Chapter 902: The Era of Warner Group is Over!

In the Warner Building, the conference room was cloaked in an unsettling silence. The air was thick with tension, as if the very walls absorbed the weight of failure hanging over the room. A dozen executives sat around the long mahogany table, their faces tight with worry, but not a single word escaped their lips. Not from Hamada, not from Jeff Jones, and not even from McDonald. These were key figures in the Warner group, usually the loudest voices in any discussion, but today, they remained muted.

The reason was simple. The reaction to *Justice League* was nothing short of a disaster.

The movie's reputation had crumbled faster than anyone could have imagined, and the box office results were a nightmare. They had initially predicted a $100 million opening, already low by their standards, but even that estimate had proven too optimistic. The harsh reality of $66.38 million flashed across every news headline, a figure that hammered home just how bad things were.

"Joss Whedon ruined *Justice League*!" someone had murmured under their breath before the meeting began. But everyone knew better. Whedon wasn't the root of the problem, he was just the man who had inherited the mess. No, the blame ran deeper.

As the executives exchanged furtive glances, their eyes eventually settled on Hamada and Kevin Tsujihara. The two men of Japanese descent, both key players in Warner's leadership, now found themselves the focal point of the room's discontent. The unspoken accusation lingered: *This disaster is your fault.*

Yet amidst the sea of anxiety, Daniel, sitting near the end of the table, appeared calm. He wasn't panicking, not outwardly at least. His department, responsible for the marketing and promotion of *Justice League*, had done everything by the book. They had stuck to the plan, executed it without a hitch. But Daniel knew from experience that when the ship sank, even those who had nothing to do with steering it could be dragged down. The blame game within companies like Warner was vicious, and no one was truly safe.

Breaking the silence, Kevin Tsujihara rose from his seat, every movement deliberate. His face was grave as he turned to address the room. "The failure of *Justice League* is the result of mistakes made at the highest levels of the company," he began, his voice steady but devoid of warmth. "I apologize to everyone here for this outcome." With a slow, practiced gesture, Tsujihara bowed deeply, his head lowering to a precise 90-degree angle.

The room watched in anticipation. Was this it? Was he about to announce his resignation? After all, the disaster was undeniable, and the losses staggering. The production budget had ballooned to $350 million, with an additional $250 million spent on marketing. Six hundred million dollars in total, an astronomical figure, and they all knew there was no way to recover from it.

But when Tsujihara straightened up, he didn't mention stepping down. He offered no resignation, just a few hollow words of regret. The silence that followed was colder than before.

No one wanted to be the one to take responsibility. Not publicly, anyway.

The meeting concluded with little more than a collective sigh of frustration. The executives filed out, heads down, minds racing with survival strategies. As the last of them left, Hamada followed Tsujihara into the chairman's office. The two men were now alone, facing the fallout together.

On Tsujihara's desk, the morning newspaper lay open, the damning figure of $66.38 million screaming from the entertainment section. The sight of it made Hamada's heart pound, though his face betrayed nothing. He stood quietly, waiting for Tsujihara to speak.

Tsujihara, however, wasn't one to sit idly by and take the blame. Leaning back in his plush leather chair, he tapped a finger against the armrest, his mind already plotting. "We need to shift the narrative," he said finally, his tone cool. "Get in touch with the *Justice League* cast and production team. Start spreading the word about Joss Whedon's behavior on set. Make it known he bullied the actors."

Hamada's eyes flickered with understanding. It was a classic strategy: redirect the attention, pin the blame on Whedon, make him the villain in the public eye. But Hamada also knew this wouldn't be enough on its own. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke, "We could go further. Leverage Whedon's role more aggressively—"

But Tsujihara cut him off with a dismissive wave. "Wasn't it Jeff Jones who pushed for Whedon to replace Zack Snyder?"

Hamada caught on immediately. "Yes," he replied, nodding. "It was Jones who recommended him. He pushed hard for the change."

