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🕑 Added 2025-06-03 16:24:17 +0000 UTCChapter 1480: A Grand Entrance
Over there, Sony Columbia was busy plotting against Anson. An invisible yet inescapable web was steadily tightening around him, wrapping him up completely.
Even though Lucas had sharp instincts and sensed the looming crisis, quickly founding Forest Films in response, the company was still in its infancy. Forget standing up to a giant like Sony Columbia—they didn’t even have a single project released yet. For the time being, they were powerless to help.
In the face of a behemoth like Sony Columbia, they were simply too small, dwarfed and swallowed up by its massive shadow.
A crisis was creeping closer.
Meanwhile, Anson was still in New York, preparing his new album, seemingly oblivious to the danger heading his way.
Then, something interesting happened—something that sparked a small buzz in Hollywood and spread like wildfire.
Anson showed up at the doorstep of Warner Bros.’ New York headquarters.
First it was Warner Records, and now Warner Bros. Wait a minute—what was going on here?
Had Anson caught wind of Sony Columbia’s underhanded moves and decided to take the initiative, rallying allies to his side?
Or maybe there was more to his deal with Warner Records—like some extra condition? Perhaps the contract required him to collaborate with Warner Bros. on a film. After all, that outrageous $50 million deal for three albums… well, toss in a movie, and it starts to make a lot more sense. It’d also reinforce Hollywood’s smug superiority, proving they’d been right about Anson—and singers in general—all along. They could still look down their noses and laugh at his “downgrade.”
But was it really that simple?
Here’s a detail worth noting: last time Anson visited Warner Records, he kept it low-key and under wraps. The news only slipped out because of an accidental leak from inside Warner. This time, though, his visit to Warner Bros. was a whole different story.
It was still early morning, still Manhattan, still rush hour, still a dreary, soul-crushing workday.
The surging crowds hurried along, heads down, focused on their grind. A few broke away from the flow, pausing at the entrance to Warner Bros.’ office building. They veered off, slipping through the revolving doors on the ground floor. A quick glance at their watches, and their steps sped up—racing against the clock to punch in on time.
Amid the bustling chaos, a sleek silver-gray Aston Martin pulled up to the curb. Sparse sunlight glinted off its smooth, flowing lines, making it shimmer. But in a place like Manhattan, where luxury cars were a dime a dozen, it didn’t exactly turn heads. The hurried footsteps didn’t even pause.
The car came to a stop. The driver hopped out, swiftly circling around to the back door. With a slight bow, he opened it politely, and a figure stepped out.
Tall and lean, dressed in a perfectly tailored ink-black Dior suit, the outfit hugged his frame just right. There was an air of elegance tinged with a moody edge, but beneath it simmered a defiant, rebellious streak that carved out sharp angles in his presence. The sun fought hard, tearing through thick clouds to spill a faint ray of light down onto him.
In that instant, the world lit up.
People rushing by couldn’t help but stop, stealing a second glance. Their bodies kept moving forward on autopilot, but their eyes drifted back—once, twice—before they even realized it. Their focus quietly shifted, drawn in the same direction.
Silently, instinctively, the crowd parted, carving out a small path in the sea of people. Their gazes escorted that figure as he walked unobstructed into the building.
Then, holding their breath, they exchanged looks—strangers too stunned to believe their eyes. A quiet excitement buzzed between them as they shared this fleeting, magical moment. Whispers rippled through the sound of footsteps picking up again, hearts pounding uncontrollably.
“Was that just…?”
“Wait, that couldn’t be…”
“Is that the real guy?”
“You saw it too? I thought I was seeing things!”
“So, that was…?”
They hesitated, no one daring to say the name out loud, yet seeking confirmation in each other’s eyes. The name they swallowed stuck on the tip of their tongues, exploding in their minds instead. Blood rushed, hearts raced, and the dull morning suddenly burst into life.
The scene inside Warner Bros.’ lobby was no different.
