[Chapter 639: This Organization is Called Angels]
Unsurprisingly, Leonardo DiCaprio had become a hot commodity. Before this, he was just a low-tier actor. Now, while he hadn't quite reached superstar status, a paycheck under two million dollars was out of the question.
As for Tom Cruise, he was only a step away from commanding a ten million dollar salary. In fact, if the North American box office for The Departed surpassed two hundred million dollars, he would have hit that figure.
"Leonardo, you've got talent; don't waste it. Kid, Robert Downey Jr. is washed up now; you can't screw this up," William White cautioned. If anyone else had said this to Leo, he might have blown up, but coming from William, it was mentorship and encouragement.
"Got it, Mr. White. I just enrolled in an acting course; my skills could use some work," Leo replied.
"Good, if the opportunity arises, we'll collaborate again. Haha, let's hope your salary doesn't skyrocket. Just look at Tom; I can barely afford this guy anymore."
Tom Cruise chuckled wryly, "Mr. White, the salary is negotiable. Can I please not play a villain in the next film?"
"Ah, Tom, you still don't get it. With your looks, you rarely get to play a bad guy. If you keep getting typecast, it won't do your career any good."
"I see. All right, just let me know when you have something. I'm ready for it."
"Yeah, there will be opportunities. There's a script in discussions right now; I'll reach out once it's finalized. I can't share details yet; what if they pull out?"
"Thanks, Mr. White."
"Keep at it, I need to take care of something."
Well, if you could call it important business. After being teased by Nastassja all night, he was feeling a bit on edge. He needed to look into some ways to decompress.
...
William was riding high, but a small conflict in West Hollywood had just wrapped up.
"Chief, it's over; the guy is dead."
"Crap, we need to bail, and don't leave any traces behind."
"Right, there are a lot of black guys around here; should I leave something behind?"
"Make it quick."
Tanner hadn't slept all night. Those guys were unreasonably cautious. He thought he had been careful enough, yet still ended up getting found out.
These guys were ruthless. Once they realized escape was impossible, they opted for self-destruction. What kind of madmen were these? Were they even human?
Tanner was a bit curious, his dark circles aside; how did the master manage to end up with dark circles too? Seems he'd been through the wringer. Listening to Tanner babble on, William found himself a bit overwhelmed.
"Samael? That's the angel of death."
[T/N: Original name was 昔拉 (Sira). I thought it could be Seraphim. Since it was mentioned angel of death, I went with Samael.]
"Master, have you heard of this organization?"
"No, Samael is a legend, one of the nine fallen angels, the one who wields death. These guys are absolutely not to be trifled with."
"Master, if we want to stay involved, we need to be cautious."
"Let's hold off for now. If they're not catching on to us, there's no need to worry just yet."
"We used a jammer; we intercepted their last message."
"Even so, staying alert is essential. These guys have guts; they're definitely not just some newly formed group. Look into cases similar to Kennedy's; there must be plenty. Take your time with this; we don't need to worry about the obvious opponents. It's the ones lurking in the shadows that we need to be cautious of."
William White realized that things were more complicated than he had initially thought. He had assumed these people might just be hired hands, with no ultimate goals of their own.
Now the situation seemed to have shifted; this group harbored significant ambitions. What he wasn't sure of was whether the California consortium could truly control this power. Was the California consortium and Lockheed just part of a larger profit chain?
...
"What's going on? Why is Monte showing up in West Hollywood? This was a simple task; tell me why he committed suicide." An old man with a heavily wrinkled face looked like he could be anywhere from eighty to ninety years old; he exuded an uncomfortable mustiness.
"Sir, the company didn't send him to carry out the mission, and we have no record of his itinerary. The only thing we know for sure is that he arrived in Los Angeles three days ago."
"Dig deeper; see who he interacted with. Did we find anything at the scene?"
"Nothing. By the time the cops arrived, everything was gone. It was a predominantly black neighborhood, and the scene was chaotic."
"I see. What about Leo Wanta? Did he agree to our terms?"
"Sir, the mission failed. At least dozens of factions are watching him. This will require patience. One thing is certain: he rejected the CIA."
"CIA? If he had agreed, he'd probably be dead by now. The money involved is enormous and hidden. Convincing him is crucial. What about his family?"
"They're under stringent CIA surveillance. If they want him gone, it wouldn't be hard. Leaving the U.S. would be more complicated and would come at a cost."
"All right, keep me updated on any developments."
"Understood, sir."
...
William White should actually be grateful that he was not deeply entangled in politics. From this perspective, his sphere had its flaws. Because of these flaws, people might be interested in him but wouldn't pay him much mind.
This so-called Angels organization was not what he had envisioned. They didn't just have dark angels; in fact, the faces that showed up were typically white angels.
As for allegiance, they didn't belong to any organization or individual.
Compared to the real world, depictions of them in films were quite rare. You wouldn't know where they were; they were everywhere.
Monte hadn't anticipated that the warning message he sent out before his death would simply vanish.
Which goes to show, movies can sometimes be more dangerous than imagined. What was he even doing dabbling in The Departed? If the movie characters had jammers, your Morse code would be useless; it would be like throwing seductive glances at a blind person.
...
"Oliver, are you still committed to this release?" Facing the obstinate old man, the Warner Bros. boss was at a loss for words. He was already bracing himself for what was to come.
The shareholders wouldn't care who was behind the investment; they would only know when you tanked again. Even if the losses weren't significant, so what? A loss is a loss, and no amount of excuses can change that reality.
Oliver was also feeling conflicted. The meeting yesterday hadn't gone well. That arrogant guy was completely out of touch.
"The investors are adamant; I can't do anything about it. Let's just hope it doesn't turn out too badly. After all, there's still over a month left; this animated film can't be worse than Jurassic Park, can it?"
"Oliver, don't you realize that these two films have already drained the audience's purchasing power? Even by next summer, it'll be tough to bounce back."
"I believe in my film. This is going to be a great movie, by the way, the investors agreed to a five million dollar marketing budget."
"Ah, that's all we can do. Let's just hope for success. Oliver, if we can recoup half the investment, that wouldn't be too shabby."
Oliver was left speechless. He never imagined that the movie he thought would compete with The Departed was seen as being at this level in others' eyes.
He wanted to argue, but after that comment, it was clear the conversation was over.
*****
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