Looking at the script in his hands, Lucas felt his heart sink. He just couldn't figure out why anyone would dare make a movie about pirates.
"Lucas, it doesn't matter whether you want to be involved or not. Fifty million, I've decided to greenlight the project. Forget the rest, it's about this ship, the Black Pearl; it'll take at least a year and a half to build it right."
"I'm in." Lucas hesitated only briefly; he didn't want to miss out on this chance again.
Everyone knew William White had money to burn. Nowadays, crowdfunding was just a typical Hollywood model. Generally speaking, no single investor would put in more than ten million dollars.
Some might say, "Aren't you just messing around? Who's that foolish?"
That's a misunderstanding. If you were part of this industry, you had to uphold its rules, or else nobody would follow them in the future.
The shooting plans for two blockbuster films left the Hollywood big shots feeling nervous. Luckily, White Films reminded everyone of the old Hollywood days, no longer trying to play quirky.
Though both films were relatively obscure, that didn't dampen the investors' enthusiasm. The Wall Street types didn't care about the subject matter; they were more interested in the investment itself.
...
"Tanner, what's the deal?"
"There's been some trouble with Miss Ciccone."
"Uh huh, go on."
"She took some photos for a magazine a while back. She wasn't famous then, but now..."
"Where are those photos?"
"They were sold to the owner of Penthouse."
"Bob Guccione? That old fool?" William White chuckled. If you were a punk, he wouldn't bat an eye, but you? A family man, and you still dared to cause trouble.
"Yes, that old man."
"He wouldn't be so foolish, would he? Is he planning to meet his maker early, or is he bringing the whole family along?"
"No, that's not the case. The old man is fine. One of his editors seems to have some ideas."
"Alright, find out the details. This can't be delayed. My cash cow isn't for the taking. Get Max on standby."
"Yes, master."
William White thought to himself, was he being too lenient lately? It seemed like everyone wanted to take a swipe at him.
When things came to this, Bob Guccione needed to clean up his act and hand everything over to William White without fuss.
Would this be made public? Frankly, William had never worried about that. Not even Rupert Murdoch would dare publish it if he had it.
...
"What? A gang in Los Angeles?"
"It seems like a bunch of Haitians, refugees with no legal status, so they're pretty reckless."
"Alright, Max, take care of that editor first, then go have a chat with Bob. If anything does come up, don't hold back; just treat it like interest."
"Understood, sir."
"Tanner, keep an eye on those Haitians until Max is back, then get them out of here."
"Okay, master. And what if someone unexpected shows up?"
"They can count themselves unlucky; send them back to Africa; they like hanging out with their own kind anyway."
"Yes, master."
Tanner and Max left, and William White still felt a bit riled. He thought he needed to reassess himself; why were these guys not afraid of him?
...
Well, someone had indeed made a mistake; Bob Guccione had never reached that height, and he had always been reckless.
When the old man woke up, he seemed very disoriented. Though he dabbled in shady dealings, he kept himself clean, didn't smoke or drink, so there was no reason for a blackout.
"What the hell? Why does my head hurt so much? Did someone hit me?" He was confused; everything around him felt familiar and orderly.
"Was I robbed? In my own home? Damn it, those things better not get out." He wasn't worried about his treasures; they were all insured. If they went missing, they went missing. But anything in the safe couldn't leak; if it did, he'd be in big trouble.
Looking at the empty safe, the old man collapsed onto the floor and passed out again.
...
"Ha, even our bodybuilding champ is here. Max, clean up all of it."
"Yes, sir. What about those things?"
"Just take them to the black market, better not deal in the country, and then you all split it."
"Sir, there's quite a bit."
"Not a problem, just be careful with the subsequent actions."
"Don't worry, boss."
William White left; he still needed to reassure his anxious cash cow. To be honest, that old fool was out of line; today's Madonna was worth a lot more than what that rundown loft could ever repay.
Funny how the Playboy was just fine.
The old man had indeed grabbed a lot of people's weak spots, and that was why he was in trouble. Nobody liked threats, and nobody liked surprises.
"Why are you crying? It's all good now. You're famous; folks are bound to take notice."
"Right, I--I'm so sorry for causing you trouble."
"It's nothing major; just don't keep anything from me again. If I had known earlier, it would've just taken a phone call."
"I..."
"Alright, no more of that."
"Okay."
Sometimes, engaging in some tough exercise really does help alleviate mental stress. Clearly, Madonna needed that a lot right now. William White thought that the current Madonna had gotten a bit loose lately, perhaps influenced by this incident.
If you're using these things to threaten me, I might as well embrace it. For those adult movie makers, using unflattering photos as blackmail was downright comedic.
Though Madonna hadn't gone that far, she was pretty close. As for now, there surely wouldn't be any more hidden dangers.
...
Bob Guccione was a bit scared but didn't dare call the police; he just paced around his home like a donkey.
Having done too many bad things, trouble was bound to follow. Because he couldn't quite pinpoint who he had offended.
"Sir, Tony's missing; he didn't come to work today, and his family has no idea where he is."
Damn it, it must be that rascal! The old man cursed silently but didn't dwell on it.
"Have you called the police? I'm heading to the office right now."
"Not yet. His family isn't clear either."
"Call the cops; the company knows nothing about this."
"Yes, sir."
At this point, Bob Guccione had pretty much guessed that Tony had stirred up trouble. Since his life wasn't in danger, he must be someone who knew how to negotiate. As for the troublesome subordinate, well, that was just a walk in the park.
*****
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