Chapter 826: Me and My Father!

Atlanta was just a distant memory as they headed south towards the Morrow area.

A solitary single-family house, isolated from the community, had been transformed into a makeshift studio. It stood alone, an island of activity amidst the quiet surroundings.

The front door creaked open, and a tall black man stepped out. He made his way to the mailbox, retrieving a bundle of mail and newspapers before heading back inside.

"What's the latest news, Ace?" Kenan, a hefty black man, called down as he descended the stairs.

Ace set the newspaper aside, sifting through the mail. "Let's hope it's all good news," he muttered, tearing open an envelope.

Kenan lumbered over, grabbed a piece of mail, ripped it open, scanned the contents, and cursed under his breath before bolting back up the stairs.

Ace dropped the rest of the mail and hurried after him, concern etched on his face. "What's going on, Kenan? Did someone send us bullets? We still owe for the last batch of goods we bought on credit."

Kenan whipped around, frustration evident in his eyes. "Shut up, you stupid old man!"

"Hey, man, that's racist!" Ace shot back out of habit, then sighed. "Too bad you're just as stupid, or I could sue you!"

Reaching the largest room on the second floor, Kenan banged on the door. "Guys, we've got trouble!"

Inside, a man and a woman, both black, looked up from their conversation. The woman, Dorothy, was in her thirties, with a complexion that hinted at her mixed heritage, much lighter than Kenan and Ace's. The young man beside her, about fifteen or sixteen, had a skin tone only slightly darker than Dorothy's, giving him a tanned appearance.

Kenan handed Dorothy a letter. "Dorothy, we just got a letter from Martin Davis' lawyer in Los Angeles."

"A letter from my father's lawyer?" Paul, the young man, spoke with a rhythmic cadence, almost like he was rapping. "Is he coming to claim me? Should I shoot a video with my superstar dad?"

Ace, trailing behind, piped up, "Count me in! I could be your godfather, Martin!"

"Quiet," Dorothy said, her eyes scanning the letter intently. It detailed Paul's social media activity on Twitter and Instagram.

Kenan watched her read, then took the letter back and handed it to Paul. "If you keep posting, you might get sued," Dorothy warned.

Paul, an internet sensation, smirked. "Let him sue me. A father suing his son would go viral. My follower count would explode."

Kenan nodded. "That's what we expected. We knew there was a chance he'd sue."

Dorothy sighed, "What's the worst that can happen if we lose the case?"

"Paul's account is safe for now," Kenan announced after doing his research and consulting a professional when Martin Davis' agent first made contact. "Based on previous Hollywood cases, Paul would need to delete all pictures, videos, and tweets involving Martin, publish a public apology in the newspaper, and pay some compensation for damaging Martin's reputation."

Ace leaned in, anxiety evident in his eyes. "How much are we talking?"

Kenan shrugged. "Usually it's symbolic. Hollywood's seen this behavior countless times, and the highest compensation in similar cases was around $10,000."

Dorothy let out a sigh of relief. "That's manageable."

"Why?" Paul, ever curious, asked.

Kenan explained, "Because many Hollywood stars have ridden on the coattails of others before they made it big. Martin Davis is no exception. I found out he leveraged Paris Hilton's fame and got involved in the Jolie-Aniston-Pitt triangle to his benefit."

Ace chimed in, "If Martin can piggyback off others, why can't we use his name?"

Paul's voice flowed rhythmically, almost like a rap. "Isn't it natural for a son to bask in his father's glow?"

Dorothy interjected, "Paul has a striking resemblance to Martin, and that's a unique advantage. Most of his followers on Twitter and Instagram are drawn to posts hinting at a connection to Martin. Giving up on that now would mean losing the fanbase Paul has worked so hard to build."

As Paul's mother, Dorothy had a comprehensive plan for his future. "If Martin Davis wants to sue, let him. When the news breaks, we'll secretly bribe the tabloids to spread rumors that Paul is Martin's illegitimate child."

Kenan, shaking his large belly, agreed. "That'll draw maximum attention to Paul."

"And then," Dorothy continued, "we'll release Paul's first rap song and show the world his talent."

Ace, ever the practical one, asked, "Is this really going to work?"

Paul's reply came in a rhythmic chant, "You doubt my talent?"

Dorothy smiled. "Justin Bieber got famous through internet operations. Never underestimate the internet's power to create stars."

Kenan nodded. "We'll continue producing content related to Martin and release it as planned."

Ace, the team's photographer and makeup artist, stood up. "I'll start getting everything ready."

Dorothy reminded them, "And remember, we are black. We can leverage our identity in this too."

Kenan added, "Paul can even play with his sexual orientation or gender identity if needed."

In their community, it was a known tradition: when one person became a star, they could support many others, especially the team that helped them get there.

Paul quickly changed into a vibrant red suit, reminiscent of a showman's flashy attire, drawing immediate attention. It had a certain theatrical flair, akin to the flamboyant leader of the Coca Cola cult.

After the photoshoot, Paul got busy on Twitter, while Kenan, the social media strategist, prepared to launch their new campaign. Kenan meticulously edited the photos and crafted a catchy title and engaging paragraph to accompany them on Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube.

