Sarah no longer received any harassment for now, and the production went on without any problems at all.
The filming would start tomorrow as we already finished all the preparation to shoot the film.
We had to hire another actress for the role of the scary widow whose house the father and son would crash in after their own house burned down and their car was stolen.
At first, I wanted to call Jenny.
However, the director told me something shocking. Lisa Kudrow—famous for her role as Phoebe in the New Yorkers sitcom—was going to play the scary widow.
He sent the script to Lisa and she loved the script. She also has some free time with the break from the sitcom right now so she wanted to do it.
Later, in the 4CLOVER Pictures Chairman's office, I sat with Claire Donovan, the CEO, as she told me some troubling news.
"N.V. wants us to cut Miss Gellar from the movie?" I asked Claire with a look of intrigue.
Kudrow joining the movie was a big deal since she was pretty famous in the tv circle.
There was already an article about her joining the movie before the contract was even finalized, which was a good exposure for the movie.
Claire sighed. "I guess she's… being blacklisted by someone. They said they'll send a famous actress to replace her—and we'd only have to pay that actress half of what we're paying Miss Gellar."
I interlocked my fingers together and said calmly, "I told the production company I won't interfere with their creative decisions."
Claire exhaled sharply. "Well, N.V. approached them first, and they passed all the responsibility to us. They told N.V. we're the ones with the final say on everything."
I snorted, amused by the clever maneuver from the rookie agency. If you don't have a reputation, use others.
They used me as a shield to ensure any decision they made wouldn't impact their future in this industry later on.
"Who are they trying to attach to the project?" I asked curiously.
Claire didn't answer right away. Instead, she slid a glossy headshot across the polished oak desk. A young brunette stared back at me with an eager smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Like she was forced to smile.
Her picture wasn't the polished, carefully styled headshot I was expecting. She wore a tight white tank top, the outline of a black bra clearly visible beneath.
Her tongue stuck out playfully, her hair a little messy, and her gaze carried the kind of drunken recklessness meant to scream easy, fun, available.
It was less "professional actress" and more like a college party photo pulled from a tabloid.
"Vanessa Sterling," Claire said flatly. "Nineteen years old. She's already starred in two R-rated films this year—both already had their theater run in the last two months."
I raised an eyebrow. "Two films in two months?"
"Both with nude scenes. Both sold on controversy rather than quality." Claire folded her hands, her voice heavy with disapproval.
I mean, the girl did have a big chest, but she wasn't really a great actor when I saw her film reels.
"She's famous, yes—but for all the wrong reasons. N.V. is pushing her into every spotlight they can find, long-term consequences be damned. Playboy magazine, risque scenes, scandal with older actors, all of it."
I leaned back in my chair, studying the photo. They wanted to replace Sarah Michelle Gellar with this?
"Isn't this a downgrade?" I asked Claire with a slight disdain.
Claire sighed in relief and said, "Thank goodness."
"What?" I was confused by her reaction.
She waved her hands dismissively and said, "No. I just felt relieved that you're not the type of man who thinks with his little head."
"???" I was really confused.
Turns out, when the talent agencies sent Hollywood execs photos like this one, it came with a hidden invitation to sleep with the talent for the role– or at least that was what Claire told me.
The previous owner of the distribution company, the crappy old man who named his company ThunderCow, had slept with a lot of aspiring actresses using this method.
"I'm not going to do that." I told Claire firmly. "In fact, I need you to blacklist the ones who did this from ever working with us."
Claire smiled brightly and said, "On it!" She stood up and almost left the room but stopped abruptly halfway through the door, "Oooh. What should I tell N.V?"
"Tell them her body is too developed and she's not suitable to be used on screen with Owen Chase. Owen is good, but he's too short so he needs short actresses to pair with him."
Even though it hurts me to say it, I had to do it.
"Pfft– Got it." Claire sighed and then hurriedly away. As soon as she left, David peeked his head into my room. I threw the picture away and turned to him.
"We have that loan meeting with the banker?"
"Right." I stood up instantly and followed David into a Rolls-Royce. I carried that tone just for the status symbol when heading into an official meeting.
Inside the Fleet Bank branch in LA, Richard 'Dick' Callahan swirled the ice in his whiskey glass.