A packed crowd jostled to get through the turnstiles, while another group crammed the wide hallway, waiting for the elevators.
Even the air felt heavy and stale.
Scattered greetings lacked any real energy. Brief exchanges fizzled out into silence as people savored their last scraps of personal time before the office grind began. They couldn’t even muster a fake smile, so they just stared at the floor.
Then, out of nowhere, they noticed that striking figure. It was so unexpected, so shocking, that someone choked on their own spit, standing there dumbfounded.
The ambient noise floating in the air faded away, leaving an eerie quiet. The only sound was the abrupt ding of the elevator doors opening and closing—yet, oddly, no one stepped inside. Instead, the crowd shuffled back toward the turnstiles, craning their necks and standing on tiptoes to sneak a peek.
That figure paused at the reception desk. In an instant, the entire lobby fell silent.
“Good morning. I have a 10 a.m. meeting with Mr. Jeff Robinov and Edgar Cooke.”
The receptionist tapped away at the computer, pulling up the appointment. “Mr. Cooke, you’re early—hic!” Her words cut off mid-sentence as she looked up and saw that face. A hiccup interrupted her, eyes widening, brain short-circuiting. She shot to her feet the next second.
Crash.
Her chair toppled over.
“Anson! Oh, no, Mr. Wood—oh, God!” The receptionist fumbled over her words.
A low buzz erupted, growing louder—buzz, buzz, buzz.
The lobby erupted into chaos:
Anson Wood—the Anson Wood—had just walked into Warner Bros.’ New York headquarters?
A faint smile tugged at Anson’s lips. Unlike his last visit to Warner Records, today he was here loud and proud, aiming to make waves.
From his outfit to his demeanor, everything was different.
“No worries,” Anson said lightly, “I come in peace.” The small quip eased the tension in the air. “I know I’m a bit early for the appointment, but I didn’t want to be late. Is there a lounge where I can wait until Mr. Robinov is free?”
The receptionist nodded, then shook her head.
Early? This wasn’t just early—it was a full hour ahead of schedule. Sure, Warner Bros. had a lounge, but let Anson wait there for an hour? No way.
They’d heard of Hollywood A-listers showing up fashionably late, leaving producers and execs twiddling their thumbs for an hour while agents and PR teams scrambled to clean up the mess. But a star arriving an hour early and patiently waiting? That was unheard of.
Especially if that star was Anson.
So, how were they supposed to respond?
No matter what they said, it felt like the wrong answer. Not just the receptionist—the entire lobby full of bustling employees froze, dumbfounded.
Chapter 1481: The Mastermind Behind the Scenes
…What should I do?
What should I do, what should I do, what should I do?!
The receptionist’s face stiffened, standing there like a mess in the wind, looking like she was on the verge of tears.
Anson couldn’t help but laugh and cry at the same time. He cracked a joke, “I’m pretty sure I remembered to wash my face before leaving the house today.”
Pfft.
Someone nearby couldn’t hold back a chuckle.
“Thanks,” Anson said loudly toward the crowd with a playful tone, lightening the mood a bit more. Then he turned back to the receptionist.
“How about this: why don’t you give Mr. Robinov a quick call on the internal line to let him know I’m here? I’ll head to the guest room and wait there.”
The receptionist seemed to finally catch her breath. She shook her head repeatedly, then nodded just as fast. “No, Mr. Wood, please go straight up. Head directly to Mr. Robinov’s office. His assistant will be waiting for you there—don’t worry about a thing.”
Anson flashed a smile. “You sure?”
The receptionist could feel the confidence and encouragement in Anson’s eyes, warm and gentle. She quickly nodded again to confirm, picking up the phone receiver. “Everything will be sorted out before the elevator even gets here.”
Anson didn’t push back any further. He gestured behind him with a sheepish smile. “Hope I haven’t caused too much trouble.”
The receptionist glanced past Anson—
The lobby on the first floor was getting more crowded by the second. The air buzzed with restless energy, like a zoo full of people gawking at a panda.
