Chapter 896: New Goal!

As the "Spotlight" crew, led by director Thomas McCarthy, took to the Oscar stage, there was a palpable sense of triumph in the air. The cast and crew were beaming as they accepted the prestigious Best Picture Oscar from none other than the legendary Warren Beatty. McCarthy, with the golden statuette in hand, stepped up to the microphone, followed by producer Steve Golin, who began his acceptance speech, thanking the Academy and everyone who had contributed to their film's success.

Everything seemed perfectly normal, another night of Hollywood glitz and glamour. No one suspected a thing.

Among the audience, however, Martin, one of the crew members, noticed something off. He glanced subtly at the director overseeing the live broadcast, who was wearing a headset and intensely coordinating with the backstage team. Then his eyes flickered over to the PricewaterhouseCoopers (PwC) accountant, seated in his usual spot, meticulously handling the secure briefcase that contained the envelopes with the winners' names. Both men seemed calm, performing their duties without a hitch.

Meanwhile, a few rows back, where the "Moonlight" crew sat, Jennifer Aniston was watching the stage, her face slightly puzzled. Something wasn't adding up. "Spotlight" had just taken the biggest prize of the night, but the buzz all season had pointed toward "Moonlight." The film had won key precursor awards, how could it lose now?

"Was Martin's prediction wrong?" she wondered to herself, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face. "It can't be. The Academy's been pushing for more diversity, haven't they?"

Around her, the "Moonlight" crew sat in stunned silence, their expressions hard to read, but their disappointment evident. Director Barry Jenkins, adjusting his glasses, was simmering inside. His thoughts spiraled. *Months of critical acclaim, and they couldn't even throw us a bone?* Spike Lee's infamous words echoed in his mind, and Jenkins almost muttered under his breath, "I bought a watch last year," a bitter reference to one of the industry's many slights.

Backstage, the chaos was only just beginning to unfold. The production director was closely monitoring the live broadcast, listening intently to his earpiece. "Best Picture acceptance speech is wrapping up," he noted to his team. "We're about to fade into commercials, countdown in progress."

As Warren Beatty and the "Spotlight" crew made their way offstage, congratulating each other, the director received word: "Commercial break starts in twenty seconds."

That's when it happened.

The PwC accountant, who had been going through his usual motions, suddenly froze as he pulled out a sealed envelope labeled *Best Picture*. His eyes widened in horror. This was the real envelope, the one with the true winner.

"No, no, no!" he gasped, leaping from his seat and sprinting toward the director like a man possessed. "It's wrong! It's all wrong! The Best Picture announcement is wrong!"

The director, initially taken aback by the outburst, grabbed the envelope from the accountant's trembling hands. He ripped it open, scanned the card inside, and in an instant, everything made sense: *Moonlight* had won Best Picture.

Everyone in the control room, including Martin, turned their heads, their eyes wide with shock. What had just happened? Martin, his heart pounding, locked eyes with Warren Beatty, who was now backstage, blissfully unaware of the impending storm. Hadn't he double-checked before reading the winner aloud?

On live television, the audience was still in the dark as the commercial break began. The director, thinking quickly, barked into his headset: "Extend the commercial break! Hold off until I give the signal!"

Chaos erupted backstage as the director rushed to Beatty, who stood with a confused look, still clutching the wrong envelope. The director snatched it from his hand, it was the envelope for Best Director that PwC had mistakenly given Beatty earlier.

When the director explained the situation to Beatty, the veteran actor's face went pale. His thoughts raced. *You're telling me they gave me the wrong envelope? And I went out there and announced the wrong film?*

Beatty felt the weight of the moment crash down on him. This was going to be one of those Oscar moments that people would talk about for years, the mistake, the misannouncement, and now his name forever attached to it. He felt a deep sense of humiliation. At almost 80 years old, how had he been caught in the middle of this catastrophe?

This was unlike anything the Oscars had ever seen. In its 87-year history, there had been no blunder of this magnitude.

As tension filled the backstage area, the director, the frantic PwC accountant, and a hurriedly-arrived Kathleen Kennedy huddled together. They had only two options: cover up the mistake and let "Spotlight" keep the award, or do the unthinkable, go back on stage and correct the error.

It took only moments for them to agree that they had no choice but to fix it. The truth had to come out. But when they turned to Beatty to ask him to make the correction onstage, the actor recoiled.

"I'm not going back out there," he said, shaking his head firmly. "No way. I can't face that crowd again."

