Having wrapped up his affairs in Chicago, Leon caught the first flight back to New York the next day.
Resting his head against the first-class pillow, he calculated the best angle to approach Elsa about the situation. Murder-for-hire is a heavy felony; the fewer people who knew about these dirty dealings, the better.
He had just returned to the office, his butt barely warming the swivel chair, when Russell leisurely pushed the door open and walked in.
His hair was slick with pomade, and the wrinkles on his face were stacked in a smile that somewhat resembled Phil's demeanor.
"Mr. Leon, regarding the Oscars on the 27th of this month..."
Click-clack. Before he could finish, he was interrupted by another guest. Lil Durk followed right on his heels.
Shaking his mop-like dreadlocks and ignoring Russell's presence, Durk shouted at the top of his lungs, "Boss! That GD bastard who got taken out in Chicago last night was the one who murdered Von, right? Everyone on social media is talking about it. You were in Chicago yesterday!"
Leon's forehead was covered in black lines. Was this something you shouted about?
He had no doubt that during a club performance, Lil Durk would grab the mic and scream a cappella to everyone: "My boss Leon is a ruthless murderer!"
"What are you talking about? I went to Chicago to attend a funeral. Didn't you see me there?" Leon kept signaling Durk with his eyes. "The ngga hanging from the overpass is just suspected of being involved in Von's death. Maybe it was done by his fans, who knows?"
At this point, even if Durk was slow, he understood the boss's drift. He clutched his belly and giggled incessantly. "Right, right, maybe the homies from O-Block did it. Every one of them said they wanted to chop the killer into pieces!"
Von didn't leave much of an inheritance when he died. Between the sales of Panda and his commercial performances over the last six months, he had earned at least several million dollars.
However, after his death, his family found less than ten grand in his bank account.
Aside from what he squandered on women's asses, the vast majority was spent on his family and homies.
Gifting cars, jewelry, and pussy...
Compared to Ariana giving her bestie a Tiffany ring, Von was the one who truly spoiled his homies to the heavens.
However, screaming for revenge is one thing; how many would actually put it into action remains a question mark.
The essence of friendship is an exchange of value, whether it's emotional value or monetary value.
Death means that this person has become worthless.
Durk scuttled over to Leon with small steps and whispered, "Boss, I want the info on the remaining two guys..."
Leon furrowed his brows, deeply worried about this ngga's intelligence.
"Do I look like the FBI to you?"
"Hehe... you're way more resourceful than those maggots at the Bureau!"
"Get out first. I have things to discuss with Mr. Russell. Immediately." Leon knocked on the desk, his tone turning noticeably serious.
"I got it..." Seeing the boss was getting annoyed, Durk scratched his head and left.
Russell had heard the entire conversation clearly.
Although rumors about "Street Jesus" and violence were flying all over the entertainment industry, this was the first time he had felt it personally.
Since joining more than half an year ago, his impression of this boss had been stuck on greedy, selfish, unscrupulous...
These were just common traits of capitalists. Having worked under David Geffen for so long, he had long seen all kinds of ugliness in the industry.
But this was the first time he had seen a boss involved in street vendettas.
Russell rubbed his hands awkwardly. "Your conversation just now was like a movie script. Absolutely thrilling."
"Life is just a bullshit movie." Leon spread his hands. "Speak, Russell. You mentioned the Oscars?"
"The voting results come out tomorrow. I got some inside info. Straight Outta Compton is very likely to win Best Original Screenplay."
Russell crossed his legs. If he could touch an Oscar in his first year as SLW Apocalypse's Vice President, he naturally put himself in the credit book.
"Is the info reliable?" Leon showed a look of skepticism, blowing on the steam rising from his coffee cup.
Straight Outta Compton was a high-quality music biopic, but it depended on what it was competing against.
He had taken the time to briefly review the main competitors, Midnight in Paris and The Artist.
The Artist needed no introduction; it was a standard "Weinstein-style" assembly line product.
His previous winning film, The King's Speech, took the "Formulaic Oscar" to the extreme.
Positive themes, slow-paced narrative emphasizing details, highlighting the protagonist's psychological changes...
Combined with unscrupulous PR strategies, this kind of boring movie where you know the ending from the beginning is very easy to win the favor of old white men.
In comparison, Midnight in Paris was more classical.
Although Leon scoffed at Woody Allen's feminine narrative style, he had to admit it was a masterpiece in the realm of art films.
