Chapter 839: The English Method!

Burbank, Davis Studio

Jonathan Nolan walked briskly across the lot, his steps quickening as he approached Martin's office. In his hand, he clutched the freshly printed first draft of the script titled "Split." The anticipation was palpable; months of late nights and intense brainstorming sessions had led to this moment.

As soon as he arrived, he wasted no time. "Martin," he called out, pushing the door open with a burst of energy. "I've got it, the first draft is done."

Martin, seated behind his cluttered desk, looked up with a mix of curiosity and relief. Preparations for this project had begun over a year and a half ago, and the wait for the script had been long. Now, finally, the words were on paper.

He took the script from Jonathan's hands, immediately flipping through the pages. For a moment, the room fell silent, save for the rustle of paper as Martin absorbed the narrative. He was a man with a decade of experience in the industry, and while he wasn't entirely sure of Jonathan's abilities as a director, he knew the man had a knack for storytelling.

After what felt like an eternity, Martin looked up, his expression thoughtful. "The main plot of the script is solid," he said, nodding slowly. "I'll pass this on to Director Fincher and see what he thinks."

Jonathan, though composed, couldn't hide the flicker of pride in his eyes. "I approached the story from a deeply personal perspective, centering everything around Billy. Given the complexity of his character, I knew we couldn't explore all twenty-plus personalities without overwhelming the audience. So, I focused on seven, each one carefully chosen for their impact on the narrative."

Martin's brow furrowed slightly as he did a mental count. "Seven personalities, you say?"

"Yes, seven," Jonathan confirmed. "One of my team members had an interesting suggestion, actually."

Martin leaned back in his chair, gesturing for Jonathan to continue. "I'm listening."

Choosing his words carefully, Jonathan explained, "He proposed that some of Billy's personalities could have specific abilities, physical enhancements, for example. Like the Beast personality, which could be stronger, more formidable…"

For a moment, Martin's mind wandered to the realm of comic books and superheroes. The idea of a split personality combined with superpowers wasn't entirely new, it had echoes of the X-Men universe, where complex characters battled with both their abilities and their inner demons.

After a moment of contemplation, Martin shook his head. "This is a realistic film, grounded in true events. We don't want to stray into the surreal. Let's keep it rooted in reality."

Jonathan's initial excitement dimmed, but he respected the decision. His job was to deliver a script that matched the vision of the project, and if that meant sacrificing some creative ideas, so be it. "Understood," he replied, his tone professional.

The two continued to discuss the script in detail, picking apart the scenes and refining the dialogue. Although this was just the first draft, Jonathan hoped to have the final version polished and ready by the end of the year.

After Jonathan left, Martin wasted no time in reaching out to David Fincher. The acclaimed director had just wrapped up filming for 'House of Cards' and was deep into post-production. Fincher wouldn't be available until next summer, but Martin was confident that the timing would align perfectly.

Just as Martin settled back into his chair, Bruce, his trusted colleague, entered the office with a sense of urgency. He closed the door behind him, his voice low and serious. "I just got word from Alexandrovich. He called through an encrypted satellite phone. The Ukrainian Security Service has gathered substantial evidence involving the French fashion mogul, Brunel. They're in serious negotiations with the French authorities as we speak."

Martin nodded, unsurprised. "It was inevitable. No matter how powerful or wealthy, an individual is no match for the might of a state."

Bruce smirked. "The French, as expected, are playing their cards close to the chest."

Martin leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "And what did Alexandrovich have to say?"

Bruce replied, "He took your advice and sent people to Fleet Street."

Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, in the bustling heart of London, Rebecca, the chief editor of 'The Sun's' editorial department, was on a mission. She pushed through the newsroom with determination, a heavy briefcase swinging at her side. Her face was set with purpose, and her pace left no room for delays.

Bursting into the office of the editor-in-chief, she barely gave her assistant time to react. "I need to see Dominic. Now."

The assistant hesitated, glancing at the schedule. "The editor-in-chief is currently…"

But Rebecca was having none of it. She dropped the briefcase onto the assistant's desk with a thud. "This is an emergency," she insisted. "We have an explosive scandal here, a story that can't wait another second!"

