Chapter 838: Cash on Delivery

Disney Studios Headquarters, Burbank

The bright, polished office at Disney Studios buzzed with activity. Inside, Alan Horn leaned back in his chair, handing over a crisp schedule to Martin. "Disney's got a packed slate this year," he began, his tone firm yet thoughtful. "Scheduling a major sequel like 'John Wick 3' during the holiday season just doesn't make sense."

Martin, glancing over the papers, nodded in agreement. "You're right. Mid-May or mid-June next summer sounds perfect. That also gives the team more time to polish everything in post-production."

"Exactly," Alan agreed with a chuckle. "I'll make the necessary arrangements."

As Martin set the schedule aside, Alan's eyes twinkled with curiosity. "So, did your trip to Ukraine yield anything interesting?"

Martin leaned back, his expression relaxed. "Not so much in terms of movies," he admitted, "Their pop culture is quite different from ours. But I did come across a TV series called 'Servant of the People'. It stars a guy named Alexandrovich, the same actor from 'Napoleon's Beauty'. If Disney's interested, we could consider bringing it over to ABC."

Alan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Do you have a demo tape?"

Martin nodded, and Alan, ever the cautious optimist, said, "Let's give it a shot, but don't get too excited. The TV market here is even more insular than the film industry."

Martin smiled knowingly. "I'm aware. North America is one of the toughest markets for foreign content. Even some of the best European films barely make a ripple here."

The conversation shifted as Martin made a quick call, arranging for a sample of 'Servant of the People' to be delivered to Disney. As he hung up, he asked, "How's the progress on 'Beauty and the Beast'?"

Alan's eyes lit up at the mention of the big project. "The script's done, and we've got Bill Condon on board as the director. We're just starting to cast now. Emma Watson's name came up."

Martin's response was immediate and blunt. "Forget Emma Watson. The moment people see her, they'll think of Hermione Granger, not Belle."

Alan sighed, nodding in agreement. "I had the same thought."

As the second-largest shareholder, Martin didn't mince words. "I have a suggestion: Saoirse Ronan. She's the lead in 'La La Land' and a phenomenal singer and dancer. She'd be perfect for Belle."

Alan considered it, clearly impressed. "Let's have her audition. We can time it after 'La La Land' releases. If that film does well, it'll only boost her chances."

"Agreed," Martin replied, satisfied with the plan.

The conversation flowed into a discussion about 'La La Land', with its North American premiere set for November, just in time for Thanksgiving. After another half hour of strategy and small talk, Martin wrapped up the meeting and headed down to the studio floor.

As he stepped out of the elevator, he spotted a small group of people entering from the fourth floor. Among them was a petite blonde woman with a striking figure, Scarlett Johansson. She caught sight of Martin and her eyes widened in pleasant surprise.

"Martin! I didn't expect to see you here," Scarlett greeted him warmly.

Martin returned her smile. "Hello, Scarlett. I was just up at Disney Studios."

Scarlett gestured to the man beside her, a stout figure with an unmistakable presence. "Martin, this is Luc Besson. Luc, meet Martin."

Martin shook hands with the legendary director, his tone sincere. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Besson. 'Leon: The Professional' is one of my all-time favorites."

The conversation was brief, the elevator ride limiting their exchange. When they reached the ground floor, Scarlett whispered something to Luc Besson, who nodded before moving ahead with the rest of the group. Scarlett lingered behind, catching Martin's eye.

"Do you have a moment?" she asked, her voice soft but inviting.

"Of course," Martin replied, curious about what she had in mind.

They found a quiet corner in the waiting area, away from the hustle and bustle of the studio.

"So," Martin began casually, "Are you working on something with Luc Besson?"

Scarlett leaned in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Yes, but it's still under wraps. I'll tell you more if you have time to grab coffee later?"

Martin smiled, always ready for an interesting conversation. "I'd like that."

Scarlett leaned in close, her voice dropping to a near whisper as she spoke. "It's a science fiction movie. The script is pretty fascinating, a woman who ascends to godhood." She kept her explanation vague, mindful of the strict confidentiality clauses. Then, with a casual wave of her hand, she shifted topics. "I'm the lead, of course, and I'm here with Luc Besson to negotiate distribution rights with Disney."