Beatty wasn't just worried about the embarrassment, he was a Hollywood icon. He couldn't afford this kind of public humiliation. The entire room was waiting, the weight of the decision hanging in the air.

Warren Beatty approached Martin, his expression unreadable as he carefully avoided eye contact with the small group gathered nearby. Leaning in close, he muttered under his breath, "I swear, I'm never attending another Oscars ceremony. What they've done tonight is beyond shameful."

Martin could tell that Beatty was desperate to distance himself from the unfolding disaster. The old actor had no intention of going back on stage to correct the mistake. Sensing this, Martin offered a suggestion, his voice calm but edged with urgency. "Just pretend you don't know anything. Let them deal with it."

The situation had already spiraled beyond control. No matter what decision was made, the damage was done. The entire world was watching, and there was no stopping the uproar that would follow. It was too late to avoid the fallout.

With no other choice, Kathleen Kennedy, the PwC accountant, "Spotlight" director Thomas McCarthy, and producer Steve Golin reluctantly made their way back on stage. As the commercial break ended and the live broadcast resumed, the group stood under the glaring lights, preparing to make one of the most uncomfortable announcements in Oscar history.

Clearing her throat, Kathleen Kennedy spoke, her voice steady despite the tension. "There's been a mistake. The Best Picture winner is not 'Spotlight'... it's 'Moonlight.'"

For a moment, the Dolby Theatre was completely silent. The audience, both in the room and those watching from home, stared in disbelief. It was as though time had frozen, no one able to fully grasp what had just happened.

To further drive home the point, the PwC accountant held up two envelopes, displaying them to the camera as proof of the blunder. But even this gesture did little to calm the chaos erupting around them. Shockwaves rippled through the audience, backstage, and across social media. The "Spotlight" team, who had been on top of the world mere minutes ago, now stood in stunned silence, their excitement replaced by confusion and disbelief.

On the other hand, the "Moonlight" crew, now taking their rightful place on stage, looked dazed, as if they were caught in a surreal nightmare. There was no elation, no celebration, just a group of people unsure of how to process what had just happened.

Producers Jennifer Aniston and Barry Jenkins, clutching the Best Picture Oscar that had just been in "Spotlight's" hands, didn't even make a speech. They stood there awkwardly, then quietly exited the stage, the weight of the moment bearing down on them.

The ceremony, which had been intended as a glamorous night of celebration, had instead ended in a farce. The final moments of the Oscars would forever be remembered as one of the most embarrassing blunders in the Academy's long history.

Backstage, Aniston, looking shaken, refused the usual round of interviews. She spotted Martin and quickly walked over to him, her face a mix of disbelief and frustration.

Before he could say anything, she vented, "I feel awful. This is supposed to be a huge moment for us, but it feels wrong."

Martin, ever the diplomat, tried to offer her some comfort. "Hey, you still won Best Picture. You should be happy."

Aniston glanced down at the golden statue in her hands, her expression conflicted. "It feels like a second-hand award. Like we didn't really earn it."

Her words hung in the air, and Martin found himself momentarily at a loss for how to respond. The absurdity of the situation made it difficult to know what to say. After a beat, he finally replied, "It's still the Best Picture Oscar, no matter what happened."

Looking around to make sure they were alone, Aniston lowered her voice. "Did you have something to do with this?"

Martin's eyes widened in surprise at the question, and he answered honestly, "I really don't know what happened."

Before they could continue, an assistant director appeared, calling them over for a quick photo with the other winners. It was clear that everyone just wanted to move on from the uncomfortable ordeal as quickly as possible. The group photos were rushed, and the usual celebratory atmosphere had all but evaporated. None of the winners were in the mood to talk to the press.

After the brief photo op, a representative from the Academy approached the backstage crew, issuing a stern reminder. "Please refrain from discussing tonight's events publicly, especially with the media."

Martin nodded noncommittally. There wasn't much to say anyway. The night had already descended into chaos.

Soon after, Martin left the Dolby Theatre and slid into a waiting limousine, where his friends Jack Nicholson and Leonardo DiCaprio were waiting for him. They were all scheduled to make an appearance at the "Oscar Night" after-party, and as the Best Actor winner, Martin had an obligation to show up.

As the car pulled away, Leonardo leaned forward, his curiosity getting the better of him. "So, what the hell happened back there?"

Martin let out a weary sigh and recounted the chaotic events of the evening, from the wrong envelope to the moment of realization that shook the entire ceremony.

