Chapter 744: Financial Troubles!

Lately, Martin, Leonardo, and Nicholson have been feasting on the juiciest slices of gossip with relish, particularly savoring the tumultuous saga of Johnny Depp's very public and messy divorce. The scandal, ripe with shocking revelations and accusations, has been a source of dark entertainment for them.

"Check out today's bombshell update!" Leonardo exclaimed, peering over his laptop in the office lounge area.

Nicholson, who was halfway through sending a text by the window, leaped over with keen interest. Martin joined in, curious about the latest twist.

Leonardo pointed at the screen displaying a fresh TMZ headline: "Depp unveils staggering claims against Amber Heard!"

The article featured a notorious photograph, a bed with disheveled sheets and an unfortunate surprise left in the middle. Martin and Nicholson grimaced, instinctively covering their noses.

"Can you believe this?" Leonardo continued, his voice a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Depp's nanny snapped this photo. He insists Amber is the culprit."

Beside the shocking photo was a video clip of Depp, detailing the unsavory discovery. "That's from Amber!" he declared in the footage.

Nicholson, recalling a past visit to Disney Studio, shook his head. "To think she'd go to such extremes..."

Leonardo nudged Martin, "That buddy of yours from Silicon Valley, he's got some eccentric tastes, huh?"

Martin thought of his friend Fatty Bai and shrugged, "Guess he finds it intriguing."

As the scandal unfolded further, Amber Heard released a video insisting the mess was the work of Depp's tiny dog, not her.

Depp countered in another clip, holding up his petite Yorkshire Terrier for emphasis. "A three-pound Yorkie can't possibly do that. It's not feasible!"

Nicholson chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. "Depp should just weigh the evidence, literally! Put the dog on one scale and the...evidence on the other!"

Leonardo pondered, "Would fresh...evidence weigh the same as after a while you know dry ones are lighter the fresh?"

Martin, finding the conversation veering into distasteful territory, interjected, "Guys, can we steer clear of this topic?"

Leonardo looked puzzled. "What should we be discussing then?"

"How about the financial implications of the lawsuit? Heard is asking for $100 million," Martin redirected the conversation to the legal battle ahead.

Nicholson mused, "Depp's already settling old tax debts. Does he even have enough left to fight this case with top-notch lawyers?"

Martin laughed, "No matter the outcome, this debacle's going to tank 'The Lone Ranger' even further. That film's box office is already dismal, and it's only going to get worse with this circus."

Leonardo nodded in agreement, his expression grave. "The online outcry from women's organizations is fierce. Did you have a hand in it?" he asked Martin, curiosity etched on his face.

Martin shook his head solemnly. "Not our doing. With everything unfolding, Depp's former collaborators are circling like vultures. He's got enemies from every corner," he remarked, his tone tinged with pity for the fallen star.

Indeed, over the past half-decade, Depp had collaborated with numerous production crews and companies, leaving a trail of disgruntled colleagues in his wake. As his star plummeted from the heights, he found himself surrounded by adversaries.

"And it's not just Depp," Martin continued, gesturing broadly. "Tom Cruise's recent struggles are a testament to that."

Meanwhile, "The Lone Ranger" stumbled through its second weekend in North America, burdened by the weight of negative press surrounding its lead actor. The once-promising film saw no uptick in box office receipts, plunging dramatically from its lackluster debut. A mere $4.38 million trickled in over the weekend, spelling financial disaster for the $250 million production.

As murmurs of financial ruin swirled, Megan Ellison, president of Annapurna Pictures, found herself in a tense meeting at the company's headquarters.

"Ms. Ellison, per our loan agreement, we reserve the right to recall our funding if performance falters," Judith, a representative from the bank, stated bluntly.

Megan raised a hand, halting the conversation. "I'll repay the loan in due time," she assured them, though her tone betrayed her uncertainty.

Judith slid a document across the desk. "Here's the formal notice," she said, her expression sympathetic.