Whatever the audience likes, the self-proclaimed high-class Academy despises.
The market favors fast-paced works with many plot twists; the Academy has a partiality for dramas with no ups and downs.
Whether from the perspective of Academy tastes or PR resources, Straight Outta Compton had slim chances.
"I didn't have much hope originally, but thanks to us being a 'Black Film'," Russell said with a smile. "Political correctness is whipping up a storm. The film and gaming industries will likely introduce new censorship mechanisms. In the future, every movie will feature black faces."
This news wasn't baseless. When President Barack delivered his first State of the Union address of the new year, every other sentence mentioned skin color and equal rights.
Wealth gap, medical security, crime rate, even the fiscal deficit...
Race issues were a big bag; you could throw anything into it.
"Indeed..." Leon muttered to himself, agreeing with Russell.
The recent Grammy Awards were the best example—the committee abolished the distinction between Best Male/Female Pop Vocal Performance, unifying it into Best Pop Solo Performance.
This signal marked that political correctness was fully conquering the entertainment industry ecosystem.
From the beginning, the PR team Russell hired exploited this—branding it as the first "Pure Black Film" in history.
Internet bot armies went wild. Many leftists who hadn't even seen the movie believed that if Straight Outta Compton didn't win, it was naked discrimination against black people!
If Straight Outta Compton could really win, it would not only be an excellent PR example but also a great feat of moral kidnapping!
"Hopefully, on February 27th, we won't go home empty-handed."
"Don't worry, I wouldn't mention it if I wasn't confident." Russell paused, his face suddenly turning cloudy. "The only thing to worry about is Weinstein. Although there's only one day left until voting closes, a lot can be done in a day..."
When The King's Speech faced the strong opponent The Social Network, the latter was suddenly hit with a massive amount of negative news during the awards season.
First, Facebook employees accused the movie of fabricating facts, then the original novel was hit with plagiarism scandals. Precise manipulation of public opinion created this "Biggest Oscar Injustice."
The Social Network director David Fincher had cursed in front of Leon more than once, "That shameless robber and rapist should be thrown in prison!"
City of God, released for 54 weeks and nominated for an Oscar two years later; Shakespeare in Love, which won through "sleeping-around" PR...
Weinstein's history of "robbery" was too numerous to count.
"Don't worry. That bastard better not mess with us, or he'll end up in prison one day." Leon patted Russell on the shoulder.
Thinking of Diddy in prison and the body hanging from the Chicago overpass... Russell had no doubts about these words. The young man in front of him was like the Al Capone of the entertainment industry.
---
Once Russell left and the office was finally quiet, Leon called Elsa in immediately.
He didn't state his request right away but beat around the bush asking about her past.
"You worked for the Sinaloa Cartel before. The pay must have been high." Leon handed her a cigarette. "Escobar became the richest man in the eighties by smuggling cocaine. El Chapo's wealth might not match the current Silicon Valley geeks, but he definitely earns way more than I do."
The implication was clear—why did you leave a high-paying job to be a corporate drone at a record company?
This was something that had puzzled him for a long time.
Elsa took the cigarette, exhaling smoke skillfully. "Staying in a place like that, no one can guess when they'll die... I had two boyfriends. One was turned into Lego bricks, the other was stewed into a pot of meat soup..."
"Okay, I probably shouldn't have opened old wounds." Leon spread his hands to mourn Elsa's ex-boyfriends.
"That's why I left Mexico. It's a hopeless country." Elsa stubbed out the cigarette, her eyes flickering. "Like all girls, I want to have a proper romance and a warm family. But in Mexico, that's impossible."
After hearing this, Leon's trust in Elsa increased a notch.
The terrifying tattoos were just her shell. Fundamentally, she was no different from those poor souls who abandoned everything to cross the border.
Dreaming of rebirth on the other side of the line.
Leon suddenly changed the subject, showing concern for his employee's life: "Have you bought a house in New York?"
"Are you serious, Boss?" Elsa raised an eyebrow, speaking grumpily. "With my current salary, I can't even dream of it unless I move to New Jersey... Plus, I always meet scumbags. American men don't just want my pussy; they also have their eyes on my bank account."
"You have a chance to buy a house now. To reward your hard work, I've decided to give you a bonus."
"Are you serious?" Elsa stood up in shock, unable to believe these words came from her stingy boss.
"Of course. When have I ever lied to you?"
