The Best Movie Actor In Hollywood!

Chapter 714

The sun crested the horizon, shining brightly in the sky. After a long stretch of rain, London was finally blessed with a clear day. Two paparazzi trailed two men out of a police station, instinctively lifting their hands to shield their eyes from the blinding sunlight.

As they entered the parking lot, the two men ahead of them came to a sudden halt.

"Mr. Scottl," the middle-aged man in the suit said to the white-haired man, "I'll be on my way. If you need anything, just give me a call."

"Alright," Scottl replied, shaking his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Bergier."

The lawyer drove off. Scottl waited until his car had cleared the lot before beckoning the two paparazzi over. They all climbed into a black car.

Once inside, they finally relaxed.

"Is everything sorted?" the white, bespectacled man asked Scottl.

His black colleague also glanced at Scottl. He was their department head, the one who always bailed them out.

Scottl didn't answer, just gave a heavy nod, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"See? I told you it would be fine," the man with glasses grinned. "We've got freedom of the press!"The black paparazzo nodded in agreement. "The public has a right to know!"

Davis added, "Boss, this is a huge story. We almost got Matthew Horner and Emma Watson..."

"Did you get the shot?" Scottl asked bluntly.

"No," the black paparazzo admitted.

Davis jumped in, "We got a few shots of them kissing, but Horner's bodyguard confiscated the camera." He added quickly, "Boss, we have to get that camera back."

Scottl shot him a look but said nothing.

"Matthew Horner and his bodyguards intimidated us, threatened us, and destroyed private property," Davis pressed on. "This isn't over. We have to stay on them. This is a massive story!"

"Matthew Horner already compensated you for the camera," Scottl said slowly. "Are you two ready?"

They both nodded eagerly. "Ready! Boss, let's go big and make that hick Horner pay for last night!"

"That's not what I meant." Scottl pulled a file from his briefcase and told the driver, "Take them home."

He pulled out two envelopes and handed one to each of them. "Matthew Horner isn't your average Hollywood celebrity. He's not someone you mess with."

They took the envelopes reflexively, not understanding his meaning. "What?"

Scottl paused for a moment before warning them, "Horner isn't going to just let this go. You need to be careful."

They were stunned by his statement. Davis asked, "Boss, what do you mean?"

Scottl gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "As of now, you're no longer employees of the paper."

Davis's eyes widened in disbelief. "Why? We..."

Scottl's voice sharpened. "You pissed off someone you shouldn't have."

Both men started to protest, but Scottl silenced them with a raised hand. "It's no use saying anything. The decision wasn't mine."

After a brief hesitation, he added, "Early this morning, Mr. James Murdoch himself called the editor-in-chief and settled the matter."

They knew, of course, who James Murdoch was—the head of News Corporation for all of Britain.

"But isn't Horner just an actor?" the black man muttered.

"If you think a billionaire, a world-famous philanthropist, and a public figure is just some simple Hollywood star..." Scottl scoffed. "Then don't blame me for not warning you. Horner won't let this lie."

He reiterated, "You're not with the paper anymore. You'll get no support from us. So, watch your backs."

"But..." Davis started to argue.

The car, however, had already stopped in front of a rundown apartment building. Scottl gestured out the window. "There's nothing more to say. Get out. Wait a few months, then give me a call."

It was a common tactic. In his view, James Murdoch and Matthew Horner were powerful men with short memories. In a few months, they would forget all about this incident, and he could quietly rehire these two idiots.

They might be idiots, but they were good at what they did.

Hearing Scottl's final words, the two men said nothing more. They simply nodded and got out of the car.

"Be careful for a while," Scottl warned one last time. "And stay away from Matthew Horner."

They watched the car drive away before turning and entering the apartment building. The place was neglected and poorly lit, casting a gloomy pall over everything.

They had just crossed the threshold and were about to head up the stairs when the door to an old utility closet under the stairwell creaked open. Several disheveled, homeless-looking men emerged, blocking their path.

"That's them, alright," one of the men grunted, eyeing the pair. "Let's get it done."

"Run!" Davis yelled, but just as he did, more figures appeared at the top of the stairs.

They were trapped. The man leading the group was Morrison.

"What are you do—"

Before the black paparazzo could finish, Morrison pointed at them and snarled, "Get 'em!"

The thugs immediately swarmed them, unleashing a flurry of kicks and punches, spitting on them as they beat them down.

After a few minutes of this, Morrison called out over the commotion, "Fifty thousand pounds! That's the price. You've got one week, or else..."

He let out a derisive laugh and then left with his men.

This was completely beyond anything the paparazzi had expected. The pain was so intense they couldn't even get to their feet for several long moments.

"We have to call the police!" Davis groaned, pulling out his phone.

A patrol officer eventually arrived, took a routine statement, filed a report, and left. Fights like this were a daily occurrence on the streets of London; it was impossible for them to follow up on every one.

No sooner had the police left, before the two could even make it upstairs, Morrison and his crew returned. They beat them again, reiterating their demand: fifty thousand pounds within one week!

"What are we going to do?" the black paparazzo asked, his voice strained.

The man with glasses replied, "If he can hire people, so can we. We'll find our own guys..."

Later that day, on his way home, Morrison himself was cornered and brutally beaten by a group of black teenagers, who knocked out one of his front teeth...

And so began a vicious cycle of retaliation.

***

At the Hilton, Matthew remained untouched by the outside world. Early that morning, he had Brown Williams arrange for Emma Watson to be personally escorted to her father's law firm, then he went about his day as usual.

The film crew's work continued, with the initial shooting schedule in London mostly complete. Christopher Nolan handed out the revised script to Matthew and the other actors.

The scenes originally set in Paris were being relocated to London, which meant the script required some adjustments.

Because of the script changes, there was no filming scheduled for the day. Instead, Christopher Nolan gathered Matthew, James McAvoy, Michael Fassbender, and Anne Hathaway in a hotel conference room to go over the revisions for the upcoming scenes.

The core plot remained the same; the main changes were to the locations and the dialogue that corresponded with them.

One of the most significant changes affected Emma Roberts's part, but she wasn't due to arrive in London for another two days.

After the script reading concluded late in the afternoon, Anne Hathaway had another engagement and left first. Matthew, however, was in no rush; he was planning to have dinner with James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender later.

"You've had an eventful few days," James McAvoy remarked with a touch of envy. "All that excitement last night."

Michael Fassbender chimed in, "You're not just going to let that slide, are you? Be careful, or it'll happen again."

"Of course not," Matthew replied. He knew that if he let it go, it would just encourage others to try the same thing. "They've already been fired from the Sun."

He didn't elaborate. He'd just received a text from one of his bodyguards, and the "vicious cycle" he'd set in motion was apparently quite entertaining.

Emma had also called. Her father's firm was eager to take the case. They claimed they could charge the two paparazzi with over a dozen offenses.

Matthew didn't know much about British law, but for Emma's father to make such a claim, he had to be confident.

Once they were done for the day, the three of them left the conference room. Just as they were approaching the restaurant on the ground floor, someone hurried up to them from behind.

"Mr. Horner!"

A sharp, competent-looking woman caught up to them and introduced herself. "Hello, my name is Alma Alamuddin. I'm a lawyer."