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The two women were greeting each other warmly, hands clasped, when J.J. Harris suddenly leaned in and whispered conspiratorially,
"Go on, tell me the truth—you're actually Katharine's secret granddaughter, aren't you? The never-revealed kind."
Katharine, standing to the side, said dryly, "Wrong answer. Why don't you tell me whose child you'd like me to have given birth to instead?"
"I don't know," J.J. Harris replied with a grin. "But no matter which man you'd ever been rumored with, any child between you two would have been adorable. Just like Charlize."
At that, Katharine cast a suspicious look at Charlize—then suddenly burst out laughing.
"To be honest, if I weren't the person involved and didn't know better, I'd think having a child like you wouldn't be such a bad thing after all."
Charlize was instantly disarmed. She could no longer maintain her queenly composure and could only whine helplessly,
"Katharine…"
That completely different expression made J.J. Harris's eyes light up.
"Katharine, that's an expression you'd never make."
"What if I told you this child is deliberately imitating me today—and that it's all acting?" Katharine said, smiling. "What do you think? Is she worth cultivating?"
"What?!" J.J. Harris exclaimed. "You're saying it's not that Charlize naturally resembles your temperament?"
Katharine looped her arm through Charlize Theron's and shook her head.
"Nope. She's nothing like me normally. What you're seeing today is acting she trained deliberately."
"Oh my God," J.J. Harris said. "If you weren't standing right here, I'd think you'd taken some kind of youth-restoring potion and turned back into your twenties."
Still holding Charlize's hand, J.J. Harris examined her from head to toe, even poking and prodding lightly. Charlize grew embarrassed, and the carefully maintained aura finally cracked again.
Satisfied, J.J. Harris asked, "Charlize, where did you train? What school? Or acting academy? Your facial control is very good."
"I studied for a while at the Joffrey Ballet School in New York," Charlize replied. "Then I attended Mr. Salvatore's acting school for just over a month. The rest of the time, I practiced at home with my boyfriend, Henry."
"At home?" J.J. Harris asked with curiosity. "How did you practice?"
"Every day we watched a film that had either won or been nominated for acting awards. Then I'd try to recreate a performance, and he'd film me with a camera. After that, we'd analyze it together—how my performance differed from the original, and how to improve."
"Your boyfriend?" J.J. Harris asked again. "That Henry Brown?"
"Yes. That Henry Brown."
"Hm." J.J. Harris cast a complicated glance toward the unassuming man across the room.
"I thought that kid was just a classmate or friend of Tony Stark, getting a job under him so he could pick up girls."
Katharine interjected, "That child is very talented too—just not particularly interested in acting. His advantage is that he's capable in many other areas. He doesn't have to act."
"Has he appeared in any films?" J.J. Harris asked. She was already keen to sign Charlize, but she needed to understand her background better before deciding how to position her.
At that question, Charlize grew a little shy.
"Just small productions—background roles. No lines."
"Ah… what a shame," J.J. Harris said sincerely. "You deserve far more opportunities."
Just as the conversation was about to deepen, an ill-timed disturbance shattered the rhythm.
Standing in front of Henry were three white men in sharp suits—one older, two younger. The two younger ones flashed their badges and announced loudly:
"FBI. Henry Brown, we suspect you are connected to the disappearance of California State Assemblyman Mike Liddell Horton. Please come with us to cooperate with the investigation."
They spoke loudly, as if afraid no one would hear. And sure enough, the reporters' camera flashes—silent for some time—erupted again, fingers hammering the shutters in fear of missing a single shot.
Henry smiled faintly.
"Do you have a warrant, officers?"
"No. We're only requesting your cooperation."
"And it has to be today? In this kind of setting?"
"We'd have preferred another occasion too. But do you know how long we've been looking for you? If you refuse, that constitutes obstruction of justice, and we can arrest you on the spot."
"I have the right to a lawyer, don't I?"
"Notify your lawyer to come to the station and accompany you during questioning."
The two FBI agents didn't dare block the issue of legal counsel outright in public, but they resorted to stalling tactics, clearly intending not to wait for a lawyer before moving in to take Henry away.
Seeing this, Charlize Theron panicked and started toward Henry, ready to defend his rights—even though she had no idea what was going on.
Katharine grabbed her arm firmly, stopping her from rushing forward.
Henry didn't look back, but subtly made a blocking gesture anyway. Whether or not anyone noticed, he calmly asked,
"Officers, this isn't our first meeting, is it?"
One of them answered impatiently, "This is our first meeting. We finally tracked down a major person of interest—you—after all this time. If we'd met earlier, wouldn't this have been cleared up long ago?"
Henry didn't reply. He simply slipped a hand into the pocket of his suit jacket.
The movement immediately put the two agents on high alert. They drew their guns and shouted,
"What are you doing?! Take your hand out! Put your hands where we can see them! Don't move!"
Being told to take his hand out and not move at the same time was contradictory enough that Henry couldn't even be bothered to comment. Instead, he pressed a button inside his pocket.
A voice suddenly blared from a cheap little speaker, drawing everyone's attention.
> "FBI. Mr. Henry Brown, correct? Please cooperate with our investigation."
"May I ask what this is about? Or do you have a warrant?"
"A warrant? What have you done that requires a warrant?"
"Don't worry, kid. Just come with us. There won't be any problems."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you'll be in trouble."
The sounds of a car door slamming and an engine starting followed. Throughout the recording, Henry's voice could still be heard asking about his rights, the destination, the reason—each question met only with silence.
By now, the Henry being held at gunpoint already had one empty hand raised high. Only then did the other hand slowly emerge from his pocket, holding a small Sony Walkman.
It was the Walkman that had been playing the tape.
Raising both hands above his head—one of them still holding the cassette player—Henry smiled and said,
"I think we've met before, gentlemen of the FBI."
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