Tsujihara's lips curled into a thin smile. "Good. Let's make sure everyone remembers that. Get it done quickly."

Without another word, Hamada left the office, knowing exactly what he had to do. The wheels of deflection were already in motion.

As Tsujihara sat back in his chair, his thoughts churned. He wasn't ready to give up his position as CEO and chairman, not yet. Sacrifices would have to be made, but if it came down to it, he'd push others into the fire first. Jeff Jones. Hamada. Whoever it took to shield himself from the fallout.

Back in his own office, Daniel picked up the phone, dialing quickly. The line clicked and a voice on the other end asked, "How did the meeting go? What's their next move?"

Daniel exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts before responding. "They're shifting the blame," he said finally. "Looks like Whedon's about to take the fall."

Daniel sat back in his chair, his mind turning over the events of the day. He couldn't help but smirk as he recalled the spectacle that had just played out. "Kevin Tsujihara is of Japanese descent," he mused aloud to himself. "It's almost predictable. He's going to bow and apologize to the group, put on a show of humility. But actually take responsibility? That's out of the question."

He leaned back, staring out of the office window, remembering what Martin had said about the culture on the island nation. Once, the people there had prided themselves on their 'spirit of craftsmanship,' a deep commitment to excellence. But in recent years, the world had learned the hard way that their leadership, like Tsujihara, had become adept at masking failure behind hollow gestures. Bowing in apology had become more a symbol of evasion than accountability.

The voice on the other end of the phone pulled Daniel back from his thoughts. "With business and decision-making failures this big, doesn't Kevin Tsujihara plan to resign? How can he avoid it?"

Daniel chuckled, a cold, knowing laugh. "Oh, he bowed and apologized, so of course not. Why would he step down after that?"

The laughter faded from his voice, replaced with a sharper, more serious tone. "If I had to guess, he's already plotting to shift the blame. A few heads are going to roll, just not his."

"But the whole *Justice League* plan was a disaster," the other person replied, frustration creeping into their voice. "Who else could possibly take the fall other than Tsujihara?"

Daniel didn't miss a beat. "We need to act fast. I suggest calling for an emergency board of directors meeting and bringing the shareholders into this. Opportunities like this don't come around often, and if we let Tsujihara weasel his way out of this mess, he'll only make things harder for all of us in the future."

A pause on the other end, followed by a measured response. "That kind of procedure takes time. If you want to cut through the bureaucracy, we need something more immediate. Something sharp."

Daniel's eyes darkened as he replied, his voice low and confident. "Don't worry. It's going to happen."

The call ended swiftly, but Daniel didn't waste any time. He thought for a moment, then picked up his phone again and dialed. "Is that knife we talked about ready?" he asked, his tone now icier, more deliberate.

On the other end, Martin's voice was calm but laced with anticipation. "It's been sharpened and is ready to go."

"Good," Daniel replied. "Send it over."

Across town, in the office of Davis Studio, Martin walked over to a filing cabinet tucked in the back of his office. He opened it slowly, reaching inside to pull out a carefully crafted military-style knife. The blade gleamed as he drew it from its sheath, inspecting the sharpness with a casual flick of his thumb. After a moment's satisfaction, he closed it and tossed it to Bruce, who stood watching from the doorway.

"Take this to Daniel's office," Martin ordered.

Bruce caught the knife with a raised brow, a look of disbelief crossing his face. "You're seriously giving him a knife?"

Martin gave a half-smile, his eyes narrowing with intent. "It's not the only 'knife' in play."

Bruce looked intrigued. "What about the other one?"

"Ivan's got everything sorted out," Martin explained, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "The videos are clear as day. Kevin Tsujihara and Charlotte Kirk are tangled up in something far more damaging than just a box-office flop. Ivan didn't want to spook Tsujihara, so he went through Kirk's best friend, Emma. Let's just say Emma's secret filming gave us everything we need, plenty of key footage and recordings."

