Chapter 823: Me and My Superstar Dad!

Under the shade of a bright red parasol, a small round table beckoned. Martin, with his cell phone in hand, approached briskly. Before taking a seat, he instinctively checked the chair for any surprises, a habit born from too many pranks and lingering paranoia.

"There's no helping it," he thought. "I've crossed too many people. Now, I always stay cautious."

Bruce, already seated across from him, broke the silence. "Judy just reminded me, there's a Twitter account named 'Martin's Son.'"

Martin raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Isn't it Hart and his crew from the Beast House Club messing with me again?"

Bruce shrugged nonchalantly. "Why don't you check it out yourself?"

Curiosity piqued, Martin logged into Twitter and searched for "Martin's Son." An account promptly appeared, featuring an avatar of a teenager, around sixteen or seventeen, whose facial features bore a striking resemblance to his own. The similarity was uncanny, more so than any comparison between Mr. Guo and Jason Statham, except for one detail, the boy was clearly black.

Intrigued, Martin clicked on the profile. The teenager mimicked him in every way, from his style of dress to his film roles. Scrolling through the tweets, Martin saw countless street shots, fan selfies, autograph sessions, and even a picture in front of the Margaret Mitchell House, dedicated to the author of "Gone with the Wind." The boy was evidently from Atlanta, as indicated by landmarks like Peachtree Street and the memorial hall.

One particular photo stood out: a shot with Martin's wax figure at Madame Tussauds, captioned, "Me and My Superstar Dad."

Martin's eyebrows furrowed as he noticed multiple tweets referring to him as "Dad." It seemed like an elaborate imitation act, but the boy had amassed over 200,000 followers, definitely more than just a passing fancy.

Bruce leaned in with a sly grin. "Isn't this your illegitimate child?"

Martin scoffed, "No way! I was born in 1981. This kid can't be more than sixteen."

Bruce persisted, "How many girlfriends did you have at fifteen? Were you still a virgin?"

Martin hesitated, memories flashing back. "Well... I guess not."

Bruce's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Then it's simple. Maybe he really is your son."

Martin chuckled, shaking his head. "That's absurd."

Yet, deep down, the idea gnawed at him. Could it be true?

Martin flipped Bruce the middle finger, smirking. "You must be joking. I've never been with a black woman."

Bruce leaned in, his expression serious. "Don't say that to anyone else. Remember the woman when we were dealing with Harvey Weinstein? She accused him of discriminating against black people because none of his victims were black."

Martin nodded, recalling the incident. "Yeah, I think her name was Megan. We came up with that idea."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Be careful. Someone might use that tactic against you."

Martin waved a hand dismissively. "Everyone in Hollywood knows one of my closest friends is Mene."

Bruce pointed at Martin's phone, his voice taking on a concerned tone. "What are we going to do about this? That kid's clearly trying to become an internet celebrity, and it's affecting your image."

Martin, always one to appreciate his fans, had used his rising popularity to his advantage numerous times. He sighed. "We'll have Thomas contact him, tell him to stop posting about this father-son nonsense."

Bruce jotted down a note. "I'll call Thomas later."

Martin pocketed his phone. "Let's head back to the company."

Upon returning, the receptionist approached them. "Martin, Mr. Bradt is here, waiting for you in the reception room upstairs."

"Thanks," Martin replied, heading upstairs.

In the reception room, Bradt handed Martin a recently completed script for a film Martin planned to make with Blake Lively. The script wasn't thick, and Martin immediately started reading it.

The story was simple. After her mother's death, the heroine, in a bid to escape her depression, goes to a remote coast to surf. Suddenly, an adult great white shark appears and attacks, leaving her stranded on a reef far from the shore. She must rely on her wits to survive.

Bradt broke the silence. "This is the simplest script I've ever written, with the fewest characters and scenes."

Martin grinned. "Big bear with long legs and a bikini, beauty outsmarting a big shark."

Bradt leaned back, his tone serious. "The film's atmosphere is crucial. Since Spielberg's 'Jaws' was such a success, most shark horror movies have been terrible. Sharks have been overshadowed by all sorts of monsters and demons."

Martin thought for a moment, then looked up. "Your script gives me an idea. We can use the vast, open background to contrast the heroine's claustrophobic situation on the reef."

Bradt, ever the professional, nodded. "From the perspective of audience psychology, the vastness of the world juxtaposed with the heroine's confinement creates a more intense anxiety than just the dangers of the open ocean."

Martin's mind raced with possibilities. "Exactly. It's about the mental struggle as much as the physical one."

