In the master bedroom on the second floor of their opulent home, Elizabeth Olsen gracefully made her way into the spacious, well-appointed cloakroom. Her eyes sparkled as she carefully selected a pristine Brioni suit, its fabric whispering luxury. She turned, extending it to Martin, who had been quietly following her.
"Do you want me to go with you?" Elizabeth's voice held a hint of concern, softening the air between them.
The cloakroom, bathed in warm, inviting light, offered ample space. Martin, standing before the full-length mirror near the door, began to dress. "Tomorrow, you'll fly to Europe, joining your sisters for Milan Fashion Week. Tonight, you should rest," he said, his reflection mirroring his thoughtful demeanor.
As he slipped into his suit jacket, Elizabeth approached, her hands deftly helping him. She playfully raised an eyebrow while adjusting his bow tie. "Are you worried I'll get swept up by Scientology?"
Martin chuckled, "You, a revered figure in the Coca-Cola Church? Impossible to be swayed by Scientology."
Elizabeth's laughter rang out, light and teasing. "Perhaps I should try to brainwash Katie Holmes, Tom Cruise's wife." She spoke in jest, her hands moving to pack a large suitcase with practiced ease.
Martin, now fully dressed and donning a sleek Cartier watch, noted the time. With a few moments to spare, he joined Elizabeth, assisting her in packing.
As she folded her clothes meticulously, Elizabeth shared, "I'll be in Milan for some time. I've invested in my sisters' fashion label, 'The Row.' I'm now a significant shareholder and deeply involved in the brand."
Martin, with a hint of admiration, responded, "You're quite the entrepreneur."
Elizabeth turned, her smile radiant. "Your influence surrounds me. Thanks to you, my endorsement fees have soared."
Reflecting on the Olsen sisters' success, Martin mused, "Do your sisters still welcome investors? I could offer financial support."
Elizabeth paused, her expression turning serious. "I fear they might struggle to repay if things don't go as planned."
Unperturbed, Martin replied directly, "That's alright. There are other ways to repay."
Their conversation, a blend of business and banter, resumed as Elizabeth continued packing.
When it was time to leave, Martin descended the grand staircase, where Bruce and Mene awaited. Together, they drove through the starlit streets in a Cadillac, bound for Tom Cruise's house nestled in the hills of Beverly Hills.
The night was alive with lights that seemed to dance across the hilltop where Tom Cruise's mansion stood, a beacon of Hollywood glamour.
Upon arrival, Bruce presented the invitation to the guards. The iron gates opened, leading them up the winding driveway to the mansion's grand entrance.
Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes greeted them warmly. Martin, escorted by Bruce and Mene, was welcomed with a congenial handshake from Cruise.
"Though belated, congratulations on your Cannes Best Actor win," Cruise said with a genuine smile.
"Thank you, Tommy. Your support means a lot," Martin replied, his smile mirroring Cruise's.
In the Hollywood stars' exchange, their mutual respect was palpable.
Cruise graciously introduced his wife, Katie, and Martin introduced his companions, Bruce and Mene.
Together, they walked toward the mansion, the night air rich with anticipation.
The party, intimate yet illustrious, buzzed with the presence of familiar faces – from John Travolta to the Beckhams. Tom Cruise took the time to introduce Martin to each guest, fostering connections under the starry Beverly Hills sky.
In the grand living room of Tom Cruise's Beverly Hills mansion, luminaries from the entertainment world mingled under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. Among them were renowned figures such as Lisa Presley, Elvis Presley's daughter, and the talented young actress Elisabeth Moss. Each one of them, a notable member or a sought-after prospect of Scientology.
Cruise, with a charismatic presence, led the way towards the grand staircase. The staircase itself was an architectural marvel, adorned with intricate carvings and bathed in ambient light. As they approached, a middle-aged man descended the stairs with a dignified air. Clad in a tailored gray suit, he bore distinctive features, including a pronounced nose, marking his Jewish heritage.
Pausing on the third step, which elevated him above the others, he surveyed the room with a commanding gaze. His eyes, sharp and assessing, eventually settled on Martin. There was an unspoken expectation in his stance, a silent invitation for Martin to approach.
But Martin, understanding the subtle dynamics at play, remained where he was, observing the man leisurely from a distance.
Sensing the tension, Cruise intervened, "Martin, let me introduce you to someone."
Martin, however, stood his ground. He had come prepared, knowing full well who this middle-aged man was: the leader of Scientology, not just another Hollywood star.
Unruffled, Martin faced the situation with simplicity. It was merely a display of power, and he was unafraid of a leader, even one with millions of followers. After all, his own position in the Coca-Cola Cult held its own significance.
Cruise, left with no other option, made the introduction, "Martin, this is David Miscavige, Chairman of the Board of Directors of the Scientology Technology Center."
Martin gave a slight nod in acknowledgment, maintaining his composure.