Martin's grin widened. "Leave it all to Judy."

Bruce gave a nod and left the office, the weight of the knife in his hand feeling more symbolic than ever.

As Martin watched him go, he found himself chuckling at the memory of Bruce, the man who was always insisting he didn't want to get involved in dirty work. But when it came down to it, Bull couldn't resist getting his hands on the juicy details himself. He could have just let Ivan handle the entire operation, but something about this case had drawn Bull in. Martin had a hunch why.

Later that day, Bruce's car rolled to a stop in front of the TMZ office building. As he waited, Jody emerged, slipping into the passenger seat with a grin that hinted she was already two steps ahead. "Let's go to my place," she said, leaning back.

Bruce shook his head, pulling a USB drive from his pocket and handing it over. "No time for games today. This is what I came for."

Jody eyed the drive, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Kevin Tsujihara?"

Bruce nodded. "Him and that British actress, Charlotte Kirk, the scandal I told you about. It's all on there. Everything you need."

Judy's expression shifted, recognizing the weight of what she held. *Justice League* had crashed and burned both at the box office and in the court of public opinion. What she had in her hands wasn't just news, it was a bomb waiting to explode. She tucked the USB away with care, already thinking about the impact it would have.

But before she could get too far into her thoughts, her gaze slid back to Bruce. "Bruce, you don't want this story to disappear again, do you? You don't want that USB to mysteriously break, right?"

Bruce shot her a glance, narrowing his eyes. "What are you planning?"

Judy smirked, but didn't answer directly. She didn't need to.

"Drive to my house. Now!" Judy's voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding.

Bruce glanced at her, taken aback by her sudden urgency, but Judy didn't waver. She simply pressed the electronic ignition, and the engine purred to life. Without another word, Bruce shifted into gear and the car rolled forward, heading toward Judy's place.

As they sped through the city streets, Bruce's mind drifted. He absently pulled out his phone, dialing a number. "Yeah, I need an appointment," he muttered, booking time with a masseur in New Chinatown. His pelvis was aching, a sure sign it would need some care after the stress of the past few days.

Meanwhile, across town, Martin was in a much more polished environment. He sat under the soft lights of a studio office, facing a team from *Vanity Fair* who had come to interview him about *Joker*. It was awards season, and every move mattered now. He knew the game well. Publicity was everything, and with the full weight of the campaign in motion, Martin wasn't leaving anything to chance.

The *Joker* crew had made a strategic decision: skip submitting the film for a Best Actor nod. Their focus was laser-targeted on securing the Best Director award for Martin. The *Vanity Fair* interview wrapped up smoothly, but Martin barely had time to breathe before rushing to the next event on his packed schedule, a private screening of *Joker* later that evening.

It was no ordinary screening either. The guest list was as prestigious as it got: Spielberg, Fincher, Soderbergh, Ridley Scott, Villeneuve, and Nolan. The heavyweights of the directing world, all in one room. Martin knew this wasn't just a casual viewing. The Academy's professional awards, like Best Director, were voted on by these very peers. Winning their favor was everything.

As he mingled with the directors, exchanging pleasantries, Martin reminded himself of the stakes. The goal was to secure 300 votes; a clear path to victory. For Best Picture, it was a different ball game, with every Academy member casting a vote. Winning Best Picture would be nice, but Martin didn't dwell on it. *Joker* had already surpassed expectations commercially. The market was tapped out, and an Oscar for Best Picture wouldn't move the needle much for the film's bottom line. But for Best Director? That was a different story.

As the screening wound down, Martin spotted familiar faces, Leonardo DiCaprio and Jack Nicholson. They were sitting in the rest area, clearly waiting for him. He joined them, exhaling deeply as he slumped into the chair next to them.

Leonardo gave him a sly grin and pointed across the room. "You've got a girlfriend who knows how to work a crowd, Martin."

