Chương 848: Chapter 848: Letter of Submission!
The script that had been circulating internally within the company hadn't yet made its way outside the walls of the studio. After a brief conversation with Thomas, Carlton Cuse, along with his agent, agreed to discuss matters with Thomas first.
The crux of the negotiation boiled down to one key factor: the copyright fees.
Carlton Cuse was no novice to the industry; he was a seasoned screenwriter and a prominent client of WMA. While he might not have the prestige of a top-tier, gold-standard screenwriter, his work still commanded a significant price' far beyond a mere few hundred thousand dollars.
Martin, recognizing the value of Cuse's script, was prepared to invest generously. He authorized Thomas to finalize the deal, with the condition that the licensing fee shouldn't exceed $2 million. Thomas, having read the script thoroughly, had a word of caution for Martin. "Martin, if you take on the lead role, there will need to be substantial adjustments. You're not quite old enough to convincingly play the father of an adult character."
Martin considered this for a moment before replying, "When you're negotiating the copyright, discuss the necessary script and character modifications too. We'll tailor it to suit my profile."
Thomas, understanding the flexibility of such situations, reassured him, "Typically, the screenwriter would be open to these kinds of changes."
Martin was quite particular about the process. Many film studios, after securing the rights to a script, often disregarded the original author's vision, molding the story to fit their own agendas. In the industry, it wasn't uncommon for producers, directors, and lead actors to have the final say, leaving the screenwriter with little to no influence.
"You handle the negotiations," Martin instructed, his thoughts momentarily drifting to Ryan Reynolds' a name Scarlett Johansson had casually mentioned the day before.
Ryan's underhanded tactics, particularly involving Michelle Bryan, were driven by a desperate attempt to win favor with Fox's top brass, all to get Deadpool his own film. Now, with Reynolds out of the picture and facing the consequences of his actions, and his ex-wife Scarlett Johansson likely to continue her personal vendetta, his chances of starring in "Deadpool" were effectively dead.
Not one to let an opportunity slip by, Martin turned to Thomas with a new directive. "Reach out to 20th Century Fox. See if we can secure the rights for a Deadpool movie spin-off from the X-Men franchise."
Thomas, ever the realist, responded, "That'll be a tough sell. The X-Men franchise is one of Fox's crown jewels. Both Disney and Marvel have tried multiple times to buy back the rights to X-Men and the Fantastic Four, but Fox has consistently refused."
Martin acknowledged the challenge but encouraged, "Give it a shot. A co-production could be an option. If it doesn't work out... then we'll move on."
"Got it. I'll reach out to Fox," Thomas replied.
A little over half an hour later, Carlton Cuse and his agent arrived. Martin, choosing to keep a low profile for now, allowed Thomas to take the lead.
Thanks to Martin's competitive offer, WMA was eager to close the deal, and negotiations proceeded smoothly. By the afternoon, a preliminary agreement had been reached. Davis Studio secured the script rights to "San Andreas" for $1.5 million' a fair price for a promising project.
In addition, Carlton Cuse agreed to revise the script and adjust the character dynamics to better fit Martin's persona, ensuring a seamless transition once Martin took on the lead role.
Although Martin had his eye on several classic films from the Warner Bros. vault, recent developments had made him hesitant. He decided to hold off for now, watching and waiting to see how Daniel would handle things. With the Joker movie on the horizon, there was no need to rush.
Martin remained cautious about Warner Bros. and its dealings.
The following day, after finalizing the terms, Martin, representing Davis Studios, signed the $1.5 million agreement with Carlton Cuse for the rights to "San Andreas."
The contract stipulated that Cuse would complete the necessary script modifications by August of the following year, aligning the project timeline perfectly with Martin's vision.
''California State Prison, Private Visiting Room''
In California State Prison, such luxuries are not afforded to ordinary inmates or their families. But the man sitting across from Scarlett Johansson today was no ordinary prisoner. Ryan Reynolds, though now bruised and battered, had once basked in the glow of fame, wealth, and influence. His deep connections in political circles and his vocal support for the Donkey Party had made him a notable figure' enough to grant him this special privilege, even in his current state.