Martin, who was well-versed in the latest industry buzz, had a good idea of what film she was referring to. "How did the talks go?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Scarlett shrugged, her expression a mix of nonchalance and frustration. "It's going to be a slow process. These things always are." She moved a little closer, her tone becoming more personal. "But I didn't come over just to talk about the film. I wanted to ask, has anyone been giving you a hard time lately?"

Martin raised an eyebrow, wondering if she was hinting at something specific, maybe even his recent run-ins with certain Hollywood figures. "I've had my share of troubles recently. Are you referring to something in particular?"

Scarlett didn't mince words. "My ex, Ryan Reynolds, has been spreading some nasty rumors. He's accusing me of having an affair with you while we were still married. I was so furious, I told him we did have something, remember that night in Boston? Technically, I wasn't lying."

Martin couldn't help but chuckle, though he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I suppose I'm partly to blame then."

Scarlett, sensing she might have pushed too far, softened her tone. "Look, I know that might have complicated things for you. If you need anything, just let me know. I owe you one."

Martin nodded, appreciating her offer. Then, something clicked in his mind, and he asked, "When exactly did this incident with Ryan happen?"

Scarlett thought for a moment, then pulled out her phone to check her call records. She mentioned the date, and Martin immediately realized it was just after his clash with Justin Bieber and Ryan Reynolds.

Scarlett leaned in, her expression turning serious. "Ryan's not someone to take lightly. He holds grudges and can be really sneaky about getting back at people. Even though he's not a top-tier star, you shouldn't underestimate him."

Martin absorbed her words and asked, "What's he up to these days?"

"He's working on a movie about a character from the X-Men universe. Apparently, he's been struggling to get it off the ground at 20th Century Fox, but he's not giving up. I heard he's even planning a party to try and win over some of the top execs there."

Martin nodded thoughtfully. "Deadpool, right? I remember he played that character in 'Wolverine'."

"Yeah, that sounds right," Scarlett replied, her eyes narrowing mischievously. "If you ever have to deal with him, give me a heads up. I'd love to see him get a taste of his own medicine."

Martin chuckled but shook his head. "I'd rather stay out of your ex-marital disputes, thanks."

Scarlett flipped her hair and gave him a playful pout. "You're no fun…"

"Not fun?" Martin stood up, offering her his hand to help her up. "He's done nothing to me. If anything, I've been the one causing trouble with his ex-wife."

Scarlett squeezed his arm, her tone turning flirtatious. "So, do you still want to cause more trouble with me?"

Just then, a sleek car pulled up at the entrance. Martin opened the door for Scarlett and gently nudged her inside. "If I said no, wouldn't that be a bit disrespectful to you?"

"Absolutely," Scarlett said with mock seriousness, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "For the sake of politeness, you absolutely have to."

Martin laughed and gave in, driving Scarlett to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Beverly Hills, where he kept a long-term private room.

As they arrived, Martin stepped out briefly to give some instructions to his driver, Bruce. "Keep an eye on Ryan Reynolds. He might try something against us, but let's see what he's planning first."

Bruce nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I'll have someone on it right away."

From inside the room, Scarlett's voice rang out, playful but with an edge of impatience. "Martin, what's taking you so long? Don't tell me you've forgotten how to be a gentleman!"

With a grin, Martin quickly returned to the room. Scarlett Johansson, still in her prime, certainly deserved the attention.

Despite the playful banter, Martin knew that Scarlett was feeling a bit guilty for dragging him into her personal drama. She made sure that he understood just how far a Hollywood actress would go to show her appreciation.

Later, as their time together reached its peak, Scarlett pulled out her phone, insisting on taking a photo. Martin, wary of the risks, allowed only a close-up shot.

True to her word, Scarlett posted the picture on Twitter, just the two of them, faces flushed, and with beads of sweat glistening on their foreheads.

Ryan Reynolds sat alone in his multi-million-dollar home, his grip tight around his phone. He scrolled through Twitter, his eyes narrowing as he came across Scarlett's latest post. The sight of her cozying up with Martin in that close-up photo made his blood boil. The spacious, luxurious house around him felt suddenly cold and empty, despite its $4 million price tag.

Ryan Reynolds stood in the grand yet empty mansion, the one he had bought when he married Scarlett Johansson. Back then, it had taken everything he had to make the purchase, a gesture of love and commitment. Now, it was just one of the few valuable assets he had left.

His agent, Cowell, walked in, placing a stack of papers on the bar in front of him. "It's done," he said simply.

Ryan picked up the document and asked, "Sold?"

Cowell nodded. "For $3.65 million. It went to some star from Mexico."