Following Leonardo's gaze, Martin spotted Elizabeth Olsen charming her way through a group of directors' wives and girlfriends, effortlessly engaging in "lady diplomacy." It was a clever move, and Martin appreciated her ability to network where he couldn't.

Nicholson, never one to miss an opportunity for a jab, turned to Leonardo. "Not like your usual company. Aside from Gisele Bundchen, your other women don't exactly bring much to the table."

Martin chuckled, but quickly steered the conversation back to business. "Let's talk competitors. You have a feel for who we're up against?"

Leonardo leaned back, a confident smile spreading across his face. "As long as you don't submit for Best Actor, we're in the clear. No one else poses a real threat."

He listed off the names, ticking them off on his fingers. "Ryan Gosling in *Manchester by the Sea*, Andrew Garfield in *Hacksaw Ridge*, and Viggo Mortensen in *Captain Fantastic* are the ones most likely to get Best Actor nominations."

Martin paused, his mind clicking into gear. "Wait, wasn't Casey Affleck the lead in *Manchester by the Sea*?"

Leonardo's face darkened. "He was. But Casey's out of the picture. He's in prison now, and with his career pretty much in the gutter, no one's talking about him."

Martin nodded. That made sense. Casey's personal issues had derailed any chance of an awards run, but *Manchester by the Sea* was still a contender. He made a mental note. "Still, keep an eye on that film."

Leonardo looked thoughtful. "Yeah, I've worked with the director, Kenneth Lonergan. He's smart. He was a screenwriter and assistant director on *Gangs of New York*. He's gunning for Best Director, so we'll need to watch him."

Martin nodded. "I've been keeping tabs on Lonergan. He's definitely got some momentum."

At that moment, Nicholson chimed in, leaning forward with a smirk. "What about *The Revenant*? They're not submitting for Best Director. Can you handle that, Leo?"

Leonardo grinned, his confidence unwavering. "Alejandro Iñárritu has his opinions, sure. But he's already got his Best Director Oscar. I'm the investor on that project, and at the end of the day, what I say goes. He'll just have to live with it."

Martin smiled at Leonardo's conviction. The pieces were falling into place, but as always in Hollywood, nothing was certain until the final votes were cast. But tonight, surrounded by the power players of the industry and with a knife-sharp strategy in motion, Martin felt they had a real shot at taking home the gold.

At the last Oscars, the Mexican director took home the Best Director award for *Birdman*, but the coveted Best Picture prize slipped away to *Boyhood*. The memory still lingered in the minds of the industry elites, shaping the way this year's contenders strategized.

Martin, ever the tactician, leaned forward, listing out the names of his competitors with a sharp clarity. "This time around, my main competition comes from Kenneth Lonergan for *Manchester by the Sea*, David Mackenzie for *Hell or High Water*, Denzel Washington for *Fences*, and Mel Gibson for *Hacksaw Ridge*..." He continued rattling off names, six or seven in total, all potential rivals in the race for Best Director.

Leonardo cut in with a snort, waving his hand dismissively. "Other than Mel Gibson, none of those guys are even second-tier."

Martin raised an eyebrow, reminding him, "Don't forget, I'm a new director too."

Leonardo chuckled, shaking his head. "A newbie? Seriously? You're pulling my leg. You didn't just stumble into this, you planned it perfectly. You lined up *Joker* like a chess piece, targeting this year's awards season with precision."

Nicholson, who had been quietly listening, leaned in with a knowing smile. "I remember Louise saying your studio spent the last two years gathering intel on projects with major investments, right? Clearly, you weren't leaving anything to chance. You studied the landscape before even making your move."

Martin nodded, not bothering to hide the truth. "Winning an Oscar isn't just about how good your film is. It's about knowing who you're up against. And this year, aside from *Joker*, there are only two real contenders: *The Revenant*, which Leo invested in, and *Hacksaw Ridge* from Mel Gibson."

