collar with discomfort. "They tore it apart looking for something."
"It's the phone," another said grimly. "That paparazzi guy said it held sensitive info. They were desperate to find it."
Ali's expression tightened. "Keep searching. Focus on that couch—check every crevice!"
His officers dove into the worn-out couch, pulling back cushions and digging into every crack. For a moment, they found nothing but old receipts and a remote control.
Ali clenched his jaw, anxiety building. His gut churned. If the phone was gone, so was the evidence—so was his shot at something bigger.
Just as he was about to curse in frustration, one officer suddenly shouted, "Chief! I've got something!"
He held up a phone, slightly dusty but intact.
Ali's eyes lit up with relief. "It's still here…" he exhaled, a grin forming. "Thank God. Whoever got in must've missed it."
Cradling the phone like a prized artifact, Ali led his team back to the station. Once there, they secured the phone, and Jon was brought in again to unlock it using his password.
Ali immediately reviewed its contents—messages, call logs, audio files, and more. It was more than enough. Now they had solid evidence that pointed straight to the mastermind.
"Katherine Knight," Ali said aloud, staring at the screen. "This is enough to request a warrant for her arrest."
Meanwhile, Lucas had been monitoring the situation from behind the scenes. He quietly had his manager, Neil, notify Warner Bros. about the development.
Upon hearing the news, the studio executives scrambled to attention. Their quiet whispers turned into serious discussions. All eyes were now on Lucas… and the key witness—Jon.
---
Three days passed like any other—calm on the surface, but beneath it, Katherine was growing increasingly anxious. In her sleek, modern house, she kept checking her phone obsessively, waiting for a message or a call from her subordinates. Nothing came. Just silence.
She gritted her teeth and bit her nails more often than she realized. 'Still nothing…' If her men had managed to retrieve Jon's phone, she would have been informed by now. That only meant one thing—Jon's phone was likely with the police.
But if that was true, why was it still so quiet? Why hadn't anything exploded in the media? Had Jon managed to keep his mouth shut? Or perhaps… the police hadn't discovered the sensitive contents on the phone yet?
She'd already tried to send someone to visit Jon at the station, but was met with the restriction: "Family visits only."
Her nerves were on edge.
Then—knock.
A single knock echoed through the house—simple, ordinary.
But to Katherine, it hit like a gunshot. Her heart jumped, and in an instant, she was pulled back to her childhood days in Compton. Back when she, her mother, and siblings lived in hiding—tucked away from the legitimate wife of their father, buried deep in a neighborhood where gang violence was a nightly soundtrack. The sound of sudden knocks, sirens, or shouting often signaled danger, and those memories had left a scar that still lingered.
For a moment, she froze.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest as she moved toward the door, dread filling every step. She slowly opened it—and her worst fears materialized.
Two uniformed officers stood tall at her doorstep.
"Ms. Katherine Knight," one said firmly. "We're from the LAPD. We're here with a warrant for your arrest."
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Wha–what?! Arrest? What are you talking about?!"
The officer didn't flinch. "You have the right to remain silent—"
"No, wait!" she shouted, stepping back. "Do you know who I am?! I'm the daughter of Vince Knight!"
"We're aware, ma'am," the officer replied coldly. "But that doesn't exempt you from the law."
As another officer approached, Katherine's face twisted in rage. "This is a mistake! I'll call my lawyer!"
"You'll have that right at the station," the officer said as they firmly cuffed her wrists.
She was shoved into the police car, still shouting curses and threats, but it didn't matter anymore. The warrant had been executed, and the investigation was now deeper than she expected.
After her arrest, officers moved in to seize her personal belongings—phones, hard drives, files. Everything that could be used as evidence.
Unbeknownst to them, inside one of her locked devices lay a damning trail of evidence—detailed messages outlining her plans to sabotage Lucas's reputation, orchestrated drone surveillance, attempted bribes to Hollywood insiders, and her proud involvement in the break-in at Lucas's house, which had even made headlines for consecutive weeks.
Katherine, in her private messages, even giggled about it, boasting of how easy it was.
Most damning of all were the records pointing to her father's silent complicity in leaking the Elvis project—proof that, if brought to light, could send shockwaves through the industry.
If the police cracked the phone's data, they would see the extent of her obsession and hatred toward her half-brother—far beyond simple rivalry. It was malicious, dangerous.
It wasn't long before the news broke.
"BREAKING: Lucas Knight's Half-Sister, Katherine Knight, Arrested by LAPD."
Within hours, every major news outlet ran with the story. The headlines dominated social media and entertainment sites alike. Photos of Katherine being taken into custody flooded the internet.
Back at the station, Vince Knight and his wife Myla arrived in a hurry with their lawyers in tow. But it was too late to stop the fallout.
The damage was done—and now, the entire world was watching.