She instantly got his teasing tone, and the corners of her mouth finally curled up into a small smile. But Anson didn’t linger—he turned and headed toward the turnstiles.
After a few steps, he realized he hadn’t grabbed a temporary visitor pass. He paused, about to turn back, when the staff at the turnstile parted like a wave, swiping a card for him and motioning him through with an inviting gesture.
Anson hurried up, taking two steps at a time to catch up and pass through the gate.
Then he saw it: the bustling crowd in front of him split apart, forming a straight path to the elevators—straighter than Moses parting the Red Sea.
A random thought popped into Anson’s head: “If this were Sicily, all I’d need is a cigarette.”
In the movie Malèna, there’s that classic scene where the heroine pulls out a cigarette at a café in the town square, and in the next second, every man around her whips out a lighter, surrounding her completely.
Someone nearby caught his drift and chimed in, “This feels more like Titanic. Rose dreaming her way back to the clock tower, walking down a path lined with welcoming faces, with Jack waiting up ahead.”
Anson shrugged lightly. “So, Mr. Robinov is Jack?”
Haha, hahaha.
Laughter rippled through the air, a light and cheerful vibe spreading around.
Anson made it to the elevator without a hitch, only to find himself alone inside. The staff stayed crowded outside the doors, peeking in like curious meerkats.
Maybe it was his imagination, but compared to the empty elevator, the swarm of people outside seemed even more packed—squished together like thin sheets of paper.
Anson blinked, then quipped, “Relax, I’m not gonna make you pick between the red pill and the blue pill.”
The crowd erupted in laughter!
Still, no one stepped forward.
Anson spread his hands. “I figured you guys were in a rush to clock in, but it looks like you’re not too worried about waiting for the next elevator.”
In that instant, the staff stirred. They’d assumed a Hollywood actor like Anson wouldn’t get the struggles of regular office workers—the morning rush at the elevator was just as bad as the traffic jams outside. Missing this one could easily mean missing their clock-in time.
Finally, someone couldn’t resist and stepped into the elevator.
One led to two, and soon the elevator was packed. Anson, far from acting like a big-shot star, squeezed himself pitifully into a corner. Everyone was trying so hard not to laugh.
His voice drifted from the corner, “Don’t worry about me—I’m fine. I can still breathe.”
Haha! The laughter exploded again.
Outside, the people who’d tried to join the fun but didn’t make it watched with longing as the elevator doors slowly closed, then vanished.
Boom!
The second the doors shut, the lobby outside turned into a chaotic buzz of chatter that just wouldn’t stop.
The elevator climbed, stopping at floors along the way, until it finally reached its destination. The doors opened, and the staff immediately spotted Jeff.
That shiny bald head stood out like a beacon. Hands behind his back, he stood at the entrance with a smile, greeting people as they stepped out. Then, at last, he saw Anson.
“Look at this—the good news that’s brightening up our Monday morning,” Jeff Robinov said with a grin, extending a warm welcome.
Anson stepped forward, giving Jeff a quick hug and a shoulder bump. “Honestly, I’m a little surprised. This is Warner Brothers, right? Why are they so shocked to see me? I thought actors were in and out of here all the time.”
Jeff chuckled. “Oh, they are—countless actors every day. But none of them are Anson Wood.”
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“There’s only one Anson. Even for Warner Brothers staff, you’re still a superstar straight out of the movie screen. Cut them some slack for losing it a little when they see a legend.”
Anson laughed outright. “I know that’s just flattery, but I’m not gonna argue. Let me live in my little daydream bubble for a bit.”
Jeff looked at Anson but didn’t address him directly. Instead, he raised his voice to the crowd. “Yep, this is Anson Wood. If you’re planning to spread some gossip, better do it quick. We’re heading into the office now, and you all need to get to work—otherwise, I’ll make sure today’s the last time you get to gawk at him.”
A rustling sound followed, and in a flash, the meerkats scurried back into their burrows—
The place was buzzing with energy.