Nicholson jumped in again, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Leo here controls what gets submitted for *The Revenant*. As for Mel Gibson, sure, he made a great film, but his past? No matter how many public apologies he makes, his reputation will only take him so far. He might get a nomination, but winning? That's a pipe dream. And Denzel Washington? After the uproar over diversity at last year's Oscars, it's unlikely the Academy will give a Black filmmaker all four major awards."

He laughed lightly before continuing, "Unless these directors suddenly come up with tens of millions to spend on PR, how do they think they can compete with Martin? Most of their studios won't even cough up that kind of cash to win awards. They'd rather not bother, especially when they're already struggling to make back their investments."

Leonardo turned to Martin, shaking his head in admiration. "No wonder you always say you win these awards 'fairly.'"

Martin smirked and replied, "Tell me, is my approach underhanded, or just smart?"

Leonardo had no retort. He couldn't deny it, he himself had borrowed Martin's playbook this time around. He had taken out his biggest competitor in advance, ensuring his path was clear. Before meeting Martin, Leonardo had always struggled to win awards. It wasn't that he hadn't done PR; he had just been too focused on his own work, ignoring the importance of undermining his rivals.

The truth was simple: as long as your competition is weak, victory comes easy.

---

Meanwhile, on the other side of Los Angeles, the headquarters of TMZ was buzzing with activity. Despite the late hour, several offices were still brightly lit, with two teams under Judy's supervision working overtime. They were preparing to release a bombshell that would shake Hollywood to its core.

By 8:30 PM, Judy logged into the editor-in-chief's backend, ready to review and approve the explosive news. She carefully examined the final edits, then pushed it live, making sure the headline was prominently featured on the website's homepage in bold black letters.

The headline alone was enough to stop anyone in their tracks: "Hollywood's Next Harvey Weinstein Scandal: Warner Bros. CEO Kevin Tsujihara Exposed in Sex-for-Roles Scandal with British Actress Charlotte Kirk!"

The article was short, but the impact would be devastating. The core of the story wasn't in the text but in the shocking videos and audio recordings attached. The clips, secretly obtained, revealed Kevin Tsujihara's sordid interactions with actress Charlotte Kirk. More damning still were the exchanges between Kirk and her best friend, Emma, who had covertly filmed and recorded key moments.

The evidence was irrefutable. Videos showed Tsujihara promising Kirk roles in exchange for sexual favors. Text messages, carefully preserved by Charlotte herself, confirmed their arrangement. In one of the more incriminating messages, Tsujihara explicitly offered Charlotte a chance at a performance opportunity in exchange for her "services," making it painfully clear that Hollywood's dark underbelly was alive and well.

The story was poised to explode across the nation. In a post-Weinstein world, this scandal had all the makings of another Hollywood reckoning. Warner Bros.' CEO, Kevin Tsujihara, would face the full brunt of public outrage, and the implications for the studio and for Hollywood, would be catastrophic.

That night, the news about Kevin Tsujihara exploded across the internet, spreading like wildfire. Social media platforms lit up with headlines, forums buzzed with speculation, and the entertainment world was ablaze. Everyone, both inside and outside of Hollywood, was waiting to see how this scandal would unfold.

For years, under Tsujihara's leadership, Warner Bros. had been on a downward spiral. A series of bad decisions, lackluster films, and internal turmoil had chipped away at the company's once-mighty reputation. Now, the man at the top was at the center of an explosive scandal, and the whole world was watching.

In his Malibu mansion, Kevin Tsujihara sat in his living room when he first saw the news. His face remained calm, though the weight of the situation pressed down on him. His wife, too, was composed. She had been part of Hollywood's inner circles long enough to know that scandals like this were inevitable in their world.

"A problem at work?" she asked quietly, not even looking up from the book she was reading.

Kevin sighed, his voice steady but tired. "Yes, a problem at work."

"Fix it quickly," she said, rising from her chair and heading to the bedroom without another word. It was as though she had been expecting this all along.

