On January 6, 2013, a seemingly ordinary weekend, the square in front of the Beverly Hills Hilton Hotel became unusually lively just as the sun rose. Numerous reporters with press badges steadily entered the square and climbed the steps toward the hotel. Meanwhile, a handful of paparazzi without entry credentials, armed with cameras and camcorders, loitered near the hotel entrance.
"Is today the Golden Globe Awards?" a passerby asked curiously.
His companion confidently replied, "No! The Golden Globes are next weekend."
Another person, intrigued, glanced at the hotel entrance. "There must be some big news coming up, right?"
As time went on, more and more vehicles bearing the names of various media outlets arrived at the hotel's square. It seemed as though the Beverly Hills Hilton Hotel had become the media center of the entire United States for the day.
Some curious onlookers stopped to observe. ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox—America's four major television networks—were all present. The New York Times, the Washington Post, and the Los Angeles Times were also in attendance. Entertainment-focused outlets like Yahoo Entertainment, Vanity Fair, and The Hollywood Reporter were too numerous to count.
"What on earth is going on here?"
Many of those passing by the hotel couldn't help but glance over, puzzled.
Yet the Hilton Hotel itself sat quietly, unchanged except for the steady flow of journalists entering its doors.
"Probably something big in the entertainment industry," someone speculated. After all, the Beverly Hills Hilton Hotel was a regular hotspot for Hollywood events.
A light-colored business vehicle pulled onto Wilshire Boulevard and slowly approached the Hilton. Inside, the tall and imposing Elena Boyar calmly sat in her seat, checking her camera and recorder.
"Boss, I can't believe you're showing up in person," a young journalist sitting beside her said, clearly curious. "What's the big news?"
Elena Boyar wouldn't spill the details to her team ahead of time. She simply said, "Bertie, just wait and see."
The young journalist named Bertie nodded, refraining from asking further. Everyone in the company knew their boss had impeccable sources.
"Make sure your camera is ready," Elena Boyar reminded him. "And don't forget what I told you—record everything that happens on-site! Remember, your focus is Harvey Weinstein!"
As Bertie checked his camera, he replied, "Don't worry, boss. Have I ever let you down?"
The car came to a stop. Elena Boyar grabbed her press badge, slung it around her neck, picked up her equipment bag, and strode toward the scene of the news, much like she had a decade ago.
She knew exactly what Matthew had planned. Missing a story of this magnitude would be a shame, as Hollywood might not see another event as sensational as this for years to come.
Bertie strapped on his portable camera and followed closely behind Elena Boyar into the Hilton Hotel.
Inside the hotel lobby, staff from Weinstein Company greeted them. As a veteran entertainment journalist, Elena Boyar easily found her way to Banquet Hall One, where a staff member led her to a seat in the second row. Scanning the room, she noticed that the first-row seats were reserved for major North American mainstream media outlets.
After sitting down, she took a quick look around. The massive banquet hall, capable of hosting nearly a thousand people for a meal, had been transformed into a press conference venue with a few hundred seats. Opposite the rows of seats, a long table with about a dozen chairs stood on the stage. Behind it was a large, snow-white projection screen.
The screen was so massive that even those seated in the last row of the press area would be able to see the images clearly.
Meanwhile, the hall had already filled with over a hundred journalists. Each wore a badge bearing the name of their respective media outlet—names that carried significant weight across the U.S.
Behind the press seats and on both sides of the stage, television reporters were setting up large-scale camera equipment.
"Heh…"
For some reason, Elena Boyar couldn't help but laugh. "Harvey Weinstein is planning a live broadcast? Ambitious. I wonder how viewers at home will react to the content of today's press conference."
Perhaps they'd call Harvey Weinstein a good guy for providing such a grand stage.
Elena Boyar suddenly felt a bit impatient. She was eager to see this show begin.
"Matthew has been planning this for years and prepared so thoroughly," she muttered to herself. "Let's see how Harvey Weinstein enjoys this grand feast."
Outside the Hilton Hotel, a black Mercedes-Benz van pulled into the square.
Matthew opened his briefcase, took out an invitation, and said, "Do you think Harvey Weinstein will be surprised that I accepted this invitation?"
Amanda shook her head slowly. "Who knows?"
Helen Herman, ever composed, added, "You want to publicly humiliate him and ruin his career. Harvey Weinstein probably has a similar plan for you."
"So, we're kindred spirits?" Matthew sighed. "It's a pity. Soulmates are destined to fight to the death."
