Chapter 760: Financial Gains!

In the hushed mediation room of the Los Angeles Courthouse, Johnny Depp's eyes burned with a mixture of fury and disbelief as they fixated on Amber Heard. Her perfectly applied makeup and sleek black dress exuded an aura of confidence and allure, contrasting sharply with Depp's tumultuous emotions.

The mediator, sensing the tension crackling in the air, attempted to facilitate a resolution between the two Hollywood stars. But as discussions unfolded, it became evident that Depp's refusal to entertain the staggering $65 million claim and property division brought the mediation to a standstill once more.

As the mediator declared the session over, Depp and Heard exited the room, their animosity palpable even in the sterile corridor. Out in the parking lot, Depp found himself unable to tear his gaze away from Heard's figure, her blond hair dancing in the breeze like a taunt.

Before Depp could confront her, his lawyer intervened, a silent warning in his firm grip. Heard, catching Depp's glare, offered a smile that dripped with sarcasm, a deliberate provocation.

Ignoring his lawyer's advice, Depp's steps faltered forward, his anger barely contained. But the intervention of his manager and the reminder of potential consequences halted his advance, ushering him into his waiting car.

Meanwhile, Heard slipped into a nearby vehicle, where Elon Musk awaited. As she settled in, Musk's lips met hers in a kiss, a reminder of their entangled lives. The mention of Musk's ongoing divorce prompted a peculiar comment about the allure of remaining legally bound, drawing a quizzical look from Heard.

Amidst their exchange, Musk diverted their conversation to plans of cosplaying Sylvanas at his Los Angeles villa, a request Heard couldn't refuse, despite her inner reservations.

In Depp's car, the weight of unresolved issues bore down on him, his mind swirling with a mix of frustration and uncertainty, mirroring the storm raging within him.

Whigham's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, his tone carrying a sense of urgency. "Johnny, you've got to keep a low profile. Any negative publicity will only worsen the situation."

Depp's response was laced with bitterness. "That woman wants to see me ruined."

"No," Whigham interjected firmly. "She wants it all, your fortune, your legacy."

Depp clenched his jaw. "I'd sooner hand it all to the IRS than give her a cent. What about the properties?"

Whigham's reply was grim. "The Columbia Tower penthouse went for $8.5 million. The Paris, London, and New York properties have buyers, but the Caribbean island's proving tough to offload."

"Sell it off at a discount, damn it. I need cash, and I need it now," Depp demanded, desperation seeping into his voice.

Meanwhile, whispers of Depp's legal battles and staggering legal fees echoed across the nation, casting a shadow over his finances. Whigham stressed the need for frugality. "Johnny, you've got to cut back. Keep your weekly expenses under $100,000, and let go of unnecessary staff."

Depp's loyalty, however, remained steadfast. "I'll trim where I can, but my friends stay," he declared. "They've stood by me through it all."

Whigham's silence spoke volumes, acknowledging the uphill battle Depp faced in Hollywood's unforgiving landscape.

Elsewhere, in the president's office of Annapurna Pictures, Megan Ellison grappled with financial woes. Negotiations with the bank were strained, with failure looming over the horizon.

Ellison's attempt to reassure Judith, the bank representative, fell flat. "I'll sort it out," she promised, though doubt clouded her expression.

As Judith left, Ellison sank into her chair, frustration etched into her features. The failures of "Transcendence" and "The Lone Ranger" weighed heavily on her shoulders, their losses stark reminders of the company's precarious position.

Unlike other studios buoyed by corporate backing, Annapurna Pictures relied heavily on Ellison's personal funds, leaving her vulnerable to the harsh realities of the industry.

Megan's impatience simmered as she awaited Derrett's arrival, her gaze piercing as she questioned him. "Any luck selling 'The Seventh Son'?"

Derrett hesitated before delivering the disappointing news. "No, despite slashing the price to 100 thousands dollars, we've had no takers."

Megan's frustration boiled over, her facade of composure crumbling. "Are they expecting to snag it for free?" she seethed, her tone sharp with indignation.

Derrett flinched under her glare, struggling to find the right words. Megan's terse command snapped him out of his daze. "Speak up if you have something to say."

"There's been interest from Jessica at Davis Studio," Derrett ventured cautiously. "She claims their offer still stands."

Megan's anger flared anew. "Martin Davis thinks he can snatch a project I've poured 150 million dollars into for a mere 30 million? Preposterous!"

Derrett fell silent, knowing there was little recourse. Annapurna Pictures' recent failures had eroded their bargaining power, casting doubt on their ability to deliver successful projects.

Rumors swirled about Davis's underhanded tactics, but without concrete evidence, Megan was left to stew in her frustration. With a dismissive wave of her hand, she instructed Derrett to continue the search for a buyer.

As Derrett hurried off, Megan's phone interrupted her thoughts. Seeing her father's name on the caller ID, she answered quickly.

Larry Ellison's voice reassured her, offering a way out of her mounting debts. But Megan, clinging to her pride, refused to entertain the notion of leaving Hollywood just yet.

With a promise to keep trying, Megan ended the call, her emotions in turmoil. Frustration boiled over, culminating in a punch to her desk. She couldn't bear to disappoint her father further.

Meanwhile, across the Atlantic in Paris, Harris Carter completed the purchase of Mason Villa. With a satisfied smile, he urged the agent to expedite the paperwork, eager to take possession of his new acquisition.

Harris nodded in satisfaction, marveling at the efficiency of French processes, akin to supersonic speed.

With a flourish, the agent handed over the keys to Harris, a wink hinting at the lucrative potential of his new acquisition.

As Harris pocketed the keys, he strolled through the villa, admiring the craftsmanship of Johnny Depp's renovations. Yet, the empty rooms spoke of Depp's financial woes, forcing him to part with the property at a reduced price.

Calculating potential profits, Harris couldn't help but admire Depp's integrity. Despite his troubles, he'd left behind a gem of a property.

Just as he was lost in thought, his phone buzzed, a call from his associate in London bearing promising news. Through a brokerage connection, Harris had secured a meeting with J.K. Rowling, who expressed keen interest in an antique ketch. However, negotiations hit a snag over the price.

Wasting no time, Harris booked a flight to London, whisking Rowling away to inspect the yacht moored in Thames Harbor. Two days of intense negotiations followed, culminating in a deal at 21 million pounds, a testament to Rowling's shrewd business acumen.

With the ink barely dry on the agreement, Harris immediately dialed Martin, his partner in crime, before jetting off to New York. There, he tasked his deputy with purchasing an apartment on the Upper East Side, seizing the opportunity to capitalize on Depp's desperate asset sell-off.

Meanwhile, in Boston's Hilton Garden Inn, Martin's phone buzzed with Harris's call, eliciting a grin from the shrewd businessman.

Observing Martin's change in demeanor, Bruce, his companion, couldn't help but inquire.

With a smirk, Martin relayed the news of the Depp ship's sale, his Southern drawl laced with satisfaction.

Curious, Alexandra Daddario, trailing behind them, pressed for details.

Martin, ever the enigma, kept his response vague, hinting at newfound financial security while keeping his cards close to his chest.

Sensing an opportunity to celebrate, Alexandra suggested a drink, but Martin, wary of her ulterior motives, opted for a more private celebration in their room.