Once he finished, he turned to Nicholson, the most seasoned of the group. "You've seen everything, Jack. Do you think the Academy did this on purpose? Maybe they're trying to stir up attention?"

Leonardo chimed in, nodding in agreement. "Could this have been a stunt to get people talking?"

Nicholson, ever the cynic, chuckled darkly. "In this town? Nothing would surprise me."

Nicholson, lounging in the back seat of the car, casually scrolled through his phone, a wry grin spreading across his face. He turned the screen toward Martin and Leonardo, showing them the flood of comments exploding across social media.

"Public opinion's on fire," he said, with a knowing chuckle.

The headlines flashed in front of them:

"The biggest blunder in Oscar history!"

"This is the most fake Best Picture Oscar ever, in every sense."

"How thrilling that the Best Picture win turned into such a disaster!"

"The Academy has lost it, they actually did this to stir up controversy and attention!"

Leonardo glanced at the screen and then back at Nicholson, his brow furrowed. "You think it could really be the Academy pulling the strings?"

Nicholson leaned back, exuding his trademark nonchalance. "Does it even matter? True or not, everyone's talking about the Oscars again. It's all over the news, trending everywhere. That's all they really care about, staying relevant."

Martin, who never dismissed a good conspiracy theory, leaned forward, his voice low and laced with suspicion. "You think it's possible that this whole diversity push is the reason? Maybe the Academy's feeling pressured, especially from the African American community, to make big changes. But let's be real, the core power of the Academy is people like us. How could they let all this diversity talk shake them up? How could they willingly hand over the Best Picture like this?"

Leonardo caught the subtext and nodded slowly. "So, what you're saying is, maybe the Academy wasn't exactly thrilled with the pressure but felt forced to give in. They didn't want to seem like they were caving, so they gave 'Moonlight' Best Picture, but they did it in a way that created even more controversy. Now that movie's linked to the biggest Oscar mistake in history."

Martin smirked, leaning back in his seat. "Exactly. Sure, they gave them the award, but now the win comes with a cloud hanging over it. If they keep pushing, it'll just look worse."

Nicholson chimed in, ever the pragmatist. "No one's going to openly admit this was a setup. But it's not like they sat down and planned it. It was more of an unspoken agreement among the right people at the right time. A kind of... collective understanding." He pushed his sunglasses up with a smirk. "And now, 'Moonlight' will always be tied to this mess. It's no longer about 'Shakespeare in Love' being the most controversial Best Picture. This one takes the crown."

Leonardo nodded thoughtfully. "From now on, every time people talk about 'Moonlight,' it'll always start with the controversy."

As the car rolled up to the entrance of the Beverly Hilton Hotel, the trio fell silent, watching the flashes of cameras and the gathering press. The car slowed to a stop, and Martin broke the tension with a sly grin. "Hey, Leo, don't forget you've got a math problem to solve later."

Leonardo groaned, flipping him off playfully. "You're never gonna let that go, huh?"

Nicholson laughed, his deep voice cutting through the moment. "Between the three of us, we've got seven Oscars. How many does that leave for each of us?"

Leonardo, exasperated but amused, shot back, "This time next year, it'll be eight. Mark my words!"

As the car door swung open, the three men stepped out, greeted by the blinding flashes of cameras. This was no fan-packed red carpet, though, just a gauntlet of media reporters eager for a soundbite.

Walking up the steps toward the entrance, a reporter from *Vanity Fair*, one of the event's organizers, called out to Martin. "Martin, congratulations on your third Oscar and your second Best Actor win! How does it feel to be on top of the world right now?"

Martin smiled graciously, slipping into his polished, media-trained response. "I'm thrilled and incredibly grateful. It's an honor to be recognized by the Academy and my peers. Truly, it's a dream come true."

But the reporter wasn't here for small talk. He cut straight to the chase. "You were backstage before and after the Best Picture fiasco, right? Can you give us any insight into what went down?"

Martin's expression didn't falter as he waved the question away smoothly. "Honestly, I headed to the bathroom just as the backstage chaos started. By the time I got back, everything had already gone down."

The reporter pressed for more, but Martin politely excused himself, catching up with Leonardo and Nicholson as they headed inside the hotel.

Once they entered the opulent banquet hall, the atmosphere shifted. Colleagues and industry insiders swarmed Martin, offering congratulations and handshakes. Despite the whirlwind of attention, the night still had a strange undertone. The Oscars had ended in a way no one had anticipated, and no matter how many awards had been handed out, the night would always be overshadowed by *that* mistake.