David Ellison chimed in deliberately, "Shouldn't it be a love-hate relationship?" Before Matthew could retort, David continued, "That's what you once said."
Matthew spread his hands helplessly and said, "David, would you have a love-hate relationship with Harvey Weinstein?"
"No way." David Ellison waved his hand dismissively. "That thought alone makes me want to vomit."
Helen Herman glanced at her watch and reminded them, "It's about time. You two should stop messing around and head in."
"Alright." Matthew's expression turned serious. "Let's get to work."
He opened the car door and stepped out, followed by David Ellison. The moment the two of them approached the Hilton's entrance, they drew the attention of countless reporters and paparazzi.
Once the reporters and paparazzi swarmed toward Matthew and David Ellison at the hotel entrance, Amanda and Helen Herman got out of the car as well.
Amanda climbed into a nearby Toyota Coaster, while Helen Herman got into a sedan parked further away.
Though the sedan appeared ordinary, it was occupied by senior agents from the FBI.
Helen Herman later exited that vehicle and entered a separate van, which housed a famous Hollywood actress.
For today's event, Matthew had mobilized nearly all his resources. Only with immense financial power and influence could he have orchestrated the current situation.
The Toyota Coaster started its engine, slowly pulled away from the square, and drove to the Hilton's side entrance. Amanda and Ronan Farrow led over a dozen women out of the vehicle. Entering the hotel through the discreet side door, they were guided by a senior hotel executive through a quiet fire escape to a room near Banquet Hall One, where they waited.
Inside the room, Rose McGowan, dressed entirely in black, sat beside Ronan Farrow. Her face showed signs of impatience as she frequently glanced toward the direction of Banquet Hall One. Although the walls blocked her view, she couldn't help herself.
The others were relatively calm, waiting patiently. After all, they had endured for so many years—what difference would a little longer make?
Rose McGowan, who had worked on films like Planet Terror with Weinstein Company, had paid an unimaginable price behind the scenes to secure her roles. Although her motivations for accusing Harvey Weinstein now were varied, the allegations of assault against her were true.
Bringing down Harvey Weinstein and using the opportunity to boost her own reputation was a win-win for Rose McGowan. Not only could she vent the years of anger and humiliation she had endured, but she could also elevate her public profile.
In Hollywood, few women without powerful backgrounds who managed to rise to the top were naive or altruistic. Fewer still acted out of pure kindness or justice.
Growing impatient, Rose McGowan asked Ronan Farrow, "Didn't a lot of reporters come today? Why don't we just go out there and expose Harvey Weinstein directly?"
Ronan Farrow shook his head slowly. "It's not that simple."
This was a meticulously planned operation. There was no way he'd let Harvey Weinstein off without completely ruining him after years of investigation.
Amanda glanced at Rose McGowan and suddenly said, "Don't you want to see Harvey Weinstein utterly humiliated, losing all his dignity in front of everyone? Don't you want to expose his crimes on live television, in front of the entire nation, and then slap him metaphorically—if not literally?"
"I do! I really do!" Rose McGowan gritted her teeth. "I've dreamed of it!"
No matter how free-spirited or indifferent a woman might appear, there was a vast difference between consensual interactions and being forced.
Rose McGowan settled down, suddenly feeling more patient. Amanda's description of the scene was far more satisfying than simply exposing Harvey Weinstein.
The others looked at Amanda with similar anticipation, their imaginations fired by her words.
Years ago, they had been powerless against Harvey Weinstein. Even their attempts to report him to the media or police had gone nowhere.
Over time, their hopes dimmed. This country had never been as democratic or free as it claimed to be—it was a paradise for the wealthy and a hell for the powerless.
Today, however, the shame of more than a decade could finally be erased.
They had no fear of standing before the cameras. The Hollywood figure who had supported them had been right: They had nothing to be ashamed of—it was the assailant who should feel disgrace.
The shameless Harvey Weinstein—today, we fight to the end!
In the VIP lounge adjacent to the banquet hall, Harvey Weinstein, dressed in a sharp suit, greeted one guest after another. Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, and Quentin Tarantino were all in attendance.
The cast of
August: Osage County, the film for which the press conference was ostensibly being held, was also present. Meryl Streep and Julia Roberts, two major stars, were the highlights.
Harvey Weinstein turned to his brother. "Bob, is everything ready?"
Bob Weinstein smiled. "Everything is set."
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