"Come in."
Finally, after getting permission, the door to the office swung open abruptly. The assistant cautiously poked their head in, anxiety written all over their face as they looked at Michael.
Before they could say a word, Michael cut them off.
"Calm down. How many times have I told you? No matter what happens, you need to stay calm. Even if the sky falls, there's always someone taller to hold it up."
"We're at the pinnacle of the Hollywood pyramid now. It's not just about ability; we need to show composure. Do you know how many people are watching us?"
After a round of scolding, Michael's simmering anger eased a bit. He lifted his chin slightly, signaling the assistant to speak.
The assistant took a deep breath, swallowed nervously, and barely managed to calm themselves, though they were still clearly anxious.
"Sir, outside. Look outside, out the window."
Michael frowned, regaining a sliver of rationality amidst his anger, and joked, "I hope it's not another 9/11."
The assistant wasn't amused.
In fact, they looked like they were on the verge of tears.
Unbothered, Michael stood up and walked toward the window. Over the past few months, he had developed a habit of gazing out the window, relishing the view of New York from above. He loved watching the masses scurry like ants below, while he held his destiny firmly in his own hands.
But today, that view had been ruined, polluted—
A bustling crowd, dense and overwhelming, had completely taken over the streets and square below.
Even from the forty-seventh floor, he could clearly see the black mass of people, meaning the actual number was likely even greater than it appeared.
Five hundred? Eight hundred? A thousand?
The scene looked like the end of the world, like a zombie apocalypse. Those who should have been above it all were suddenly at risk of being the first sacrifices.
The visual impact, from below to above, was overwhelming.
Michael barely contained himself. "What's going on?"
Before the assistant could respond, the crowd below answered for them.
Though the people were not dressed uniformly, they came in all colors, shapes, and sizes, creating a chaotic sea of black and vibrant hues. But at this moment, everyone had their arms raised, waving red objects.
Hats. Scarves. T-shirts. Shirts. Flags. Fabric.
All sorts of items, but they were all red. The same red as the one Anson wore at the premiere of Elephant at the Cannes Film Festival—an intense, vibrant red blooming amid the sea of black.
In an instant, Michael's mind flashed back to Anson's breathtaking appearance on the Cannes red carpet. The impact was undeniable.
From above, he should have been looking down on a mass of insignificant ants. But now, these ants had clenched their fists and were punching Michael right in the face.
A surge of heat rushed through his nose.
The assistant's voice broke through the tension. "They're here for Anson."
Worried that Michael didn't understand, the assistant dutifully continued, "They're protesting our plans to replace Anson…"
Michael felt a wave of frustration, his chest tightening. The assistant's slightly trembling voice was like fuel to the fire, mocking the humiliation of Sony Columbia, mocking his arrogance. His ears seemed to buzz with the sound of chaos.
When had movie studios started being blackmailed by audiences?
And when had studios begun choosing actors based on the whims of fans?
Since when had film actors, like boy band idols, garnered fanbases this fanatical, so organized and disciplined?
Even in this crisis, Michael struggled to maintain his composure, forcing himself to adopt his usual elegance. "We're not replacing him. We're just preparing a backup, that's all."
The assistant swallowed nervously, clearly unconvinced by the blatant lie.
A snap.
Something in Michael's mind broke. When did even his assistant start doubting his words?
This time, Michael couldn't hold back.
"Damn it!"
Things were spiraling out of control.
Who could have imagined that all of this stemmed from a paparazzo trying to snap a picture of the new Spider-Man suit?
One accident after another, one twist after another, and now things had escalated to this. Once again, Anson's immense influence was on full display.
Hollywood insiders had always half-jokingly, half-derisively regarded Anson's rise as that of a mere pretty face. Yet now, here he was, becoming a cultural icon, a leader in fashion, and quietly challenging the power of Hollywood studios, subtly shifting the dynamics for actors.
This spectacle was only getting more interesting.
Sharp-eyed agents and producers had already sensed a shift in the wind. Perhaps, after this, the balance of power between actors and studios might change yet again. Major talent agencies, striving to get their stars into the coveted $20 million club, might find the path smoother.
Looking back to the start of this year, Anson's negotiations with Sony Columbia over whether he could break into the $20 million club were a major talking point. Hollywood studios had been watching each other closely, all trying to prevent the $20 million club from becoming the standard.
In the end, Anson had compromised, securing a deal that satisfied both sides through indirect means.
But overall, the studios had won. The $20 million club remained an exclusive elite gathering at the pinnacle of Hollywood.
Now, however, things were taking a dramatic turn. Anson was once again challenging the industry's rules. Although this battle wasn't about his salary, it was clear that studios could no longer make arbitrary decisions about actors.
In the past, studios could replace actors at will. Warner Bros. had replaced three different actors in three Batman films without batting an eye, and no one complained. Even mega-stars like Tom Cruise and Will Smith dared not challenge the studios.
Until now.
Sony Columbia hadn't even officially replaced Anson; they were merely auditioning potential backups. In Hollywood terms, it was no different from having substitute players on a soccer team—nothing to get worked up over. But things weren't going as expected, and everything was going off the rails.
Clearly, the connection between Anson and Spider-Man ran deeper than expected. More importantly, the whole situation couldn't be measured by conventional logic anymore. The power struggle between Anson and Sony Columbia had become something else entirely.
A small crack had quietly appeared.
And money, as always, was the best catalyst.
Silently, agents, producers, and actors who had been watching from the sidelines sensed the blood in the water, like sharks. Quietly, they began to make their moves.
A storm was brewing.
But Michael didn't have time to worry about Hollywood's inner workings right now. He had to get the situation under control before it completely unraveled.
If he didn't, he wouldn't even need Amy to intervene—he'd be done for when he faced the board.
So, how should Michael respond?