Chapter 716: Don’t lie to your own family.

In the lavish halls of Davis Manor, nestled in the heart of Beverly Hills, Martin carefully selected a few bottles of exquisite wine from the cellar. As he emerged into the living room, he found it deserted, save for Elizabeth, who was bustling about in the kitchen.

"Where did everyone go?" Martin inquired, a hint of curiosity lacing his voice.

Elizabeth glanced up from her task, her eyes alight with amusement. "They've all gone to the yard," she replied, nodding towards the glass doors leading outside.

Martin took her hand, and together they stepped out into the sprawling estate grounds. The evening air was alive with anticipation, and the Fountain Square glowed warmly in the twilight.

There, amidst the gathering dusk, Leonardo brandished a pipe like a maestro with his baton, aiming it skyward at a precise angle. Nicholson, with a flick of his cigar, ignited a specialized firework bomb and slid it into the waiting tube. He affectionately ruffled Leonardo's hair before bellowing, "Release the Kraken!"

Martin's heart skipped a beat. "No, don't set off the fireworks!" he protested urgently, but it was too late.

With a resounding boom, the firework erupted into the heavens, painting the sky with cascading trails of iridescent light and shimmering silver blooms.

Martin rubbed his temples in frustration. "Those two rascals celebrating with halftime fireworks," he muttered to himself.

Saoirse caught sight of Martin and Elizabeth and beckoned them over. "Join us, Martin, Liz! Let's light up the sky together."

Elizabeth hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment in her hands as she took hold of the firework.

Nicholson interjected, "Martin, don't spoil our fun. Leo and I are just testing a theory – does halftime celebration truly bring bad luck?"

"Once more! Keep it going!" Leonardo urged. "Martin, let's experiment. The worst that can happen is Jack will have to gift you an Oscar. He's got plenty."

Martin shook his head in disbelief. "You two are a menace, both to outsiders and yourselves, and yet you're the kings of Hollywood," he muttered under his breath.

As another firework soared into the night sky, Martin resigned himself and led Elizabeth away. "Let's leave them to it and prepare dinner," he suggested wearily.

Elizabeth smiled reassuringly. "Leo and Jack have stirred up enough trouble for one night. Let them revel in it."

Martin nodded. "Let's not concern ourselves with their antics."

At the nominees luncheon, "The Martian" crew triumphed, clinching eight nominations, including Best Director and Best Picture, along with a string of technical awards. Ridley Scott, in a rare move, opted to forego further public relations efforts, content with the evening's success.

The crew and Disney Pictures had struck a deal: Martin's Best Actor win was their first priority.

After deftly sidelining Matt Damon amidst stiff competition, Martin's star shone brightest among the nominations.

Now, the focus shifted to preventing any unforeseen upsets.

...

In a single night, Matt Damon came to terms with the inevitable: bidding farewell to the Oscar prematurely.

Without a nomination, his toil seemed futile, a consequence of past missteps finally exacting a toll.

Yet, Matt Damon harbored no regrets; those missteps had paved his path to prominence.

His agent arrived early, bearing news of a potential collaboration with Steven Soderbergh on a biopic about the pianist "Libras," a project rife with award potential.

Entering the living room, the agent broached the subject, "Steven's gearing up for 'Libras.' Given your history, he's open to your involvement."

Aware of the accolades biopics could garner, Matt Damon replied, "I'll reach out to Steven later."

His agent, concerned about entanglements, urged, "The Oscars come and go, but this time, it's not our year. Let's focus on the next one. No need to ruffle feathers with Martin Davis."

Matt Damon nodded, a facade of sincerity masking his true intent.

As the agent prepared to leave, Matt Damon interjected, "Wait." Summoning his resolve, he instructed, "Keep the media engaged. Expose all the dirt we've dug up on Martin Davis."

The agent shook his head in resignation. Hollywood scandals paled in comparison to political intrigue.

"It won't stick," he warned. "If anything, it might enhance Martin's allure. This is Hollywood, not D.C."

Undeterred, Matt Damon asserted, "I wasn't nominated. Now Martin's the frontrunner. We need to level the playing field."

Confronted with Matt Damon's stature, the agent acquiesced. "I'll do what I can."

When negative press surfaced, Matt Damon instinctively linked it to Martin Davis.

Though he contemplated retaliation, exhaustive investigations yielded no leverage.