Ryan flipped through the pages, noting the signatures of his lawyer and accountant. With a sigh, he took the pen Cowell handed him and signed his name, sealing the deal.

Cowell glanced at his watch. "We have until six o'clock to vacate the property," he said, picking up the document. "I'll take this to the real estate agent."

Ryan leaned on the bar, his eyes distant. "I'll stick around here for a while, alone."

Cowell nodded and left to handle the final details of the sale. Selling the mansion was necessary; Ryan needed the funds to throw an extravagant party, one that would impress the right people. He also had to pay the second installment for the shipment Michelle Bryan had arranged. Time was ticking.

Alone in the vast, echoing space, Ryan felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He pulled out his phone, almost out of habit, and opened Twitter to distract himself. The first thing he saw was a new post from Scarlett Johansson, his ex-wife. He clicked on it without thinking.

The tweet was innocuous enough at first glance: "Had a great workout session with Martin Davis!" But it was the photo that made his blood boil. Martin and Scarlett, heads together, hair disheveled, faces flushed, and sweat glistening on their foreheads.

Ryan's heart pounded in his chest. He knew what this was. He'd been in Hollywood long enough to recognize the signs, this wasn't a workout. This was something far more intimate.

"Damn you, Scarlett," he muttered under his breath, gripping his phone tighter. It wasn't just that she was with someone else; it was the timing, the audacity. He couldn't help but remember the last phone call they'd had, where she had smugly hinted that she had been involved with Martin while they were still married.

His thoughts spiraled back to that night in New York, the conflicts, the whispers. The realization that this wasn't just a one-off fling, but something that had been happening right under his nose, made his anger flare even hotter.

Ryan slammed his phone down on the bar. "I can't always be this unlucky," he fumed. "And you can't always be this lucky, Martin."

Driven by frustration and a desperate need to change his fortune, Ryan stood up. Cowell had just finished talking with the real estate agent and was waiting by the door. "Let's go," Ryan said, his voice tight with determination.

The two got into the car, and as Ryan started the engine, he turned to Cowell. "Call Michelle. I need to see her."

Cowell nodded and quickly made the call. "She's at the usual place," he said after a brief conversation.

Ryan drove them straight to a lavish mansion in Beverly Hills, near West Hollywood. After a quick call from Cowell, the guard at the gate let them in. The house was grand, almost as opulent as the one Ryan had just sold, but there was an air of secrecy and danger about it.

Leaving Cowell behind, Ryan walked through the mansion alone, passing a pool surrounded by beautiful women lounging in the sun. He made his way upstairs to a familiar open balcony, where Michelle Bryan was waiting, her long, yellow dress fluttering in the breeze.

Michelle greeted him with a smile, her fingers absentmindedly caressing the emerald on her ring. "Ryan," she said warmly as he sat down across from her. "How are things?"

"I'm ready," Ryan said, cutting straight to the point. "Has the cargo arrived?"

Michelle's smile widened, and she nodded. "Yes, after a few close calls, it arrived safely in Los Angeles a few days ago."

Ryan leaned forward, his impatience clear. "When can it be used?"

Michelle's eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and caution. "Patience, Ryan. The goods are still in their raw state, untamed. I need time to prepare them. You don't want any… accidents at your event, do you?"

Ryan understood immediately. He couldn't afford any mishaps, not with the high-profile guests he was planning to impress. "You're right," he agreed. "Everything needs to go perfectly. My clients are important people."

Michelle's smile turned reassuring, yet there was an edge to it. "Don't worry. I've never met a wild horse I couldn't break. By the time I'm done, they'll be docile as lambs."

Then, her expression turned serious. "When will I receive the second payment?"

Ryan hesitated, trying to negotiate. "The price is steep, Michelle. Can't we—"

Michelle cut him off with a wave of her hand, her tone icy. "If you're not interested, that's fine. But the deposit is non-refundable. And I assure you, these goods are in high demand. I won't have trouble finding another buyer."

Ryan knew he was cornered. He needed what she had, and she knew it. With a reluctant nod, he agreed. "You'll get your money."

Satisfied, Michelle's smile returned, warmer now that she had what she wanted. "Good. Then we'll proceed as planned."

Ryan left the mansion with a heavy heart, but a clear plan. He knew what he had to do next.