Mene, stepping forward, announced confidently, "I am Mene, the high priest of the Coke Cult, and this is Martin Davis, our leader."
Cruise then remembered Martin's dual identity.
David Miscavige, successor to Scientology founder Hubbard, gestured invitingly to Martin before descending the remaining steps.
The two leaders met halfway, their handshake at the staircase's midpoint symbolizing a meeting of equals. They exchanged pleasantries before moving into the living room to sit on adjacent armchairs. The gathering around them quieted, recognizing the significance of this dialogue between two influential figures.
Their conversation was not just an exchange of words but a profound interaction between leaders.
David, exuding a natural leadership aura, spoke with the confidence of a born leader. Yet, his words carried the mystique of a sage, "For over a year, my intuition has been telling me of a Saint in Los Angeles, vital to the world, yet tainted by sin and in dire need of purification."
Martin remained silent, his expression unreadable.
David continued, "When Tommy mentioned you, I realized that Saint Daki was you. Seeing you today confirms my belief that you've been touched by darkness in your fight against it. Without timely purification, your soul risks corruption."
In a society entranced by spiritual concepts, such talk of the soul could sway many.
David further elaborated, "Purification will unleash your soul's potential, elevating your consciousness to a universal level. As the Earth faces its inevitable end, only the elevated soul can traverse the cosmos."
Around them, the Scientology members, including Tom Cruise, nodded in agreement.
Martin contemplated this grandiose claim, then decided to match it with his own. Scientology had its deep-rooted beliefs, and Martin, albeit new to such grand narratives, chose to leverage them in his response.
"Your offer is appreciated, but unnecessary," Martin replied, his voice steady. "The Coca-Cola Cult has its safeguards."
Sitting upright, Martin's handsome features and composed demeanor contrasted sharply with David's. In this moment, Martin's poise not only reflected maturity but also a subtle air of superiority. His presence, effortlessly charismatic, outshone David's in this high-stakes game of influence and belief.
Martin spoke with a serene confidence that filled the room, "In the Coke Cult, our belief ascends to the pinnacle of the universe. There, a grand palace reigns supreme, home to a great god and his twelve righteous deities, each wielding unique magical powers. During my spiritual journeys, I've been fortunate to receive their recognition and assistance."
David Miscavige, unfazed, countered, "True power stems from the individual soul. Scientology harnesses science to purify and awaken this innate potential, empowering people to realize their true self-worth. Tom here is a prime example."
This was Scientology's most influential narrative. Tom Cruise interjected, "Before Scientology, I grappled with severe dyslexia. After my purification, I overcame it entirely, without medical intervention."
Martin offered a slight smile, knowing his response needed to match their grandeur, "Until I was twenty, I was just another face in the Atlanta slums. A handsome yet destitute boy with nothing."
He continued, half in jest, "One night, a divine being visited me in a dream, sending two of his righteous gods to unlock my talents—one in the arts, the other in combat. Since then, I've excelled remarkably in both areas."
David mulled over Martin's trajectory: from an impoverished nobody to a Hollywood A-lister and a national hero in mere years. It was the epitome of the American dream. Could this meteoric rise be solely attributed to his good looks?
David found himself pondering the plausibility of Martin's tale.
Martin went on, "I've faced life-threatening encounters. From gangsters masquerading as students in Washington to well-trained Russian spies. What would be the outcome for an average person in these scenarios?"
David's skepticism wavered slightly. Martin's account, though unbelievable, somehow seemed plausible.
Martin's tone remained casual, "I've never been a soldier, nor have I undergone military training. Yet, my combat skills are undeniable. Why? Because my physical combat talent was enhanced."
Tom Cruise and the others considered Martin's words. The feats he described were indeed beyond the capabilities of an ordinary person.
However, their faith in Scientology remained unshaken.
The Beckhams, recent targets of Scientology's recruitment efforts, thought differently. They found Martin's account more credible.
Perhaps this Heavenly Lord and Righteous Gods were manifestations of another divine entity.
After Martin finished his elaborate narrative, he presented a stark fact, "Consider how long it typically takes a sect to amass tens of millions of followers. Scientology took decades to reach its current following. The Coca-Cola Cult? Just four years."
David realized the intended recruitment had turned into a debate, and he was on the losing end.
Attempting to regain footing, he argued, "The Coca-Cola Cult is more a business movement, a pan-faith."
Martin chuckled, "If I'm not mistaken, Tom introduced you as the chairman of the board, didn't he?"
Sensing the tension, Tom Cruise interjected, "I've arranged a lavish dinner. Shall we move to the dining hall?"
Martin rose first, "Perfect timing. I'm quite hungry."
Tom led the way to the banquet hall, where Katie Holmes instructed the servants to commence the meal.
This time, David Miscavige appeared more composed, refraining from further attempts at soul purification.
After the meal, Martin excused himself. The Beckhams soon followed, catching up with him in the parking lot, their minds abuzz with thoughts and possibilities spurred by the evening's intriguing conversations.