Alone, Kevin picked up his phone and dialed a number. When the call connected, his voice took on a sharper edge. "Charlotte, we need to meet. Now."

Within half an hour, Kevin and Charlotte Kirk were holed up in a Burbank hotel room, working feverishly to craft a unified statement. They knew the stakes. If they couldn't control the narrative, the fallout would only worsen. But even as they drafted their response, Kevin felt the ground shifting beneath him.

The next morning, before he could release his carefully constructed statement, Kevin's phone buzzed. It was a call from Time Warner headquarters, and the voice on the other end was blunt.

"Kevin, this situation has become too complicated. You hold an unshakable responsibility for what's happened at Warner Bros. It's time to save face, for yourself and for the company. You need to step down."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He blinked, then exhaled slowly. "Is that really the only option?"

"The board and shareholders are meeting next month. Do it now, before this spirals even further out of control."

Kevin closed his eyes for a moment. "I understand," he said quietly, and hung up the phone. He reached for the morning paper beside him, the headline splashed across the front page like a scarlet letter: *Warner Bros. CEO Kevin Tsujihara Caught in Scandal with Actress Charlotte Kirk.*

Every major newspaper and website across the country had picked up the story. Media outlets were running it non-stop, and it had quickly become the hottest topic in America. TMZ, always eager to coin a scandal, dubbed it *"Cheating-Gate."*

This wasn't just a case of infidelity, it was far more dangerous in the post-Weinstein era. The allegations of exchanging roles for sexual favors had drawn immediate and fierce public outrage. And even more importantly, within Warner Bros., Tsujihara's leadership had already been under intense scrutiny. His handling of the *Justice League* disaster had left the company bleeding financially, and this latest scandal was the final nail in the coffin.

By the time December rolled around, the power struggle within Warner Bros. had reached its peak. Those who had once supported Kevin Tsujihara now distanced themselves, eager to align with whoever might come out on top. It was clear, Kevin's time was up.

At a hastily arranged press conference, Kevin Tsujihara stood before the cameras, his face pale but composed. He bowed deeply, once again offering an apology that had become all too familiar in recent years. But this time, it wasn't enough to save him. "Effective immediately," he announced, "I am resigning from my positions as CEO and chairman of Warner Bros."

It wasn't just Kevin stepping down. Alongside him, DC co-chairman Hamada and vice president Jeff Jones also tendered their resignations. The leadership that had once dominated Warner Bros. had crumbled, and with them, the era of Warner's so-called superstars had come to an end.

The fallout from the scandal extended beyond the boardroom. Charlotte Kirk, the actress at the center of it all, was blacklisted by Hollywood production companies. Any hope she had of continuing her acting career vanished overnight. Her name had become synonymous with scandal, and the industry had no room for her anymore.

Meanwhile, the internal shake-up at Warner Bros. had a new victor. Daniel Love, president of Warner Pictures, emerged as the winner of the power struggle. At the upcoming shareholders' meeting, it was announced that Daniel would take over as both CEO and chairman of Warner Bros., officially marking the beginning of a new chapter for the embattled studio.

One of Daniel's first moves as the new head of Warner Bros. was to reach out to director Zack Snyder, inviting him to produce a director's cut version of *Justice League*. The theatrical release had been nothing short of a disaster. Despite its massive budget, the film had grossed only $182 million domestically, with little hope of ever crossing the $200 million mark. By Christmas, daily revenues had dropped below $1 million; a death sentence for a film of its scale.

The studio needed a fresh start, and Snyder's director's cut was a gamble, but one that Daniel hoped would help turn the tide for Warner Bros. Whether it would be enough to save the studio's damaged reputation remained to be seen.

As for Kevin Tsujihara, his era at Warner Bros. had ended in disgrace, his legacy overshadowed by scandal and failure. The headlines that once celebrated his rise to the top of Hollywood now chronicled his fall from grace.