[Chapter 69: You Messed with the Wrong People]
In the business van, Hawke pulled out his Nokia phone and dialed Megan Taylor's number. "Are you at work? I just got some explosive news. It's almost as big as when Downey got shot, and the ripple effects could be even greater."
Megan immediately shouted from the other end, "Where are you?"
Hawke glanced outside. "Santa Monica Boulevard, just got to Westwood."
"I live in Westwood. Just come to my place," Megan offered a quick address.
Hawke hung up and repeated it to Edward. The van turned south at the next intersection, heading towards West Olympic Boulevard.
...
Within five minutes, the vehicle stopped in front of a small, standalone villa.
Hawke grabbed his laptop, stepped out on his own, and stood in front of the visual intercom, pressing the doorbell.
The door opened, and Megan's voice floated out. "Come in, but remember to close the door behind you."
Hawke crossed the small yard, and by the time he reached the front door, Megan had already pulled it open.
She wore a satin house robe, her face fresh-faced without makeup. "You arrived too quickly; I haven't had time to change."
Hawke complimented her, "You're naturally beautiful, even without makeup."
"Thanks." Megan got straight to the point. "You've been slacking lately; it's been a while since you've brought any hot news. Whose scoop did you get this time?"
Sitting on the couch, Hawke opened his laptop. "San Diego Chargers star receiver Miller Collins. He's gay and messing around with men."
Megan turned to him, looking a bit surprised. "I thought he had a family."
"The model husband in the NFL, wife and kids," Hawke clicked on a video. "It's a little eye-catching."
Megan had seen all kinds of news before and remained unusually calm. As the two appeared on screen, she hit the enter key to pause and confirm their identities.
When it reached the crucial moment, she did the same, pausing again to ascertain the extent of the content.
After watching through, she lamented, "The critical parts need to be blurred. It really loses a lot of interest."
Hawke commented, "The other person isn't a public figure, so his face can't be shown."
"I know." Megan wasted no time. "What's your price?"
Hawke didn't immediately state a figure; instead, he said, "Just ten minutes ago, Miller himself called me, offering $1 million to buy back the video."
Before Megan could react, he slightly shook his head. "But I turned him down. Claire had previously called me, saying 'Midnight Entertainment' was seeing a drop in ratings and lacked any sensational news; I thought this scoop could help you."
Megan scrutinized him, trying to discern the truth in his words. "What are you getting at?"
Hawke explained, "First, your offer needs to be reasonable. Second, you need to withstand the pressure. 'Midnight Entertainment' has to break this story. Otherwise, there's no point in us talking."
Megan placed her hand on the laptop. "This scoop is mine."
She pulled out a small phone from her robe pocket and dialed Claire's number. "Find out how many brands Miller Collins from the San Diego Chargers has endorsement deals with, and check if any are the main advertisers for Channel 11 or any TV station."
Hawke remained silent, knowing Megan wasn't fully confident in him.
The call on the other end quickly returned. "No main advertisers, but there are ads running on Fox; the scale isn't large."
Megan hung up. "I guarantee it'll air."
Hawke added, "There are clearer broadcasting terms. If you get authorization but don't air it, I'll take it to other media platforms."
Megan needed explosive news even more; she needed someone who could continually provide it. She fixed her gaze on Hawke. "If someone really pressures me, I'll resign to resist them."
The show's ratings directly impacted her career.
"$150,000." Hawke cut her off from negotiating. "The higher the sunk cost, the less pressure you'll face."
Megan replied, "$150,000 is my maximum authorization; that's what I can offer."
Hawke tilted his head toward the door. "Let's head to the station."
Megan responded, "Wait for me to change."
...
Santa Monica, Palisades.
Miller hung up the phone, feeling dazed as he returned to his house.
It felt as if all his vitality had been sucked away by Hawke from a distance.
After a long moment, he regained his senses and found Kevin missing, his gift replaced by a note.
The note simply read, "Goodbye."
Miller furrowed his brow, putting it aside temporarily since his agent and publicist had arrived.
The last one to come in was his friend from childhood.
A tattooed white guy named Henry.
Miller quickly recapped the situation, including what Hawke had said.
Neither the publicist nor the agent were surprised about him messing around with men. Without any damaging rumors, how could that still be considered a star?
The agent said, "That guy was right. If this gets out to the team, it's going to be a mess. You're in your contract year, negotiating a renewal with the team, and we're still working on landing a big deal."
He looked pained as if he might explode. "The sponsors are going to be worse. When there's profit involved, they're quicker than anyone else. If they push down on it and use too much of their resources, they'll be the first to abandon you. They'll not only cut their ties immediately but could also accuse you of a breach of contract."