Title: "Me and My Father, the Leader."

---

The cornfield on the farm stretched endlessly towards the horizon. A drone soared into the sky, its camera capturing sweeping aerial shots of the lush, green expanse.

Martin, alongside Mackenzie-Foy and the crew, stepped out of a rugged Dodge pickup truck, having just wrapped up a scene. The props and stunt teams moved in quickly, transforming the truck's interior for the next sequence.

A stunt driver, dressed identically to Martin, climbed into the truck, positioning two dummies, one adult-sized, the other child-sized for an upcoming high-speed stunt.

Director Nolan approached the stunt driver, leaning in to give final instructions. "Just focus on driving straight ahead at full throttle," he instructed. "Keep the car moving in a straight line."

The stunt driver responded with a confident OK gesture.

Nolan then joined Martin in the follow-up vehicle, an advanced filming car equipped for high-speed shots. Standing at the back, Nolan personally manned an IMAX camera, ready to capture the action.

Martin, gripping the guardrail, asked, "Are we following closely?"

"Yes," Nolan confirmed, pointing to the truck ahead. "We'll be cutting this scene from multiple angles. We've got aerial shots, close-ups from behind the car, and the interior scenes you filmed earlier."

Martin listened intently as Nolan continued, "The key to these shots is movement. Keep everything in high-speed motion, both during filming and in the editing room. It helps draw the audience into the action."

Martin nodded, absorbing the director's vision. "Got it."

With all departments ready, Nolan gave the command to start filming. The Dodge pickup roared to life, speeding down the dirt road and barreling into the cornfield. Stalks of corn snapped and fell, creating a nearly straight path through the greenery.

Above, the drone captured breathtaking aerial footage of the scene. In the filming car, Martin and Nolan operated the IMAX camera, tracking the chaotic journey of the pickup through the field.

Nolan's approach contrasted sharply with Chad's directing style. Unlike Chad, who rarely took hands-on control of the camera, Nolan was deeply involved, ensuring each shot met his exacting standards.

As the Dodge plowed through the cornfield, the orchestrated chaos unfolded seamlessly, every element combining to create a dynamic, high-energy sequence. The result would be a thrilling visual experience, designed to captivate audiences with its relentless motion and intensity.

When Nolan's crew was filming, many shots required the precision of IMAX cameras, which Nolan preferred to handle personally.

The cornfields were meticulously planted in advance on farm land rented by the production team, granting them the freedom to create and destroy as needed for the shoot. Nolan had grand plans, including eventually burning down the cornfield for a dramatic sequence.

The Dodge pickup truck roared through the rows of corn, plowing ahead until it finally emerged from the field and came to a halt. The following car, equipped with filming equipment, also exited the cornfield, completing the intense sequence.

Nolan, with a practiced eye, operated the camera and reviewed the footage he had just captured. After a thorough playback, he nodded in satisfaction. "It's perfect," he declared.

The scene was approved.

The stunt driver climbed out of the Dodge, and Martin, jumping from the filming car, approached him with a grin. "Great job, man," Martin said, offering a fist bump.

The stunt driver, a familiar face from their collaborations on the John Wick series, shrugged modestly. "Compared to the action scenes we've done before, this was a walk in the park."

Martin chuckled and glanced at the sky. "The real challenge would be driving a spacecraft off this planet."

The stunt driver, with a deadpan expression, replied, "Can't help you there. Never learned how to fly a spaceship."

Martin nodded, playing along. "Neither have I, but I suppose there's still time to learn."

After sharing a laugh, Martin returned to the filming car, which headed back toward the farm's dirt road. With the drone footage next on the agenda, the actors were given a brief respite.

Several off-road vehicles appeared to shuttle Martin and his team back to the trailers. As soon as Martin stepped out, Charlotte Kirk approached, handing him a chilled bottle of mineral water. "I took this from the ice bucket a while ago. It should be the perfect temperature now."

"Thanks," Martin said, accepting the bottle gratefully.

Charlotte then made her rounds, distributing water to the rest of the returning actors. Her friendly demeanor and striking beauty had made her quite popular on set.

Martin settled into a chair and turned to Bruce. "I heard from Nolan that she was introduced to the crew. What's her story?"

Bruce replied, "Apparently, Charles Rowan recommended her."

Martin nodded thoughtfully but didn't pursue the topic further.

After a brief rest, Bruce approached with his phone. "Your son tweeted again, and it's about you."

Martin rolled his eyes and flipped Bruce the middle finger before taking the phone. He saw a photo of a young black boy dressed in a bright red outfit, reminiscent of the Coca-Cola Church. The boy was posing with a poster emblazoned with the caption: "Me and My Father the Leader!"

Comments were already pouring in beneath the photo:

"Don't deny it, this kid looks just like Martin. He's a known playboy. Could be his illegitimate son."

"The kid's from Atlanta and looks about 16. The timeline matches up."

"Atlanta has a large African American population. Lots of people from lower socioeconomic backgrounds, and Martin's roots are there too..."

Bruce shook his head. "It's obvious this internet celebrity is just trying to get attention."

Martin sighed, setting the phone down. "Let's handle this legally," he said firmly.