Actions speak louder than words.
Jeff threw his hands up at Anson in a helpless gesture, and Anson couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
Jeff stepped aside, motioning for Anson to follow, and the two started walking and chatting.
This path—Anson had walked it once before, eighteen months ago, when he’d come with the script for The Butterfly Effect. It felt so distant now, like a lifetime ago.
“So, what’s the occasion? Why do I get the honor of a personal visit? Good news, I hope? Has a Warner Brothers project finally won over Hollywood’s golden touch?” Jeff asked casually, in no rush.
Anson shook his head lightly. “Jeff, you’re playing dumb when you already know the deal.”
Jeff laughed out loud. “Come on, you could at least play along and give me a little fake hope! But seriously, today’s meeting was supposed to be with Edgar. I had every reason to think we’d be digging into some collaboration possibilities. You can’t completely shoot down my guess.”
Anson was ready to fire back—he had a hundred comebacks lined up.
But the words danced on his tongue for a second before he swallowed them. He shifted gears, putting on a humbler tone.
“My bad, sorry.”
“Let’s start over. I’ll adjust my attitude—check out my begging posture. Is it up to standard?”
“I’m here at Warner Brothers today because I need a favor. Let’s talk about The Hangover. What’s the plan? Are you guys really going to invest and make it happen?”
Chapter 1482: Alliances and Strategies
Serious yet playful, direct yet subtly sharp.
He seemed to bow and scrape, but in reality, he held his ground—his words laced with jabs and teasing, delivered with a mocking edge that didn’t offend but instead made you want to laugh.
A flicker of a smile appeared in Jeff Robinov’s eyes. “Oh, The Hangover? So, what’s up with this project?”
Watching Jeff play innocent, Anson shook his head lightly. “Jeff, you’re not a great actor, you know that?”
Jeff didn’t mind. “I know. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be behind the scenes—I’d have given myself some roles by now.”
Anson chuckled, caught off guard. “You know what I mean. We were nearly done negotiating with The Hangover’s two writers, but then Warner Bros. swooped in out of nowhere, and now everything’s up in the air.”
Jeff shrugged. “Business is business. Isn’t this just how it goes? Until the ink’s dry on a contract, anyone’s free to compete.”
Anson nodded. “Sure. I might be an unreasonable Hollywood actor, but I still get the basics of the game.”
Jeff’s lips twitched, barely holding back a laugh.
Anson continued, “But the point is, there’s clearly more to it than that.”
“For instance, another project we at Forest Films were negotiating and basically had locked down—Sin City—suddenly piqued Warner Bros.’ interest overnight?”
“Come on, Jeff. We both know this is Hollywood. There’s no such thing as coincidence.”
Clearly, things weren’t that simple.
Lucas’s take was straightforward: this was just business—cutthroat and cold-blooded. Today it’s Warner Bros., tomorrow it could be anyone else. Either way, it’s a test Forest Films would have to face, so they should meet it head-on.
Edgar’s view was similar but slightly different. He thought Forest Films’ foundation was still too shaky to take on a direct showdown. No need to flex when they weren’t ready. Instead, he suggested Anson go talk to Warner Bros. and see what’s what.
Lucas disagreed.
To him, this was a trap set by Warner Bros., aimed squarely at Anson. Walking right into it would be a mistake.
Edgar nodded in agreement but offered to step up himself—head to Warner Bros., test the waters, and figure out their real intentions.
Anson saw it a bit differently. If Warner Bros. was targeting Forest Films, they truly had no way to fight back. But if they were targeting him, there was room to maneuver.
First, if a giant like Warner Bros. was scheming against you, it meant you were worth scheming over.
Second, if they were pulling strings behind the scenes instead of out in the open, it hinted at something valuable in their hands—maybe more than anyone realized.
Anson figured they should strike head-on. After all, when you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose. Forest Films’ weakness was having zilch, but that was also its strength. Even if they lost both Sin City and The Hangover, the damage would be minimal.