Miller still held onto some hope. "Can't they help me contain this?"
The publicist shattered his illusion. "You're not Jordan, you're not Manning, you're not Woods. In their eyes, you don't hold that much value. If a video lands in the hands of major media, how much do you think they'd spend to manage your crisis and suppress the news? To abandon you? All they need is to activate the breach clauses and find a new spokesperson. When past stars faced PR crises, the first thing sponsors did was to cut ties!"
Miller's heart sank lower, almost to the ocean floor.
"You're facing a formidable opponent this time. From what you're saying, this guy sounds tough." The agent's face was serious. "He investigated you before shooting, accounting for all of this."
The publicist added, "That Kevin is probably bait sent out by them."
As Miller slowly pulled himself together, he had considered this idea.
The agent wanted to say he had messed with the wrong person, but ultimately held his tongue.
Miller looked at the public relations manager and then at the agent. "What do we do next?"
The publicist stood and walked a few steps. "We divide it into three parts. First, keep contacting those people; whether it's through apologies or hefty bribes, we must temporarily stop the video from reaching the media. It's best to reach a confidentiality agreement. As long as the video doesn't fall into the hands of major media, we can still find a way."
Miller sighed, "I offered a million bucks, and they turned me down." He felt helpless. "I just bought a house in LA; I don't have that much cash on hand. They're too alert to trick."
The publicist nodded, continuing, "Second, we need to apply pressure to the media. I'll do my best in this regard, but don't get your hopes too high. If the video lands with smaller media, we can handle it; if it ends up with the National Enquirer or Fox's subsidiaries, it'll be incredibly difficult. Be prepared with over $5 million cash."
Such a hefty sum, Miller couldn't manage.
Liquidating fixed assets took time.
Coming from a traditional white family, he had no connections in the media industry's entangled web.
The publicist continued, "Beyond conventional methods, there are unconventional ones. You mentioned two names?"
Miller said, "Eric Emerson, a small director; I looked him up -- he only has one tape movie. The other is Edward Connor, nicknamed the Savior, a blue-collar worker from Compton. I haven't found anything else on him yet."
The agent added, "Anyone hanging with these two isn't going to have high connections."
High-end public relations, much like high-end business battles, often came off plain and straightforward. The publicist said directly, "Let's look into them; we'll do our best to stall them with conventional means."
He turned to Henry, Miller's friend. "As for unconventional means, we aren't equipped for that."
Henry answered, "Leave that to me."
The agent picked up the phone, contacting people in and out of the media industry.
Hawke and Edward had sold plenty of stories and photos.
Before long, the agent gathered information from the National Enquirer and Hollywood Life about West Coast Media Entertainment Studio.
Then, through the company name, they dug up more details.
Henry came from a white gang organization and quickly gathered a crew.
...
Century City, Fox Television Center.
Hawke signed the agreement and received a $150,000 check.
Megan had returned from the Channel 11 director's office and called Hawke into her office immediately.
Hawke settled on the couch in the waiting area, asking, "Did you get things sorted with the director?"
"Don't worry, the news will definitely air," Megan replied simply. "To avoid leaks, only I, Claire, and channel director Cynthia know the specifics right now. Since it involves three advertisers, as per our agreement, we'll notify them three hours before the broadcast."
"I believe you can handle the pressure." Hawke prepared to say goodbye.
But Megan called him back. "Hawke, I need to remind you of something."
Hawke looked at her.
"There's a media friend who called to ask about the news. I evaded her questions, but she let slip that someone is inquiring about the West Coast Studio," Megan warned.
Hawke nodded. "I understand."
Megan cautioned, "Be careful. I'm counting on you to bring more hot news."
"Thanks." Hawke left the office and quickly left.
...
After rejoining Edward and Eric, he instructed the former to drive back to East Hollywood.
He remarked, "They're looking for us."
Edward replied, "I keep getting calls on my phone. I didn't answer them, just like you said."
Hawke urged, "Stay alert while driving."
Eric seemed nervous. "Is a high-stakes business war coming?"
Hawke nodded slightly, removed his workout jacket, slipped on a shoulder holster, and pulled out the legally purchased Glock 19 to slide into the holster.
He rummaged through his clothing pockets and found the gun permit he had just received two days earlier.
The business van returned smoothly to East Hollywood.
Hawke pointed to the ranch park. "Don't go back to the studio; head to the parking lot, and let's go to Frank's."
He had already considered that they might be facing high-end business dealings, so he had prepared accordingly.
*****
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