This man, despite his abrasive exterior, has never crossed certain lines: no underage liaisons, no coercion of women, no tax evasion. In truth, his moral compass stands taller than many in Hollywood.

Matt Damon slipped into his car, departing his opulent estate for the state prison.

Today marked a scheduled visit.

Meeting his former comrade, Ben Affleck, Matt couldn't ignore the toll etched upon his friend's face – the gauntness, the weariness, the restlessness – a stark reminder of how fortunate he was to sidestep the clutches of Harvey and the Affleck clan.

For years, Matt Damon had lost count of the compromises made to appease Harvey Weinstein.

In the ever-evolving landscape of Hollywood, giants like Harvey fell.

Exiting the prison gates, Matt sat in contemplative silence for half an hour before dialing his agent.

"It's me. Disregard our earlier discussion. It's unnecessary now. Let's bide our time for the next opportunity, the next awards season," Matt intoned.

His agent replied, "A smart choice indeed."

Ending the call, Matt started the engine, casting one final glance at the looming prison walls. He had no desire to meet the same fate.

During this Oscar whirlwind, Matt Damon acknowledged one undeniable truth: he and Martin Davis no longer occupied the same echelon, Martin wielding intellect over brute force, exerting pressure without veering into illegality.

...

On a sun-drenched afternoon, Elizabeth Olsen stirred from slumber, reaching out for Martin's presence, finding only the distant echo of running water from the bathroom.

Fatigue anchored her to the bed as she idly flicked through a yacht brochure, contemplating the allure of owning a vessel christened 'Elizabeth.' Yet, the practicality of a private jet tugged at her thoughts, given their frequent travels.

Resting her chin upon a cushion, Elizabeth mused lazily, her mind drifting to past conversations with Lily, who had often lamented their jet-setting lifestyle.

As Martin came out from the bathroom, his phone buzzing with messages, he announced his departure to Elizabeth.

She nodded in understanding, their routine uninterrupted by the transient chaos of Hollywood's spotlight.

Once Martin had left and Elizabeth had a moment to herself, she reached for her phone and dialed Lily's number.

"When are you coming back? It's nothing urgent, just checking in. I've got something prepared for you," Elizabeth said, a hint of excitement in her voice. "A surprise, and one for Martin too."

"A surprise? Please tell me it's not a prank," Lily retorted, half-jokingly suspicious. "You sound like you're plotting against me!"

"Of course not! It's a genuine surprise, I promise. You know I wouldn't deceive family," Elizabeth reassured her, emphasizing their bond.

Aware of the looming Oscars, Lily quipped, "I suppose we'll have to swing by and congratulate that scoundrel for his Best Actor win."

"Just remember, no popping champagne at halftime," Elizabeth cautioned.

"I've got it covered," Lily affirmed.

As Martin navigated the streets, leaving Beverly Hills for the El Capitan Theater in Hollywood, the venue buzzed with activity in anticipation of the premiere.

Inside, Martin was greeted by familiar faces: Marcus, Chad, Tiger, and Disney Pictures' distribution producers.

Marcus meticulously arranged promotional materials for "Lone Survivor," a film in which Martin had invested, delaying its release to accommodate character adjustments and Mark Wahlberg's schedule, a decision he had final say over due to his partnership with Disney.

"It's finally hitting theaters," Marcus announced proudly, as Martin clapped him on the back. "The pre-sales are through the roof. This film will leave a lasting impact."

Grinning, Martin replied, "I've invited their families too."

Brushing off the minor details, Martin entrusted the daily studio affairs to Emily and Jessica Davis, focusing instead on the upcoming premiere.

Amidst discussions about "Lone Survivor," Chad approached Martin. "Whenever you're free, swing by the Angel Club. We've got some fresh action sequences in the works."

"Think I can handle them?" Martin queried.

Chad chuckled, "It'll be a challenge."

Martin quipped, "Just as long as I'm not flying into space to take out satellites, right?"

"Nothing that extreme," Chad assured. "Just refining our combat techniques. We're making an action movie, not a sci-fi flick."

After inspecting the premiere setup, Martin invited Chad, Chen, and Marcus to freshen up together, segueing into discussions about their next project, "John Wick 3."

Refreshed and energized, creative ideas flowed freely as they brainstormed, the camaraderie of collaboration evident in their vibrant exchange.