As Michelle thought about her missing subordinates, a shadow of frustration crossed her face. "Do you have any idea how much I paid to get this batch of goods?" she asked, her voice sharp. "How many of my loyal people, people who have worked with me for years, will never come back? I didn't hike the price just because I felt like it. My reputation in this business is on the line."

Ryan could see the tension in her eyes and realized the stakes were much higher than he had imagined. This wasn't just a risky business, it was deadly. After a moment's thought, he replied, "I'll make the second payment within two days. But before that, I need to see the goods. As the buyer, it's my right to verify what I'm paying for."

Michelle studied him for a moment before nodding. "Fine, but there are conditions. The goods aren't here, and you'll have to go alone. You won't be allowed to interact with them directly because they haven't been tamed yet. You can only observe them through a window."

Ryan agreed without hesitation. "Let's do it now."

Michelle made a quick call, and within minutes, a man appeared to escort Ryan downstairs. Ryan told Cowell to wait for him and then left the mansion with the man.

The drive was tense, with another man seated beside Ryan, watching him closely. Before they departed, the man insisted Ryan turn off all electronic devices, including his phone. As Ryan complied, he realized just how secretive and dangerous this operation was.

Back on the mansion's balcony, Michelle's confident smile faded. She turned to another subordinate and ordered, "Call Lynch again." But the phone went straight to voicemail, leaving her increasingly anxious.

Lynch had been in charge of transporting the first batch of goods from Ukraine, and while the initial delivery arrived smoothly in Los Angeles, something had gone terribly wrong. Lynch had since gone dark, and Michelle's only information came from news reports. Apparently, the Ukrainian Security Service had launched a major operation, dismantling a human trafficking ring.

What troubled Michelle more was the involvement of a well-known Ukrainian celebrity, who had been vocal in pushing the authorities to continue the investigation. The pressure was mounting, but Michelle wasn't worried about being directly implicated. "What can the Ukrainians do to an American like me?" she muttered to herself. "It's laughable."

Still, the loss of Lynch, one of her most capable subordinates, was a significant blow.

Just then, her phone rang. She answered, and a tense voice on the other end immediately demanded, "Jeffrey wants to know what the hell your people did in Ukraine! The entire region is now under scrutiny, and our supply channels are getting choked."

Michelle remained calm. "I only know what the media's reporting. My people in Ukraine have gone dark..."

"Cut off all contact immediately!" the voice interrupted. "The Ukrainians may not be able to touch us, but the public outcry is dangerous. If your people have been captured, there's a real chance they've been turned. They're a liability now."

Michelle's expression hardened. "I understand." She hung up, her mind racing. Apart from being ensnared by the FBI once, this was the biggest setback of her career. But at least the shipment Ryan Reynolds was interested in had arrived safely.

Michelle was nothing if not professional, even in the most precarious situations.

———

Three black SUVs departed from Beverly Hills, winding their way to a secluded dock south of Santa Monica. The dock, seemingly ordinary, was lined with private yachts and a few inconspicuous warehouses.

Ryan was led to one such warehouse, a nondescript brick building with a logistics company sign hanging out front. It looked perfectly ordinary from the outside, but as soon as they entered, it became clear this was just a facade.

Inside, they wove through stacks of crates until a door leading to a basement appeared. Ryan followed his escort down a narrow staircase, where the atmosphere shifted to something more sinister. The basement was brightly lit, with armed guards stationed at strategic points, their presence making it clear this was no ordinary operation.

As they moved deeper into the basement, Ryan began to realize just how powerful Michelle was. This was an organized, well-guarded enterprise, far more extensive than he had ever imagined. Yet, instead of fear, a sense of security washed over him. The stronger Michelle's operation, the safer he felt.

"This way," his escort called, leading him down a short corridor to a reinforced door at the end.

The man pointed to a small window built into the door. "They're in there. Look, but don't make a sound."

Ryan approached the window, peering inside. The sight that greeted him was chilling. Three young women, all with the fair skin and delicate features typical of Slavic descent, stood in the room. They were beautiful, almost ethereal, but there was a coldness in their eyes, a resignation.

An instructor was with them, barking out commands. The girls responded with robotic obedience, their movements stiff and mechanical, as if they had already been broken.

Watching them, Ryan felt a mix of relief and unease. The goods were real, just as promised, and Michelle's reputation remained intact. But the reality of what he was buying into, the sheer human cost, gnawed at him.

Ryan stepped back from the window, his mind made up. He would pay the second installment and proceed with the deal. He had seen enough.