But for Martin, Leonardo, and Nicholson, this was just another chapter in the never-ending saga of Hollywood. The show went on, and they had the awards and the stories, to prove it.

The table belonging to the "Split" crew felt oddly empty, save for Martin, Leonardo, and Nicholson lounging in their seats. Jonathan Nolan, who had never won an Oscar, hadn't even bothered to show up. The small crew was noticeably absent, and the three men were left to entertain themselves. Occasionally, someone would stop by, fishing for gossip about the night's fiasco, but Martin expertly dodged every question, his charm always deflecting the curiosity.

Nicholson, ever connected, had been on the phone for a few minutes. When he hung up, he shook his head, grinning wryly. "The Academy's executive committee just called an emergency meeting. They're scrambling to come up with a unified statement. Expect something official by tomorrow morning."

Leonardo, leaning back in his chair, glanced at Martin and picked up on their earlier conversation. "I've already given you the explanation you were asking for. Whether you accept it or not, that's your problem. Don't drag me into it."

Martin chuckled and gave Leo a thumbs up. "Look at you, old man. You've finally figured out how this world works! Proud of you."

Nicholson couldn't help but laugh at their exchange. "You two assholes are starting to sound like the politicians running things in Washington."

Martin shrugged, a playful grin on his face. "Nah, we're not that bad. Politicians have no bottom line. At least Leo and I have some standards."

The three of them shared a knowing laugh, the camaraderie between them palpable. But after a while, the atmosphere in the room started to feel heavy, and they decided it was time to call it a night.

Just as they were getting ready to leave, Martin received a call. Elizabeth and Lily had planned a celebration at home for his Oscar win. "Party's waiting for us at my place," Martin said, standing up. "You guys coming?"

Leonardo and Nicholson nodded, and Martin extended the invite to a few others, including his friends, the agency team, and the public relations crew.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Leonardo glanced around at the subdued atmosphere. Oscar night was usually full of glitz and glamour, but this year, it felt off, muted. The controversy surrounding "Spotlight" and "Moonlight" was just beginning to ripple through the industry.

The three of them quickly made their way back to Martin's estate on the North Side of Sunset Boulevard. During the day, Elizabeth had made sure to coordinate with the neighbors and the management committee, ensuring there'd be no complaints about the celebration.

As soon as their car pulled into the driveway, fireworks erupted into the sky, lighting up the night. The entire Davis Manor was illuminated in brilliant colors, with fireworks exploding overhead to mark Martin's victory, his second Oscar for Best Actor.

In Hollywood, very few actors held three Oscars for acting. Jack Nicholson, now Hollywood royalty, shared the same accolades as Martin: two Best Actor awards and one for Best Supporting Actor. The only one to top them both was Daniel Day-Lewis, with three Best Actor wins.

Inside, guests flooded the house to congratulate Martin, raising their glasses in celebration. Every few minutes, someone would toast his success, and despite his impressive ability to hold his liquor, even Martin started feeling a little tipsy.

As the party wound down, and the last of the guests departed, Martin collapsed onto the living room sofa. Half-drunk and basking in the glow of the night, he leaned back, his words slurred with alcohol but his tone still proud.

"Y'know, they say there are fifty-five types of drunk people," he began, his voice playful. "There's the type who sing and dance, and then there's the type who brags. I think tonight, I'm the bragging type."

He raised his half-empty glass, the room spinning slightly, but his grin remained strong. "I used to dream of storming Washington, taking the White House, and tearing this whole country down, piece by piece. Now look at me," he laughed. "I've become part of the system, a dragon myself. The kid who wanted to slay the beast is the beast now!"

Lily, sitting nearby, rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smirk. "Martin, the day you hooked up with my sister, I knew there was a god involved somewhere."

Elizabeth shot a playful glare at her sister, silencing her before anything could escalate. She poured Martin a glass of water and handed it to him. "So, if that dream was unrealistic, what's the new goal?"

Martin downed most of the water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes gleamed with ambition. "To become the greatest. To achieve something no other superstar or director has ever done."

Lily, intrigued, leaned forward. "Nicholson mentioned something like this once. You want to be the first person to win both the Best Actor and Best Director Oscars, right?"

Martin stood up, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. He reached out, pulling Elizabeth to his side with one hand and Lily with the other. "Why stop there? I want it all. Call it greed, but that's how you make history."

The night was fading, but Martin's dream was only growing sharper. With his two Oscars in hand and the future stretching out before him, there was no limit to what he could achieve.