The Sun has built its reputation on sensationalism, thriving on gossip and scandals to fuel its business. It's a well-oiled machine, notorious for its ability to sniff out controversy and serve it up to the public with a side of outrage.

The editor-in-chief's assistant, sensing the urgency, didn't hesitate. She pressed the intercom button and spoke swiftly, "Boss, Rebecca has some important news and wants to see you immediately. She's waiting outside your office."

"Send her in," came the immediate reply. The assistant switched off the intercom, rose from her seat, and gestured toward the door, "Follow me, please."

Rebecca, her demeanor brimming with a mix of anticipation and gravity, walked into the office. She approached Dominic, the almost completely bald editor-in-chief, and placed a weighty briefcase on his desk. With a deliberate motion, she unzipped it, revealing stacks of documents. She began laying them out methodically.

Dominic raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of curiosity sparking in his eyes. "What is all this? Have you dug up some serious dirt on someone?"

Rebecca nodded, her voice steady, "The Ukrainians provided this material concerning the disappearance of a Ukrainian female model."

Dominic's initial interest waned as quickly as it had flared. He waved a dismissive hand, "People go missing all the time. That's hardly newsworthy..."

Rebecca leaned in, her tone urgent, "But this is different. These documents implicate the French Karin Model Agency and billionaire Jean-Luc Brunel."

The mention of the French piqued Dominic's interest. He leaned forward, suddenly more engaged. He knew all too well the names of Karin Model Agency and Jean-Luc Brunel, notorious figures in the fashion world.

Rebecca pulled out a key piece of evidence, a mobile hard drive and handed it to Dominic. "I've gone through it thoroughly. This evidence is damning. It doesn't just implicate Brunel in the trafficking of women selling them as sex workers, but it also ties him to the exploitation of a large number of minor."

Dominic took the hard drive with a grim smile, plugged it into his computer, and began reviewing the contents. As he skimmed through the files, his smile broadened. "This is gold. The French are going to have a nightmare on their hands."

After poring over the damning evidence, Dominic looked up. Rebecca, sensing his approval, asked the burning question, "Are we going to publish this?"

"Why wouldn't we?" Dominic replied confidently, understanding the concern underlying her question. He chuckled, "It's our duty as British media to expose a French billionaire and his corrupt empire. Let them have their opinions, what do we care? We have the whole kingdom behind us!"

Dominic, a veteran of countless battles with the French media, had never shied away from a good scandal. "If the French want to retaliate, they'll need Britain's permission first. And let's not forget, this is The Sun we're talking about, we've never been afraid of a fight."

Rebecca grinned, feeling the momentum. "We are The Sun, after all."

Dominic hit the intercom again, his voice booming, "Call all editors and senior staff for a meeting in Conference Room 1 in thirty minutes. Attendance is mandatory unless you're in the middle of an emergency."

Rebecca knew that what they had just uncovered would dominate headlines for weeks to come.

That very day, after rigorous verification, The Sun's editorial department unanimously agreed to go public with the story. The evidence was overwhelming, practically gift-wrapped for them. Ukraine might be struggling, but its institutions still had enough clout to shake up Europe.

By mid-September 2013, the explosive report from The Sun shattered the calm across Europe, thrusting France into the harsh glare of public scrutiny.

"Jean-Luc Brunel: The Criminal Empire of Europe's Most Perverted Fashion Tycoon!" the headlines screamed.

"Karin Model Agency, the breeding ground for supermodels, is now under fire for abducting thousands of young women, many of whom have vanished without a trace."

The Sun dedicated nearly an entire issue to detailing Brunel's crimes, presenting irrefutable evidence that laid bare the horror of an underground trade stretching back to the 1980s. The trade, involving thousands of models or rather, young women, was a well-oiled operation that left many missing or ruined.

With every sordid detail revealed, the British didn't need to stoke the flames further. The revelations alone sent shockwaves through the French elite, tarnishing reputations with each new piece of evidence.

"There is undeniable proof," The Sun wrote, "that Brunel used young, beautiful women as currency, gifting them to powerful figures in French politics and business. His wealth and these influential connections shielded him from justice, despite several attempts to expose his crimes."

