Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

Back in his bedroom, Martin told Gordon and the others he needed to rest and instructed them not to disturb him.

Once the door was shut, he lay on the bed and connected to the detection spells he had cast on Evans Crookes and his assistant.

Clear voices began to stream in.

It was Hasfah, laughing boisterously.

"Haha! Fine wine and beautiful women—you sure know how to do business, Evans!"

"As long as you're satisfied," Evans replied.

Martin formed a seal with his hands, then flicked his fingers. The water in the glass on his bedside table floated into the air, forming a three-foot-wide water screen.

Moments later, an image appeared on the shimmering surface.

The screen showed Hasfah with one arm around a provocatively dressed white woman while another woman alternated pouring wine into his mouth. Hasfah, thoroughly enjoying himself, drank freely while his hands roamed, his behavior utterly unrestrained.

Evans Crookes watched Hasfah's increasingly glazed expression, sensing the moment was ripe.

He leaned closer and asked, "Mr. Hasfah, could you tell me the exact coordinates of the shallow-sea oilfield up for auction?"

In his room, Martin sat up straight. This was the exact information he had been hoping to uncover.

For bidders, the precise location of an oilfield was crucial. Armed with this knowledge, one could analyze the basin type, geological conditions, sedimentary history, kerogen type, and maturity. From there, it would be possible to model oil formation and develop a rational bidding strategy.

However, the UAE deliberately kept the location a secret to encourage frenzied, less rational bidding. Even after the U.S. President Little B spent a million dollars in bribes, all he got was information on the bidding process—not the location itself.

While Haya had told Martin that only the UAE's king and crown prince knew the exact location, he still held out hope and focused intently on the scene.

Hasfah, hearing Evans' question, burst into laughter. A glint of clarity flickered in his otherwise cloudy eyes—a detail Martin, observing through the water screen, caught immediately.

So he's faking his drunkenness, Martin realized, momentarily stunned. Not bad. Even I was fooled.

Evans, oblivious to the act, laughed along with Hasfah and repeated his question. "Could you tell me, Mr. Hasfah?"

Still pretending to be drunk, Hasfah reached into the neckline of the woman beside him, his hand wandering as he replied, "Haha, Evans, I know some top-secret information, but I can't tell you."

Evans frowned slightly but quickly signaled to the two women. They moved closer to Hasfah, pouring more wine into his glass.

Hasfah accepted the drinks without hesitation. He owed his position as Minister of Oil to his extraordinary alcohol tolerance—this amount of liquor was nothing to him.

Internally cursing the "damn drunkard," Evans maintained a friendly smile and said, "Hasfah, aren't we friends? Friends are supposed to help each other, aren't they?"

"Alright, alright, help each other," Hasfah slurred, his feigned drunkenness becoming more exaggerated.

He released the woman he was holding, pointed to her, then to the wine on the table, and chuckled.

"Beautiful women, fine wine—we've got those. But what's missing?"

"Hmm, let me think. What's missing?"

"Oh! Money! Beautiful dollars!"

Watching from his water screen, Martin couldn't hold back his laughter. "Wow, what a straightforward way to ask for a bribe! This guy doesn't even bother with subtlety!"

Evans, on the other hand, was fuming internally. Damn feudal society! Greedy bastards! Absolutely shameless!

He glanced at the Patek Philippe watch on Hasfah's wrist and realized a small sum wouldn't cut it. Tentatively, he offered, "How about $500,000?"

Hasfah pushed the woman aside, stood up, poured a drink for Evans, and then poured one for himself. He raised his glass toward Evans with a smile.

Evans, thinking his offer had been accepted, was about to celebrate when Hasfah said:

"I like the number $500,000, but I love double the happiness even more. How about $1 million?"

Martin burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Evans' hand froze mid-toast, his face twisting as he silently cursed. At the same time, he began weighing the costs and benefits in his mind.

After a few moments, he clinked his glass against Hasfah's.

Ding!

Evans forced a smile. "Deal."

Hasfah grinned, pulled out a phone from his robe, and made a call.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door.

"Evans, my friend, that must be my assistants. Let them in."

Evans signaled his female assistant to open the door. Two men in white robes entered, one carrying a laptop and the other a briefcase.

Hasfah motioned for the first man to open the laptop and said to Evans, "Now, Evans, you can transfer the money."

Damn it! This guy doesn't even play coy, Evans cursed internally as he reluctantly approached the laptop. He also started brainstorming excuses to explain the overspent PR budget to the board.

Martin observed the scene with interest. As he did, he couldn't help but reflect on the broader context.

It was 2002, and U.S. dollars still held significant value—far more than they would a decade later when the U.S. government began printing money at will.

The tie between oil and the dollar was a double-edged sword. As long as oil was traded in dollars, the U.S. could keep printing money without fear of devaluation.

This system allowed the U.S. to parasitically drain wealth from other nations.

Eventually, even Saudi Arabia, the U.S.'s staunchest ally in the Middle East, grew tired of this arrangement. By 2020, Saudi Arabia had explored alternatives, even seeking to establish Chinese military bases on its soil and settle oil transactions in Chinese yuan.

Although U.S. intervention thwarted these efforts, Saudi Arabia's maneuvers still yielded concessions from the U.S. These events underscored China's growing influence and the U.S.'s gradual decline.

Returning to the present, Martin shook his head and dismissed the water screen. Hasfah's charade was entertaining, but Evans was clearly being played for a fool.

Smirking, Martin reclined on his bed, contemplating his next move. The game was just beginning.