The two continued to discuss, their collaboration sparking new ideas and refining the concept.

Martin ventured into investments with confidence. He had the financial resources to take risks and could easily attract investors. Additionally, he could hire top-tier professionals to support his endeavors.

Take Bradt, for example. He had put considerable thought into their latest project.

Finding an experienced assistant director and director of photography was also a breeze for Martin. As long as the salary was right, the best talent was at his disposal.

While the initial story idea came from Martin, Bradt had almost entirely written the script. Bradt explained, "The core of the script follows the classic Hollywood horror thriller trope of a weak woman and a perverted killer. But we've reimagined it with humans and sharks. The biggest twist is that the heroine saves herself."

Martin nodded. "Exactly. In today's social climate, she doesn't need rescuing. She's both a survivor and a savior."

Bradt, mindful of the ongoing civil rights movement, agreed. "You've clearly given this a lot of thought."

Martin shrugged. "We have to get creative with our limited resources."

With that, Bradt left, and Martin had the script copied. He then called Blake Lively, who had just returned to Los Angeles from New York. Her recovery was progressing well, and she could resume normal activities as long as she avoided strenuous exertion.

The "John Wick 3" crew had rented a small studio at Disney Studios. They had set up a blue screen background and transported a lot of sand for the final desert shots. Both Martin and Blake Lively only had a few dramatic scenes left to film.

Martin decided not to call Blake over immediately but arranged to meet her during the shoot instead.

Bruce walked in, looking slightly concerned. "Thomas just called. He got in touch with your 'son'..."

Martin cut him off, pointing at him sternly. "Careful with that. He has nothing to do with me."

Bruce corrected himself, "Okay, your admirer." He pulled out a chair and sat down. "The situation isn't what we thought. This guy isn't just a simple fan or wannabe internet celebrity. After Thomas talked to him, he just said he understood and hung up."

Martin brushed it off. "If he posts any more of that father-son nonsense, contact him again and record the conversation. If that doesn't work, we'll send a lawyer's letter."

Bruce nodded, making a note to call Thomas again.

Martin put the matter aside. He knew that riding on the coattails of famous stars was a common promotional tactic. If the kid hadn't pulled the father-son stunt, Martin wouldn't have paid him any attention at all.

The next morning, the crew of "John Wick 3" gathered at Disney Studios. The atmosphere was electric with the anticipation of wrapping up the final scenes.

Martin stepped out of the makeup trailer, spotting Blake Lively. Observing her walk with ease, he smiled. "You're recovering well."

Blake shrugged. "It's just a minor injury."

Together, they entered the studio. An assistant director led them to an off-road vehicle parked on a large bed of sand.

With Chad's signal, filming commenced. However, after their long break, Martin and Blake found it challenging to recapture the right energy, leading to frequent pauses and adjustments. By lunchtime, they had managed only a dozen shots.

After a quick meal, Blake followed Martin to his lounge. Martin handed her a draft of the new script. "Take a look at this. Sunshine, shark beach, sea, beauty, and a giant shark."

Blake skimmed the pages, raising an eyebrow. "I'm in a bikini almost the entire time."

Martin chuckled. "Why hide a great figure?"

Blake, one of Hollywood's most stunning actresses, didn't need much convincing. "I'm the absolute protagonist. The other characters barely matter."

Martin nodded. "Exactly. Your acting skills, body, and charisma are pivotal to this film's success."

Blake smiled playfully. "My dear, this is your directorial debut. Even if it flops, I'm in."

Martin, with the confidence of a seasoned producer, reassured her. "Follow my plan, and we have a high chance of success. Plus, the film's budget is manageable."

Blake grinned. "Don't worry. My Twitter and Instagram are run by pros. With your and Taylor's popularity, I'm quite the gossip queen now."

Martin agreed. "Our fame is the key to this film's success."

Blake, with a mischievous glint in her eye, suggested, "How about we do something big? Rekindle our old flame during filming, then you propose just before the release, and we get engaged."

Martin's expression darkened. "I'm helping boost your career, not signing up for a lifetime commitment."

Blake laughed. "Okay, okay, I'll stick to the plan."

She pulled out her phone, sending Martin a document. "A training plan from my professional coach. It's for six months."

Martin nodded thoughtfully. "We'll start training once your injury heals."

Blake agreed. "I won't mess around with my health."

The final scenes of "John Wick 3" took just three days to shoot. With the film wrapped, Martin received a call from Nolan, summoning him to officially join the "Interstellar" crew and head to Atlanta.

Returning to the city where he had made his mark, Martin felt a wave of nostalgia and excitement for the new challenges ahead.