This time, before I could even speak, one of the nearest fans suddenly turned and shouted to the crowd.
“Don’t let this guy get away! He must have Emily’s autographed photos in his bag!”
With that roar, hundreds of fans surged over the barricades and charged straight toward me.
Their target was clear—my briefcase.
“Stop right now!” I shouted.
“There’s nothing in here but classified documents—no autographs at all!”
But no matter how I explained, the fans wouldn’t listen. They lunged at me like a pack of wild dogs.
Seeing the chaos before me, even I felt a flicker of panic.
If those files were destroyed, my five years of work would all go to waste.
“Emily, tell your fans to stop!” I yelled.
“My briefcase contains top-secret national documents—any damage is unacceptable!”
Emily, however, remained unmoved. With her hands on her hips, she watched gleefully, as if savoring my predicament.
Just then, my phone suddenly rang inside my pocket.
The moment I saw the caller ID, I felt a wave of relief.
Without a second thought, I answered on speaker, right in front of everyone.
“Mr. Lee, please help me!”
Hearing the panic in my voice, Mr. Robert Lee immediately sensed trouble.
“Mr. Stone, what happened? Weren’t you already on the plane?”
“Don’t tell me the U.S. detained you?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll contact the embassy right away. They won’t dare touch you!”
Clutching my phone, panting heavily, I replied:
“Mr. Lee, my flight landed safely.”
“The problem is, I’m trapped here at JFK, and the project files are in danger—any second they could be destroyed!”
“What!?”
Mr. Lee’s furious outburst nearly rattled the phone in my hand.
“Mr. Stone, tell me you’re not joking!”
“You’re a national hero with presidential-level recognition. Who would dare hold you back?”
Dodging the charging fans, I answered breathlessly.
“Mr. Lee, would I ever joke about something like this?”
“There are hundreds of fans here trying to snatch my briefcase. I can’t hold them off!”
In the briefest words possible, I explained what had happened. On the other end, I could hear the sound of him slamming his cup in rage.
“Outrageous! Tell me—which celebrity’s fans are behind this?”
I was just about to answer when Jason Miller suddenly snatched the phone from my hand.
“Hey, so you’re this guy’s so-called backup, huh?”
“I’m Miss Emily’s personal assistant. Whatever you have to say, you can tell me instead.”
Mr. Lee seemed stunned that a mere celebrity assistant would dare speak to him this way.
“Was it you who incited the fans to attack Mr. Stone?”
Jason, oblivious to the disaster he had just created for himself, replied cockily:
“Damn right. He had it coming!”
“That’s what happens when you cross Miss Emily!”
Even through the phone, I could feel Mr. Lee’s fury.
“Well, well. You dare lay a hand on a top researcher? Impressive!”
“And your boss is a so-called triple Academy Award-winning actress, isn’t she?”
“I’ll make sure she never acts again for the rest of her life!”
Jason clearly hadn’t expected the official’s rage. He snapped back arrogantly:
“Old man, shouting over the phone means nothing. If you’ve got the guts, come down to the airport yourself!”