As he sat bound to a chair, his face marked by recent beatings, Ryan glanced up at Scarlett, confusion and suspicion clouding his eyes. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
Scarlett, poised and unruffled, leaned forward slightly. "I heard things haven't been going well for you," she said calmly. "We were married once, Ryan. I figured I'd bring you something." She motioned to the bag in her hand and handed it to the guard, giving him a knowing look. "Mind if I have a few minutes alone with him?"
The guard, who had seen more than his share of strange requests, rifled through the bag briefly before nodding. "Make it quick," he warned, glancing at Ryan. "I'll be right outside. If you need anything, just shout."
Scarlett smiled, a cold, almost predatory glint in her eyes. "Of course. No problem at all."
As the guard stepped out, closing the door behind him, Scarlett slowly pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag. The smoke curled around her face before she exhaled deliberately, letting the cloud drift into Ryan's face.
Ryan, tied and helpless, squirmed in his seat. "Give me one," he demanded, his eyes fixated on the cigarette between her fingers.
Scarlett pulled out another cigarette, holding it just out of Ryan's reach, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She could see the desperation in his eyes, the craving gnawing at him.
"It's tough, isn't it?" she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "That feeling of helplessness, like the world's against you? That's exactly how I felt when we divorced."
Ryan's expression softened, a flicker of hope sparking within him. "You said you'd bring me something to make things better in here."
Since his arrival at the prison, Ryan had found himself in a living nightmare. Thanks to some behind-the-scenes maneuvers by the Fox Group and several left-wing organizations, his assigned cell was nothing short of torture. Sleeping inches from the toilet, he had been regularly beaten by other inmates, and the physical toll was becoming unbearable.
He wanted to believe that Scarlett had come with good intentions, that she was there to offer some kind of relief. Maybe, just maybe, she was going to help.
Scarlett leaned in closer, her voice a whisper now. "I heard your current cell isn't quite up to your standards." She teased him by finally placing the cigarette in his mouth and lighting it, a mock gesture of kindness.
Ryan inhaled deeply, relief washing over him as the nicotine hit his system. "If you could get me transferred to a better cell, Scarlett, I'd owe you forever," he said, his voice earnest.
Scarlett stared at him, her expression unreadable. "Alright, Ryan. I'll make sure you get moved. Remember your promise."
For the first time in a long while, Ryan felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe Scarlett wasn't as bad as he'd thought. "Thank you," he said, the words sincere.
Scarlett paused, as if contemplating something. "To make sure you're comfortable in your new digs," she added thoughtfully, "I'll arrange for a few gifts to be sent to your new cellmate. Just a little something to make your transition smoother."
Ryan nodded, gratitude filling his chest. He wondered why he had never appreciated these sides of Scarlett before. But even as these thoughts crossed his mind, reality loomed over him like a shadow. His future in Hollywood was over, his relationship with Scarlett forever lost.
Prison had proven to be far harsher than he ever imagined. But now, with Scarlett's apparent goodwill, he dared to feel a bit of hope as he was led away.
As Scarlett exited the prison, she joined her assistant and slid into the backseat of her car. Pulling out her phone, she made a quick call. "I need a favor. Ryan Reynolds needs to be moved to a new cell," she said, her voice calm and collected.
The person on the other end didn't miss a beat. "Don't worry, Ms. Johansson. We've already arranged everything. His new cellmates are exactly what you asked for' the most aggressive gay men in the entire prison."
Scarlett's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Excellent. I've prepared some gifts for them' soap, mainly. Make sure they get them."
The voice on the other end chuckled, understanding the implication. "Consider it done. We'll make sure it goes exactly as planned, Ms. Johansson."
Scarlett hung up, her smile lingering as the car pulled away from the prison, the wheels of her carefully orchestrated plan already in motion.