I'd seen the man a few times back at my New Jersey home. The Kennedys were close with him, which made it all the more surprising he was the one I had to deal with today.
I guess this meeting wouldn't be as smooth as I thought. I glanced at Elena, who nodded in understanding before opening a mind channel between David, her, me, and a subtle peek into the old guy's thoughts.
"Jack! You've grown so big now!" Callahan pretended to be friendly.
"No one in your family thought you'd own a film distribution company in Hollywood! I guess dropping out of Harvard Law worked out after all." His sleazy smile lingered as he ogled Elena with a predatory gaze.
"I guess I just got lucky," I replied confidently, never shrinking back. He chuckled disdainfully, amusement flickering across his features.
"So… about that money—"
"Jack, I'll be blunt. Your father made it very clear you're not part of the Kennedy structure anymore. We might spot you a bridge loan—twenty, maybe thirty million—but two hundred? Forget it. That's family money. And you're… not family."
He leaned back, gloating, expecting me to beg. I leaned forward, elbows on the polished mahogany desk.
"You strangled a hooker in Newark when you were twenty-three."
His smirk froze. The glass paused halfway to his lips.
"You buried her behind the scrapyard on Fulton Avenue, right under a stack of rusting Buicks. Funny thing—I could draw the map right now if I had a pen."
Color drained from his cheeks. He forced a cough that sounded like a laugh.
"You—you've got some imagination, Jack," he stammered.
I tilted my head. "Not as vivid as the photographs of you and the Fleet Bank CEO's daughter. What is she now—eighteen? Nineteen? You were forty-seven when you started screwing her. Not the best look for a man on the bank's ethics board."
The silence stretched long enough to hear the hum of the recessed lights above us. Finally, Callahan set his glass down with trembling fingers.
"…Two hundred million," he muttered, eyes fixed on the desk. "Six percent interest. Three-year term. Covenants… light."
(A/NCovenant– The bank's standard protective terms are minimal, giving Owen leverage to invest freely without early restrictions.)
I smiled. "See? I knew you were a good banker, Dick."
"You're a son of a bitch," Callahan said quietly.
"I've been called worse," I replied.
He scribbled his signature on the last page and pushed the thick stack of papers toward me.
"Fine. You've got your two hundred million. Six percent. Don't ever mention those things again."
I picked up the packet, thumbing through the cleanly printed terms.
{Fleet Financial / Harbor & Commonwealth Private Credit Approval Memorandum – Confidential}
Borrower: Ten Times Ventures, L.P. (Jack Kennedy, CEO)
Facility: Senior Secured Term Loan
Date: 15 JULY 1996
Principal Amount: $200,000,000
Interest Rate: 6.00% fixed, payable quarterly
(A sweetheart rate, far below what a film-backed deal should carry.)
Maturity: 3 years (balloon payment due July 1999)
(Owen pays interest only until 2000, then the full $200M comes due.)
Security: Pledge of Ten Times Ventures' assets, including equity stakes, intellectual property, and all future studio holdings
(If Owen defaults, the bank can seize his venture fund's positions and the studio's film library.)
Covenants :
Maintain minimum cash reserves of $20,000,000
(Prevents Owen from running the fund to zero.)
No additional debt above $25,000,000 without consent
(Locks Owen into Fleet as his primary lender.)
Use of Proceeds:
Seed capital for creation of LUCKY CLOVER Motion Pictures studio ($100M)
Strategic investments via Ten Times Ventures ($70M)
Distribution reserves and liquidity buffer ($30M)
(Owen controls how the money flows: half into film, the rest into deals and safety nets.)
Special Conditions:
Loan rate of 6% approved on "relationship basis" (market rate 9–10%).
(Bank notes it's bending the rules; Callahan knows why.)
No requirement for audited financial statements; quarterly summaries sufficient.
(More leeway in using the money. A rare concession — no third-party accountants crawling through Owen's books.)
{Executed on behalf of Fleet Financial,
Richard Callahan,
Executive Vice President, Entertainment Lending}
I closed the packet and slid it neatly into my briefcase.
"Congratulations, Richard. You've just become the proud godfather of the next Hollywood empire."
