Chapter 522: Martin, Someone’s Stealing Your Money

The next day.

News of Martin apprehending the robber spread like wildfire.

The Boston Globe reported: "Martin Meyers has been secretly undergoing police training at the Boston PD, reportedly in preparation for a role in Martin Scorsese's new film. However, what surprised everyone was Martin's exceptional aptitude as a law enforcer. It's not just about being able to fight—we all know Martin can fight—but becoming an outstanding officer also requires mastering and understanding various laws and regulations."

"After interviewing Officer Paul, who had worked alongside Martin at the Boston PD, we learned that Martin excelled in theoretical studies, firearms training, and driving simulations, even breaking historical records at the Boston Police Academy. And he accomplished all of this in just seven days."

"During his time in training, Martin fully immersed himself in the role of a real officer, patrolling with his squad, responding to calls, and investigating crime scenes. In one instance, he successfully identified crucial evidence at a crime scene, and during a routine patrol, he even prevented a robbery and attempted assault before it could happen."

"As Boston Police Commissioner Thompson put it, 'If Martin ever became a cop, he'd be the best one out there.'"

"S***, why didn't this article mention me? I was there too!" Leonardo grumbled as he tossed the newspaper aside in frustration.

Martin, who was busy flirting with a flight attendant in first class, chuckled. "Maybe it's because your excellence is too well-hidden?"

The flight attendant giggled at the remark.

Leonardo thought for a moment before narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Damn it, are you mocking me?"

Martin feigned surprise. "Was it not obvious enough?"

"You bastard!"

"Thank you for the compliment!"

After the flight landed, Martin and Leonardo went their separate ways.

Martin got into Gordon's car.

On the way, he received a call from Matt Damon.

"Mr. Meyers, thank you for recommending me," Matt said sincerely over the phone.

"Buddy, if we're on the same side, call me Martin next time. No need to thank me—just do your best," Martin replied.

Maybe it was because he was getting older and more powerful, but people like Matt Damon and Ben Affleck—who used to call him "Martin"—had started addressing him as "Mr. Meyers."

Martin didn't like that. It made him feel isolated, so he always reminded his close circle to drop the formalities.

"I will, Ma—Martin!"

—

Meanwhile, in his Beverly Hills mansion, Tom Cruise was on a call.

"So, I got the role?"

"Yes, the role of Balian is yours. You won. Apparently, Brad Pitt was so furious when he got the news that he lost the role, he threw a fit on the spot," said his agent, Brian Kyle, sounding smug.

Brian had pulled a lot of strings to make this happen.

Tom Cruise smiled slightly, but his expression quickly darkened.

"Martin doesn't think this movie will do well." That thought lingered like a shadow in his mind.

"F***!" Tom swore under his breath.

"What?" Brian, on the other end of the line, sounded annoyed. He had just landed Tom the role, and now he was getting cursed at?

Tom didn't bother explaining.

That was just his personality—arrogant in private, condescending to those he looked down on. It wasn't until he turned fifty that he started mellowing out.

But what was done was done. There was no point dwelling on it. Tom buried his unease.

—

With The Departed settled, Martin suddenly found himself with free time.

The movie was scheduled to start filming in late March, giving him almost two weeks of rest.

He considered flying to New York to check in on The New Batman production and help Nolan on set.

But then a phone call disrupted his plans.

It was from Campbell Oil Company.

"Boss, there's trouble at the Iraq oil field," David Scott's voice sounded anxious over the line.

"What happened?" Martin asked.

David replied, "I got a call from Goodman Hall yesterday. Someone's stealing oil from our field."

"Who's behind it? Don't tell me it's our own stationed troops?" Martin's expression darkened.

"No, no, not the military. It's a group of Kurds. They're siphoning oil from the pipelines. They work in small, agile teams, so every time our security gets there, they've already vanished."

"How much have we lost?"

"So far, over thirty tons of oil. The loss isn't huge, but if this continues, it'll add up. The bigger problem is that these oil thieves don't care about leaks or pipeline damage. Of the thirty tons stolen, a fifth was wasted due to leaks, and we've already spent close to a million dollars repairing the pipelines. These bastards don't give a damn."

Martin frowned. These kinds of losses were tolerable once or twice, but over time, they would drive up operational costs and eat into his profits. More importantly—he wasn't about to let these thieves steal from him right under his nose.

As a charm demon, Martin was incredibly petty when it came to personal loss.

Even worse, if he didn't deal with this problem quickly, it could trigger a domino effect—attracting more oil thieves and causing even greater damage.

There was no way Martin was going to let that happen.

After ending his call with David Scott, he instructed Gordon to make another call—this time to Africa.

The next day, a plane took off from Africa, heading straight for Iraq.

"Saturn, what's the mission this time?"

Onboard, a lean white man chewed gum as he asked the question.

"Ram, stop asking. You'll know when we get there," replied Saturn.

Ram grumbled but shut his mouth.

Three and a half hours later, the plane landed at Baghdad Airport.

"Hey, Gordon!"

"Hey, old buddy, how've you been?"

Gordon and Saturn exchanged a firm, familiar hug.

The two had served in a special unit together.

"Not bad. I heard the big boss is pissed this time?"

"Yeah. Someone's been stealing oil from his fields."

"So, our mission is…?"

"Get in the car. We'll talk on the way."