As Leonardo caught sight of the guests being ushered in for the awards, he couldn't shake the memory of Martin Scorsese's triumph from a few years back, and it stirred something within him.
Leonardo felt a surge of confidence coursing through him as he watched the proceedings unfold.
Soon, it was time for the nominees to gather for a group photo, and Martin, along with three others, prepared to head back to the bustling banquet hall.
Nearby, Jessica Chastain emerged from the door, taking a few steps before spotting Martin. A warm smile lit up her face as she moved to greet him.
However, her attempt at a friendly hello was interrupted by Megan Ellison, who briskly caught up to Jessica, her determination evident in her stride.
"Megan Ellison, president of Annapurna Pictures," she introduced herself, her tone brimming with assertiveness. "I've been involved in the investment and production of 'The Hurt Locker.' I've got a project directed by Kathryn Bigelow, and I want you for the lead role. Your agent mentioned scheduling conflicts, but I can't accept that. I won't take no for an answer!"
Jessica Chastain was taken aback by Megan's directness. Though unfamiliar with her, she recognized the name and reputation.
The conversation didn't go unnoticed by Martin and his companions.
Nicholson leaned in to Martin, whispering, "Looks like a challenge ahead. Can you handle it?"
Martin cast a glance at Megan, then sighed, "Doesn't seem like it. My legs feel like lead."
"We've got a battle on our hands now," Martin declared, striding over to the scene. "Follow my lead!"
Nicholson patted Leonardo on the shoulder, offering encouragement. "Why can Martin run a marathon while you're stuck sprinting? Think about it."
As they moved, Leonardo couldn't help but wonder aloud, "Is Megan Ellison married or engaged? His confidence seems unmatched."
Nicholson nodded in agreement. "Possible."
Meanwhile, Jessica Chastain was grappling with how to respond to Megan's proposition.
Just then, Martin's familiar voice cut through the tension. "Jess, there you are. Been looking everywhere for you."
Jessica turned to see Martin approaching, a smile spreading across her face. "Martin, what's up?"
Seeming to ignore Megan's presence, Martin said, "Got something in mind for you. Perfect fit."
He went on to mention an upcoming project with Ridley Scott, hinting at a role suited for her.
Megan's gaze burned with intensity, but Martin remained unfazed.
Jessica glanced between the two, then turned back to Martin. "Could I get your business card? I'll have my agent follow up."
Martin handed her his card, reminding her to reciprocate. Jessica swiftly exchanged cards and followed Martin's lead as they headed back to the lobby together.
Nicholson and Leonardo sauntered into the bustling hall, their presence commanding attention. Meanwhile, Meghan watched them depart, her hands tucked into her trouser pockets, a subtle twist of her mouth betraying her frustration. It was evident that Martin Davis's response—or lack thereof—was clear to her.
Delete, trailing behind Meghan, took a couple of steps forward. "Madam President, shall we apply some pressure?" he suggested.
"Pressure?" Meghan's tough exterior belied a clear-headedness. "This is Hollywood. We're newcomers. How can we apply pressure?"
Derrett interjected, "David has been here for years, involved in numerous investments."
Meghan shook her head. "But he's still a Hollywood punchline."
Although Meghan's bluntness was characteristic, Derrett found it difficult to accept and fell silent.
"These Hollywood guys are quite intriguing," Meghan muttered under her breath. "Keep tabs on Martin Davis. I won't let him snag any new projects."
She continued, "And find out about any projects he's currently involved in. Contact the writers or authors."
Derrett nodded understandingly. "Right away."
Back in the banquet hall, Martin, Nicholson, and Leonardo remained seated together.
Nicholson remarked, "She's tough, but not as arrogant as expected. I thought she'd come at you guns blazing."
Leonardo chimed in, "What's she got against us? Martin's unshakable, no matter what she throws."
Martin, ever the protector, nudged Leonardo. "Enough from you."
Nicholson offered a sobering reminder, "The battle's just begun. It'll be a long one. She's got deep pockets and a strong background. We can't expect to win overnight."