Scarlett hung up the phone, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over her. There was something undeniably liberating about taking control, about wielding the power she had over her ex-husband. Most ex-wives harbor a simmering resentment, a bitterness they rarely get the chance to unleash. But not Scarlett' not today. Today, she had indulged in a little payback, and it left her feeling inexplicably light.
"Head back to Los Angeles," she instructed the driver, her excitement growing with each passing moment. The thrill of her scheme still coursed through her veins, and she found herself craving more. Impulsively, she pulled out her phone and dialed Martin. "Let's meet up," she purred into the receiver. "I'll be waiting for you at the Ritz-Carlton."
On the other end, Martin didn't hesitate. "I'll be there," he replied.
As the car sped toward Los Angeles, Scarlett's mind whirred with thoughts of the night ahead. She was already planning how to stoke Martin's excitement, how to ensure that the night would be one to remember. The anticipation was intoxicating, almost as if she were planning a grand performance. But first, the Ritz-Carlton awaited, where she would welcome Martin in a way that left no doubt about the kind of night they would have.
---
Kyiv, Victory Square
Victory Square in Kyiv was alive with energy, thousands of people packed shoulder to shoulder, their voices merging into one overwhelming chant. All eyes, and the lenses of countless cameras, were fixed on the small figure standing atop the high platform before the monument.
"Support Alexandrovich!" A single voice pierced the air, sparking a wave that rippled through the crowd.
"Alexandrovich! Alexandrovich!" The chant grew louder, more fervent, reverberating off the buildings and filling the square with its intensity. The media reporters covering the event watched in awe, their respect tinged with astonishment at the sheer power of the moment.
On the platform, Alexandrovich raised a hand, acknowledging the crowd with a wave that only fueled their enthusiasm. This rally wasn't just a gathering' it was a declaration. Today, Alexandrovich and his Servant of the People party were officially announcing their bid for next year's general election, a move that had already caused a stir, thanks in no small part to the relentless promotion by 1+1 TV and other media outlets.
Standing beside him, his wife Olena smiled warmly as they clasped hands and bowed to the crowd. The gesture was simple, yet it carried immense weight. Alexandrovich's ability to connect with ordinary people, to appear as one of them, was one of his greatest strengths.
Meanwhile, high above the square on the top floor of a nearby hotel, a small group of men stood by the guardrail, their eyes fixed on the spectacle below. Among them was Rebrov, the director of 1+1 TV, who was deep in conversation with a gray-haired man of considerable stature.
"I never imagined he'd rise so quickly," the older man mused, his tone a mix of admiration and disbelief. This was Igor, the chairman of the Privat Group and a former governor. His life had been spent navigating the complexities of power, yet even he was taken aback by Alexandrovich's meteoric ascent. "All it took was a movie, 'Servant of the People,' and a heroic rescue to make him the most beloved figure in the nation."
Rebrov nodded in agreement. "When I first met Alexandrovich, he still had a lot to learn. But Martin Davis, that American national hero, took him under his wing, and the transformation was remarkable."
Igor's face darkened slightly at the mention of Martin Davis. "It's a shame I didn't get to meet Davis when I was in London," he said, his voice tinged with regret.
Rebrov tried to downplay the importance. "Martin Davis may have a reputation as an American hero, and rumors of his fortune abound, but at the end of the day, he's still just a celebrity..."
Igor raised a hand, cutting him off. "You underestimate him. While I was in London, I had people investigate Davis in the United States. He's got as much wealth as I do, and that kind of money can move mountains in America. His influence reaches far beyond Hollywood' he's a force to be reckoned with in the entire Western world."
Rebrov swallowed, suddenly understanding the gravity of his boss's words. "So, do we give Alexandrovich our full support?"
Igor hesitated for a moment, his mind weighing the options. He had once harbored ambitions of running for office himself, but his tarnished reputation and the sanctions imposed by the United States and other Western nations had made that impossible. Supporting Alexandrovich was his best bet, even though some of the other candidates were oligarchs directly competing with his interests.
"Yes," Igor finally said, his voice firm. "We back Alexandrovich all the way."