The story was more than just a scandal; it was a reckoning, one that would reverberate far beyond the borders of France.

These revelations were just the tip of the iceberg. Brunel's crimes ran deep, with the most shocking accusations involving the trafficking of minors.

"This monster lured young girls with promises of a glamorous modeling career, only to secretly sell them into a nightmare…" The Sun's exposé was just the beginning. The rest of the British media quickly jumped on board, reigniting the age-old rivalry between Britain and France. For centuries, the two nations had battled on various fronts from bloody wars to now, a war of words in the media. Sorting through the layers of animosity and historical grievances was no small task.

Insults between Britain and France have become almost a tradition, a habit of public discourse that neither side seems willing to break.

Meanwhile, as the drama unfolded in Western Europe, a man named Alexandrovich in Ukraine was determined not to be sidelined. Gathering a coalition of like-minded individuals, he founded the Servant of the People Party, vowing to represent the ordinary citizens of Ukraine. With a flair for the dramatic, Alexandrovich gave an exclusive interview to the BBC, using the banners of Ukrainian Lives Matter and women's rights to publicly condemn the French authorities for their inaction and for shielding Brunel's heinous crimes.

The pressure from the public was too great to ignore. France, which had maintained a stony silence, finally buckled and announced an investigation into the matter. But it was a hollow gesture, a move to appease the masses rather than deliver justice. It was clear that any investigation would be more symbolic than substantive, with little hope of meaningful results.

---

Far away in Long Island, New York, a middle-aged man with graying hair walked along a stone path beside a seaside villa. He was deep in thought when a woman approached him.

"Jeffrey, they're going to conduct a token investigation into the news from France. Luc will probably just push out a few scapegoats."

Jeffrey Epstein, a man notorious in his own right, shook his head in disbelief. "How did those crazy Ukrainians manage to pull this off? Using the British media to go after the French, it's a brilliant move. They're playing on the long-standing tensions between Britain and France."

Ghislaine Maxwell, always quick to assess a situation, commented, "That Alexandrovich character has been stirring things up quite a bit lately."

Jeffrey nodded, recalling the name. "Alexandrovich, he's become quite the celebrated civil rights leader in Ukraine."

Ghislaine's expression darkened. "Our channels in Ukraine have been hit hard. Should we...?"

Jeffrey cut her off sharply. "Are you out of your mind? That Ukrainian madman could have the backing of the Ukrainian Security Service, or even more powerful forces at the national level. Do you really think our 'friends' will stick their necks out for us against that kind of opposition?"

He understood the gravity of their situation all too well. "The business we're in, the things our company handles, if any of that comes to light, we'll have enemies everywhere. And the first to turn on us will be our so-called 'loyal customers.'"

Ghislaine, still uneasy, brought up another concern. "What if someone in France decides to really investigate Brunel?"

Jeffrey remained calm, almost dismissive. "Luc's been a close friend for over twenty years. Even if they uncover something, I trust Luc won't betray us."

But Ghislaine wasn't so sure. In her experience, people who lived for pleasure had no problem sharing the good times, but were unlikely to take the fall when things went south.

Jeffrey, sensing her doubt, added with chilling resolve, "Don't worry. When the moment of truth comes, Luc will prove his loyalty with his life."

Ghislaine understood the implication immediately. A sense of relief washed over her, followed by a creeping dread. She knew that if that critical moment ever arrived, it would be Luc's life on the line.

Before she could dwell on it further, Jeffrey shifted gears. "We'll halt operations on the island for now. We need to keep a low profile for a while. But make sure the cargo channels in Latin America stay open. The chaos down there is just as bad as in Eastern Europe, if not worse."

Ghislaine nodded. "Got it, I'll pass the word along." Just as she was about to leave, a thought struck her. "I also called Los Angeles and told that idiot Michel to stop all activities in Eastern Europe."

Jeffrey's eyes flashed with anger. "That fool! Let her know that if she causes any more trouble, she'll be explaining herself to God personally!"