He glared at me, lips pressed tight, his fingers drumming nervously against the polished desk.
I stood, buttoned my jacket, and leaned in just enough.
"Don't worry. I'll make my payments. But if you ever think about crossing me—"
I let the silence finish the threat for me.
His eyes filled with fear. A man who could dig up secrets buried thirty years ago—and ones still fresh—wasn't someone to test.
"So the whole story about you being cut out of the family," he said finally, his voice low, "that was a lie, huh?"
I smiled. "Think what you want. Just wire the money as soon as you can."
I wasn't blackmailing him for the two hundred million dollars. David had already lined up a meeting with another branch manager.
Once that man checked my assets—the L'Oréal royalties and the Sixth Sense profits that hadn't even been cashed yet—it was clear I could qualify for the loan on my own.
I was prepared to pay nine percent interest. But when Callahan tried to bury the deal? That was when I decided to play it dirty.
"Leak the news, David," I said smoothly. "Callahan just greenlit our money. That's the kind of happy news every banker in the country deserves to hear."
David shuddered. "Revenge against your dad?"
"He wouldn't have dared if my father hadn't tried to meddle first." I muttered. "That man's a coward. I knew it even before I left the family."
David nodded, already dialing a few of his lawyer friends inside the Fortune 500 to spread the news.
Now the relationship between my birth father and Callahan would rot. They might never share a drink together again.
"That's why you never put your foot in your mouth," I said, almost to myself, as I walked away.
Elena was monitoring his thoughts as we left the bank. For now, she detected no sign he planned to strike back.
"Will he try to confirm we have the evidence?" she asked, worried.
I smiled. "He won't. He's too smart for that."
As long as he didn't cross me, I wouldn't move. That was common practice with high-level executives: the deeper the secret you hold, the easier it is to claw your way to the top.
"By the way, what are you going to use the money for? A new studio?" Elena pressed.
I thought for a moment. "Yeah. I want to make an animated movie. Or something blockbuster."
"You have no plan, do you?" she teased, exposing me. I smiled cryptically.
…
Back at the office, something sinister watched from afar. The sensation was familiar. 'The marionette spirit messenger… again', I thought, and pretended not to notice.
It had been merely observing, which was a problem—because I was a man with secrets.
Claire's eyes glittered when I announced the news.
"We're really creating our own studio?" she asked, breathless with excitement.
"We are," I replied casually. The staff cheered. Most of them were in the business because they loved movies; they were thrilled.
When DreamWorks launched it required half a billion to get rolling. My plan was different: start slow, get one film profitable, then scale.
"What are we making first?" Claire asked.
"We'll hear pitches," I said, rubbing my chin. "I have ideas, but let's compile everything and meet company-wide next Monday."
They applauded again and I dismissed them early. By four o'clock only Claire and I remained. Everyone else had gone out to line up creatives for the pitch meeting.
"How much are you investing?" Claire asked.
"We'll need a home—about $20 million for real estate. Then $80 million for film budgets, $50 million for P&A, and the rest for market investments."
"I'll look for soundstages," Claire said, eyes shining. "That's more important than an office."
"Exactly," I agreed. She left practically skipping. I sighed, leaned back, and closed my eyes. It's getting closer.
I waited until 9 in the night, only then did the marionette make a move.
Even with my sixth sense dampened, I felt the messenger's presence like static on my skin and in my meridian.
Shiryu was uneasy–the spirit messenger possessed mid-level spirit-realm strength, stronger than my snakes. To have it hands so close to his skin was alarming for him.
Still, I was glad—for once something had shown up that would form the core for the weapon Adrian had commissioned.
I kept my eyes shut, waiting to see what it would try first. Would it parasitize me? My mind fuzzed and grew hazy. 'It's starting… trying to make me… lustful?', I thought, annoyed.
For a normal person the marionette's influence would heat a cantaloupe and make it—well—useful in ways gross and obscene.
But I disintegrated the demonic energy with my Qi, and the spirit messenger recoiled, confused that its method had failed.
"Time's up." I said, and reached for the spirit knife I kept in the drawer. I drove it into the marionette's chest as I swirled my chair casually.