Elsa curled her lip. "Bonnie told me you're the biggest liar around. Even politicians full of hot air can't compare to you."
"Do me a favor, and you'll get what you want."
"Is it a tax issue?"
"No... the guy who shot Von fled to Mexico." Since the conversation had reached this point, Leon stopped hiding it.
Von had the best relationship with Elsa in the company. He had shouted more than once about letting the "Mexican Jalapeño" taste the "Chicago Cannon."
It wouldn't be surprising if the two had some friction in bed.
"I understand." Elsa squeezed out a smile, recalling the past in a playful tone. "What happened in Los Angeles is truly a tragedy. Von was a funny boy. The gift he gave me was the most special I've ever received... I never thought you could encrust diamonds on that kind of thing."
Leon had no interest in knowing what the "special birthday gift" was. He pressed, "This means you agree, right?"
"Of course." Elsa, usually rational, lowered her voice and said viciously, "I promise the guy you're looking for will receive Mexican hospitality. In the most traditional Mexican way."
"Good!" Leon snapped his fingers. "I won't shortchange you and your lovely friends. But remember, try to keep it covert..."
"Don't worry. Did you forget I'm an accountant?" Elsa smiled. "I will pay them through cross-border trade—pharmaceutical companies, agricultural imports... anyway, it will be done beautifully."
"I have one request." Leon smiled knowingly; talking to smart women was always refreshing.
Elsa smoked, had tattoos, slept around, and occasionally drank too much, but she was indeed a good girl.
"Please give your orders, Boss."
"I want that guy to appear as the male lead on a gore video site."
"No problem." Elsa smiled knowingly. "Seems you understand Mexican culture quite well."
---
Two hours later, Max Martin and David Guetta arrived at the recording studio with the backing track for All Falls Down.
One moment discussing how many pieces to chop a person into, the next discussing art and aesthetics—even Leon felt it was a bit absurd.
"I never thought something like this would happen to Von..."
Max, with his rugged appearance, sighed repeatedly, unable to believe the kid he watched grow up died just like that.
"It's meaningless to say this now, Max. Making the audience remember the legacy he left to the world is what's important," Leon said.
After the shooting, the data for King Von's final work Panda rose exponentially. In the Great Lakes region, it suppressed Adele and Leon, topping the radio request charts.
In one week, Panda sold 500,000 copies, far exceeding its first-week sales.
It was currently ranked third on Billboard. The only stumbling block preventing the data from climbing further was that record inventory had run out.
But the fans didn't know that King Von's last work wasn't Panda, but Rockstar, a collaboration with Leon.
Columbia Records was already preparing to market it using Von's death as a selling point.
"That kid was like a real rockstar~" Max stroked the buttons on the mixing console, recalling the past.
Half a year ago, he had reluctantly taken the job as producer for Panda. Under his guidance, Von had performed the work perfectly.
Click-clack—The studio door was pushed open. Taylor waved the Starbucks cup in her hand. "Sorry I'm late..."
Surprisingly, Anya was following behind her.
One wore a khaki trench coat, the other a black trench coat, both wearing high boots.
The difference was that Anya wore a white scarf, adding a bit of cuteness.
"You two look like sisters." Although Leon was joking, it was based on visual facts.
Taylor and Anya were both blonde white girls with fair skin and long legs; they looked like biological sisters. The latter, at 5'7", was just a bit smaller in front of the 5'11" Taylor.
"You're right, we are real sisters." Taylor and Anya looked at each other and smiled sweetly at the same time. "Anya knew you haven't been in a good mood lately, and she was bored to death alone, so we went for a stroll on Madison Avenue."
"I'm very sad about what happened last week..." Anya muttered softly, afraid of saying the wrong thing.
"That's all in the past." Leon waved his hand. He was tired of hearing these depressing words lately.
"By the way, look what we bought you."
Taylor excitedly rummaged through the shopping bag and pulled out a flamboyant Gucci scarf. "Anya and I made a bet to see which style of scarf you'd like."
Saying that, she took out a plain, handmade black wool scarf. "Tell me quick, I know you like flashy styles~"
Max shook his head while laughing, watching the two blonde girls chirping around the same man. It seemed no one cared that today's theme was recording.
Leon looked at Taylor's confident face, then at Anya's sparkling big eyes.
Finally, he gave an answer that disappointed both Miss Taylors.
"When have you ever seen me wear a scarf? Only gay guys like that stuff."
---