Ghislaine quickly interjected, her voice tinged with urgency. "Her business connections are invaluable, Jeffrey. She has direct ties to some of Hollywood's top-tier gatekeepers."

Jeffrey waved a hand dismissively, though his expression softened slightly. "If that weren't the case, I wouldn't have tolerated her antics for this long. But fine, go ahead and call her."

With a nod, Ghislaine turned and left the garden, her heels clicking purposefully on the stone path.

Left alone, Jeffrey wandered toward the edge of the property, where the sea met the land. He placed his hands on the cool metal railing, staring out at the distant ships moving slowly across the horizon. The salty breeze tugged at his clothes, but his mind was elsewhere, lost in thought.

This current predicament was troublesome, yes, but nothing that truly worried him. Jeffrey had faced worse, much worse. Eight years ago, he'd been thrown into prison, charged with a slew of crimes including burglary and trafficking. Yet, not only did he survive that ordeal, he emerged from it stronger, with a broader network and a tighter grip on his vast fortune. For Jeffrey, adversity was just another game to win.

---

Meanwhile, in Beverly Hills, Los Angeles.

A sleek Volkswagen wound its way along Sunset Boulevard, weaving through the affluent neighborhood until it turned into the gated entrance of Davis Manor. The car came to a halt in front of a grand villa, and Bruce, the driver, stepped out hastily, making his way inside with purpose.

Inside the villa, the atmosphere was relaxed, almost languid. Thomas was already there, sitting at the bar and sipping a drink with Martin, who was casually leaning back in his chair.

Bruce entered the room, his expression serious. "I've got important news."

Martin, sensing the urgency, put down his glass and straightened up. "Let's take this to the study."

Thomas and Bruce followed Martin into the study, where the walls were lined with books and the air was thick with the scent of polished wood. Once inside, Bruce shut the door firmly behind them, ensuring their conversation would be private. He pulled out a storage disk, connected it to the computer, and began projecting images and videos onto a large screen.

The first image flashed up, and Bruce pointed at it with a laser pointer. "This is Ryan Reynolds, and next to him is his agent, Cowell."

Martin nodded, instantly recognizing the actor. He leaned in, intrigued.

Bruce continued, "Last night, we repositioned some of our assets, and Ivan led a team to have a chat with Reynolds. We discovered that after selling his villa in the Hollywood Hills, following his split from Scarlett Johansson, Reynolds moved into a secluded estate near Beverly Hills and West Hollywood."

A photo of the new villa appeared on the screen, its luxurious exterior bathed in the warm glow of twilight.

Bruce gestured to the image. "Our sources indicate that this estate is Michelle Bryan's primary base of operations. She's been living there for the past year."

Thomas, who had been quietly listening, spoke up. "So, Reynolds is a client of Michelle Bryan?"

"It's more than just that," Bruce replied, clicking to the next series of photos. "About half an hour after we observed Reynolds leaving the villa, he was seen heading to the Santa Monica yacht pier with some of Michelle's people. They entered a warehouse and stayed there for quite some time."

Martin's mind raced back to a conversation he had with Scarlett, something she'd mentioned offhandedly. "Reynolds has been planning a big party to promote the new Deadpool movie, hoping to court the Fox executives. These Hollywood parties always have beautiful women in attendance, a necessary element to grease the wheels."

Thomas nodded slightly, acknowledging the unspoken truth. "It's a standard industry play."

Bruce continued cycling through the images, each one more revealing than the last. "After Reynolds left the warehouse, Ivan's team maintained surveillance from a nearby high-rise. This morning, they managed to capture some key footage."

The screen flickered, and a video began to play. The quality wasn't the best, filmed from a considerable distance but the content was unmistakable. As dawn broke, shadows moved within the warehouse. A group of men, including Reynolds, escorted three young girls out into the open air, as if they were being let out of some kind of confinement.

The girls were small, clearly underage, their faces pale in the early morning light.

Martin's eyes narrowed as he watched. "These girls... they're not just party guests. This is something much darker."

The room fell into a heavy silence as the implications of what they were seeing began to sink in. Each man in the room knew the gravity of what they were witnessing and the dangerous waters they were now navigating.