Igor had no other viable candidate but Alexandrovich. He was the only one who fit the bill' charismatic, popular, and most importantly, malleable.
Igor turned to Rebrov, his voice heavy with the weight of their shared ambition. "Just as I discussed with Alexandrovich, we'll throw our full support behind Ata. If he succeeds, we'll not only cripple our competitors but also use him as a bridge to smooth relations with the United States..."
Like many oligarchs, Igor was a master of opportunism, always ready to shift his allegiance to whichever side held the advantage.
Rebrov understood the gravity of the situation and knew that Igor, despite his power, couldn't be seen getting his hands dirty. The fact that Igor had confided so much in him only underscored the importance of the task at hand. "I'll make sure to keep the lines of communication open with Alexandrovich," Rebrov assured him.
Igor nodded, his gaze stern. "Don't let him slip out of our control."
Rebrov gave a firm nod in return. "I won't."
With that, Igor took his leave.
From his vantage point, Rebrov watched as Alexandrovich and his wife descended from the platform in the square. The crowd, mesmerized by the man who had played a beloved president on screen' a character who fought against oligarchs and corrupt politicians' parted like the Red Sea, forming neat rows to see them off. In the eyes of the public, Alexandrovich was more than just an actor; he was a national hero who had brought the country hope through both fiction and his real-life rescue of women and children. His popularity was unrivaled, and with the backing of Western interests and the powerful Privat Group, his chances of success seemed all but certain.
As the couple climbed into their car, Rebrov quickly dialed Alexandrovich. They arranged to meet that evening.
Inside the moving car, Alexandrovich ended the call and stared out the window as the bustling city gradually faded into quieter streets. Turning to his driver, he said, "Pull over here. Let's take a walk, Olena. It's been too long since we've had a moment to ourselves."
The December chill in Kyiv was biting, and Olena hurried to wrap a scarf around her husband's neck, the fabric a comforting shield against the cold.
They stepped out of the car, their breaths visible in the frosty air as they walked side by side down the empty road.
"The support we've received from the Privat Group has been overwhelming," Olena remarked, her voice soft but filled with the weight of understanding.
Alexandrovich glanced back at the car, a shadow of concern crossing his face. "Which is exactly why I can't speak freely in front of the driver."
Olena, who knew her husband better than anyone, lowered her voice. "Are you worried about becoming Igor's puppet?"
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Igor's money and resources come with strings attached. If I win the election, he'll expect something in return."
Olena sighed, acknowledging the harsh reality. "It's the same everywhere, isn't it?"
Alexandrovich hesitated for a moment, then spoke slowly, as if revealing a secret he had been holding onto for too long. "Actually, I've been considering something' a plan I started formulating when the Privat Group first threw their support behind me."
Olena's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "What is it?"
A faint smile played on Alexandrovich's lips. "I haven't told anyone about this. It's something I've been mulling over on my own. The idea has taken shape, but it's also a heavy burden."
Olena, whose ambitions matched her husband's, was eager to help. "Whatever it is, I'm here to share that burden with you."
Alexandrovich lowered his voice further, aware of the gravity of what he was about to say. "Igor has always maintained ambiguous ties with the East, and because of that, he's increasingly isolated by the Western world. If I align myself too closely with him, everything we've worked for in America could be undone."
He paused, his mind already made up. "If I do win power, my plan is to use Igor and the Privat Group as leverage' to gradually dismantle their influence. I'll hand over control of the Privat Group to Martin. He has clout in Washington, a stellar reputation, and the political connections we need. With that kind of alliance, we could finally establish a strong, direct line to the United States."
Olena nodded in agreement, though she couldn't hide her concern. "It's a bold plan, but it won't be easy."
Alexandrovich squeezed her hand, a steely determination in his eyes. "Since the day I left Kyiv and traveled to Paris to meet with Martin, nothing has been easy. But we're in this together, and we'll see it through."
They walked on, the cold night air swirling around them, but neither felt the chill. Their shared resolve warmed them, steeling them for the challenges that lay ahead.
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