Megan sighed, realizing her predicament. "My name might be Ellison, but I'm not swimming in cash," she admitted, resigned to her fate.

Judith offered a small smile. "We'll extend the terms, given your circumstances," she said kindly, before bidding Megan farewell. "We'll eagerly await your good news, Ms. Ellison."

As Judith exited the room, Megan couldn't suppress a sigh. It seemed that banks were all too eager to lend a hand when times were flush but quick to drain you dry at the first sign of trouble.

Two hundred million dollars was a hefty sum by any measure, even for someone like her. Megan scanned the office, her thoughts racing. Selling Annapurna Pictures wouldn't fetch nearly enough to cover her debts.

Her hand hovered over the phone, instinctively reaching for her father's help. But she hesitated, her pride kicking in. She was determined to tackle this challenge on her own, for once.

But how?

Her gaze fell on the whiteboard adorned with the titles of four films: "The Hurt Locker," "Transcendence," "The Lone Ranger," and "The Seventh Son."

"The Hurt Locker" barely made a dent in her financial woes. "Transcendence" was a flop. "The Lone Ranger" was a disaster in the making. That left only "The Seventh Son."

Investing $150 million in the fantasy epic was a bold move, one that now seemed perilous in the wake of recent failures.

If "The Seventh Son" succeeded, it could salvage some of her losses. But if it failed...

The idea struck her like lightning: sell the film's rights to repay the debt.

Surely, a grand-scale production like "The Seventh Son" would fetch a handsome sum on the market. But was it the right move?

Summoning her trusted advisors, Wilson and Derrett, Megan broached the topic.

Meanwhile, word had gotten out that Warner Bros. was considering pulling out of their distribution deal for the film.

Wilson's heart sank at the news. With two major flops back-to-back, Megan's resolve seemed to waver. Was she contemplating a hasty retreat?

After careful consideration, Wilson offered a suggestion: "Let's finish the film first. We can leak the news and gauge interest from other studios. If there's enough demand, we can orchestrate a bidding war. The highest bidder takes the reins."

Drette racked his brain but couldn't come up with a better plan.

Megan pondered for a moment before nodding decisively. "Let's stick to the plan and finish the film first."

As her subordinates departed, Megan's thoughts turned to Johnny Depp, the architect of the film's downfall. With a simmering anger, she dialed Amber Heard's number. "I want to see Depp suffer," she seethed.

Amber, fueled by her own grievances, had been relentless in her pursuit of vengeance through media and public opinion.

Meanwhile, in a villa nestled in the Beverly Hills south hillside, Johnny Depp grappled with the remnants of his shattered life.

His once-beloved home, now a chamber of painful memories, echoed with the melancholic strumming of his guitar.

Jerry, his loyal bodyguard, interrupted his reverie. "Johnny, there's something I need to tell you. The staff, security, drivers, chefs, and nannies, haven't been paid in two months. They're growing restless."

These loyal employees, some with him for half a decade, had come to rely on his generous paychecks, totaling over $4 million annually.

Johnny's brow furrowed. "Tell them to hold on a little longer," he muttered, the weight of his financial troubles pressing down on him.

Jerry persisted, his voice low. "They have bills to pay, debts to settle. They can't afford to wait any longer."

Just then, agent Whigham entered the room, bearing more grim news.

"I'll dip into the yacht sale funds to cover their salaries," Johnny offered, desperation creeping into his voice.

Whigham hesitated before delivering a harsh reality check. "That money's already been used for back taxes. You signed off on it days ago."

Johnny's heart sank as he recalled the agreement. "Is there no money left at all?" he whispered, the gravity of his situation sinking in.

Whigham shook his head solemnly. "And there's the matter of legal fees. They're overdue, Johnny."

Over the past year, Johnny had found himself embroiled in countless legal battles, each one draining his already dwindling resources.

With a throbbing headache, Johnny conceded defeat. "Sell the house. Price... doesn't matter anymore."