Martin nodded. "We'll take it step by step."
After the nominees' luncheon, all the Oscar contenders gathered for a group photo. With that concluded, the next step was for the Academy to send out the final ballots, determining the winners.
Martin, Nicholson, and Leonardo made arrangements to ensure fairness in the selection process, including golf matches to finalize additional candidates—something none of them excelled at.
In a different setting, near Custom Street in Tijuana...
Seven or eight Latin women emerged from a courtyard bungalow, dollar bills stuffed into their attire as they blew kisses towards a lit window.
Their leader, a statuesque figure, addressed a few onlookers, "Darlings, call us if you need anything."
DePaul, emerging from the doorway with a stick in his mouth, replied, "Next time, I'll get a fresh batch!"
"No problem," Long Legs responded, opening the iron door and leading the group towards Custom Street.
She pondered how long it would take for their wealthy patrons to succumb to temptation and call them again.
At month's end, the practitioners of Custom Street faced intense pressure to meet performance standards, enforced by the controlling gangs who held their lives in the balance.
Failure to meet these standards often resulted in brutal consequences, with the underperformers being beheaded as a warning and a means of personnel turnover.
Yet, despite the risks, people continued to flock to Tijuana, drawn by its allure as the beacon of the Americas.
As one woman reached for a cigarette, she realized her pack was empty and muttered, "I'll grab some more from the store." With that, she crossed the worn road towards the convenience store diagonally opposite.
In the dead of night, a van screeched to a halt beside the unsuspecting woman, its sudden appearance jolting her into action. She made a desperate attempt to flee, but before she could get far, a figure leaped from the vehicle and seized her. With a sharp dagger pressed against her throat, resistance seemed futile, and she reluctantly complied, surrendering to the ominous darkness of the van's interior.
Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating, filled with shadowy figures clad in black from head to toe. The woman, desperate to ensure her survival, hastily unfastened her clothing, offering herself in exchange for mercy. "I can handle two at a time. Hurry, or I'll be doomed if I'm late," she pleaded.
Marcelo, his face concealed by a hood, interrogated her. "How many were in the yard when you left?"
Fearful of the blade hovering perilously close, she answered truthfully, "Six."
Another figure produced a handful of photos. "Are these the ones?"
She scrutinized each image and nodded in confirmation.
"Keep quiet as if nothing happened," Marcelo instructed with a wink.
Paqueta and Jesus swiftly bound and gagged the captive, then, shrouded in darkness, they transported her to a secluded spot, disposing of her without hesitation.
Meanwhile, in a bungalow with a courtyard, six men reveled in their ill-gotten gains, swapping stories and boasting of their exploits.
Diego, adorned with tattoos, suggested, "Boss, easy money like this begs for a repeat performance. Martin Davis won't know what hit him!"
Rodriguez, more cautious, cautioned, "We're dealing with Martin Davis here!"
But DePaul waved off their concerns, swigging his beer confidently. "Martin's a hero in the States, sure, but we're untouchable once we slip back into Mexico."
The allure of easy riches clouded their judgment, with Romero proposing a more elaborate scheme involving breaking into Martin Davis's home to pilfer valuable scripts and possessions.
Diego's gaze turned lascivious as he added, "And let's not forget about Martin's girlfriend, Elizabeth Olsen. We can have some fun with her too."
Laughter filled the room as the men entertained their dark fantasies.
DePaul seized upon their excitement, envisioning a lavish retirement funded by their exploits. "Once we're done, we'll disappear into the sunset, living like kings."
Their plans were abruptly interrupted by a sudden crash, followed by the shattering of glass. Panic ensued as they scrambled for their weapons, but before they could react, chaos descended upon them.
In a blinding flash of light and deafening roar, their world was turned upside down as armed assailants stormed the room, their leader barking orders amidst the gunfire.
Amidst the chaos, Paquita flicked on the lights, illuminating the grim aftermath. Marcelo meticulously documented the scene, each click of the camera capturing the gruesome reality of their downfall.
For them, the promise of $30,000 had proven easy money.