The doll didn't realize it was stabbed until it jerked and lost control. I opened my senses and watched the creature go slack.
Kneeling, I pushed Qi into the marionette until its body cracked and shattered. A bright red core tumbled to the floor and I picked it up carefully.
"Good. I can use this to create a weapon for Adrian." I put the core into my pocket.
My snakes sent me some requests to eat it, but I told them, "Not this time. I have to keep my promises first."
Suddenly the office windows exploded inward.
A shadow ripped through the glass and lunged at me, smashing the partition of my private office. I raised the dagger to defend myself. As it clashed with porcelain, I saw the intruder.
'A blonde marionette.'
It moved with a power I hadn't expected—peak spirit-warrior realm, roughly my level.
The spirit radiated a different intensity from the others. Its glare seethed with anger at the sight of my dagger and the ruined corpses of its kin.
Suddenly, another creature burst through the front door.
"Oh, come on. This is a rental. I'll have to pay for that," I muttered, blocking a flurry of attacks from the first doll.
The second intruder wasn't a marionette. It looked like a dog with a skull for a face. It let out a demonic bark before charging straight at me.
The marionette ignored the beast. It was only a low-spirit realm, but handling two attackers at once would still be bad for me.
"Obsidian. Shiryu. Hold off the dog," I ordered. My disguise dissolved, and the marionette hesitated in confusion.
A split second was all I needed to slice off one of its arms. Shiryu transformed into a two-meter-long snake, while Obsidian grew enormous—fifteen meters long, as thick as a man's waist.
Both were level five in the foundation realm, but together they could still restrain the dog.
I had no idea why the beast was here—until a thought hit me.
'The finger?'
The blonde doll tried to reattach her arm but failed. Instead, she shrieked and morphed into an eight-armed figure, each hand clutching a dagger.
"Fuck," I cursed, skillfully parrying every strike as her blades rained down on me like a storm.
When she shifted stances, I seized the opening—cutting off two of her hands at the shoulder, then kicking her square in the face with a qi-charged strike.
Her porcelain face cracked, one eyeball bulging out grotesquely. I hurled my blade toward the dog just as it was about to snap at my pets. Obsidian would never survive that bite, and I had no intention of raising another beast anytime soon.
The blade hit the dog square in the skull, green blood gushing from the wound.
It shrieked in pain, and my two snakes lunged together, striking its vital points in unison.
The blonde marionette, sensing the tide turn, tried to flee.
"Sorry, I can't let you go. I don't want any more harassment," I muttered coldly.
My dagger snapped back into my hand as I yanked the thin wire tied to its hilt. Channeling qi into the blade, I steadied myself.
The doll, realizing escape was impossible, poured all her strength into one final strike. She spun toward me like a whirling saw, eight blades flashing as she tried to tear me apart.
"Azure Wind Slash," I whispered.
My body blurred, moving so fast that only ghostly silhouettes of me could be seen. The doll froze mid-spin—then shattered into pieces that rained down across the office.
I wiped the sweat from my chin. "Whew. Lucky for me they don't really know how to fight."
From the remains of her dissipating body, I retrieved a slightly larger core, then cut open the dog's corpse with my dagger. Its core was green—strangely so.
Not demonic… So why does it look like that? I frowned in confusion.
My two snakes nearly salivated at the sight of the corpse and core. I drained the dog's beast blood into a jar and took some of its teeth and bones.
Obsidian swallowed the dog whole, while Shiryu devoured the core. Both promptly collapsed into a deep sleep—clearly beginning their evolution to the next realm.
"Damn. So I can't pretend to be Jack Kennedy for the next few days…" I muttered.
I looked at the wreckage—the shredded carpet, shattered glass, and broken windows letting in the cold night air. "How do I even explain this? …Oh, right."
I called Djalu, the sect member with restorative powers. He arrived with Michael and Elena, both wide-eyed at the destruction.
It took Djalu the entire night to restore the office to its former state.
"Thank goodness you awakened something so useful," Michael said.
Djalu scratched his head bashfully. "I think it's still too slow. I can do better next time."
"You might need to," I said seriously. "I don't think this ends here."
(Support me on my patreon. You can find up to chapter 38 there.
Patreon.com/alittlepiggy33 )