On the flip side, Anson believed they could turn Warner Bros. to their advantage—
To counter Sony Columbia.
Lately, Edgar had been keeping close tabs on Sony Columbia while also staying in touch with Sam Raimi, Kirsten Dunst, and others.
Edgar could sense it: the internal power struggle at Sony Columbia was heating up. Things were murky. Spider-Man 3 was a sure thing, but the creative team behind it remained a big question mark.
Though Edgar couldn’t quite pin down Michael Lynton’s strategy, his gut told him there was more going on beneath the surface.
They had to be ready for anything, so they wouldn’t get caught flat-footed if Sony Columbia’s infighting blew up.
Edgar was also working his connections, teaming up with Eve to build some momentum. They knew that against a titan like Sony Columbia, public opinion was Anson’s only real weapon. They needed to start laying the groundwork now.
But beyond the PR game, Anson agreed with Lucas—they should take the initiative and seize control.
Take Forest Films, for example.
It wasn’t strong enough yet, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t leverage their position: form alliances, play the field.
Maybe Warner Bros. was their chance. Normally, Forest Films wouldn’t even be in the same league as Warner Bros., let alone pulling off some grand coalition. But now, the opportunity was staring them in the face.
It just so happened that the Warner Records deal had sparked an unexpected ripple effect. With Eve and the others, they huddled up, brainstormed, and landed on this moment:
Anson stepping in for Edgar, making his move.
And doing it loud and proud.
Thanks to Eve’s nudging, Hollywood’s rumor mill was already buzzing:
Anson at Warner Bros.—did this mean he was ready to ditch Sony Columbia for good?
If not, what big move was brewing between him and Warner Bros.? This was Warner Bros., after all—a powerhouse where every step mattered, a studio that never skimped on throwing cash around.
Everything was falling into place.
Scheming. Maneuvering. Borrowing strength.
Anson and Forest Films were ready to tip the scales—turning a crisis into an opportunity. It’d take guts and careful steps, no doubt.
Even Anson, cool as he usually was, felt a rare twinge of nerves.
But now, sitting across from Jeff, he settled down. He was in the zone, slipping back into that playful, mischievous vibe—
Anyway, what’s the worst that could happen? Missing out on Spider-Man, Sin City, and The Hangover while pissing off both Warner Bros. and Sony Columbia?
That’d be rock bottom, sure. But so what?
With Anson’s foresight and the capital he had now, he could still strut his stuff anywhere in the world. No sweat.
Once he worked that out, he relaxed completely.
Jeff could feel it too—Anson’s ease, his effortless charm quietly taking over the room.
A glint of amusement flashed in Jeff’s eyes. “If it’s not a coincidence, then what do you think it is?”
Anson gave a light shrug. “That’s a question I should be asking you.”
Jeff raised an eyebrow.
Anson pressed on, “Is Warner Bros. genuinely interested in making these two projects? Forest Films is.”
Jeff tilted his head. “Oh? Why’s that? Both projects feel… pretty out there.”
Anson laughed outright. “See, you just admitted it—they’re not Warner Bros.’ style.”
Jeff opened his mouth to explain, but Anson waved him off. “Just like with The Butterfly Effect last time—you pushed me toward New Line. Same deal here.”
“Jeff, you know me. And I… well, I kinda know you.”
“Forest Films is doing these projects out of passion. But Warner Bros.—what’s your angle?”
Jeff’s lips curled upward. “Passion? God, Anson. I thought you were practical. Are you trying to build a second DreamWorks or something?”
Anson grinned. “Why not? But I’m pretty sure Warner Bros. isn’t in the business of selling dreams here.”
“Here’s my question: if Warner Bros. is serious about these projects and respects the creators’ vision, then let’s compete fairly. Forest Films might not have deep pockets, but we’ve got heart. And you know Quentin might not say no to our pitch.”
Jeff let out a thoughtful hum, not answering right away. He studied Anson for a moment before saying, “And if I say we’re not?”
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