Chapter 535 - 345: A Forced Melon Isn’t Sweet, But Forcing It Is a Joy

Chapter 535: Chapter 345: A Forced Melon Isn’t Sweet, But Forcing It Is a Joy

"That’s my personal accountant, Gray Brown." Johnny Depp’s fork stopped mid-air, and he stopped chewing. "What about it? Do you know him?"

Li Wei shook his head. "No, I don’t know him," he said. "It must be a lot for just one person to handle all the tax filings."

"I’m not sure." Johnny Depp paused for a moment, then smiled and started chewing again. "Unlike you, I’m not a top student from Yale University. My high school grades weren’t exactly stellar."

Li Wei was a little taken aback by that opening.

A young Depp’s high school record wasn’t great. At fifteen, he was a rebellious kid obsessed with rock and roll.

"I didn’t even finish high school," Johnny Depp said. "I dropped out and came to Hollywood to chase my dreams. At the time, I was chasing my music dream, and only later did I slowly start getting into acting."

"So..."

"So, I don’t really know much about all the red tape involved in filing taxes," Johnny Depp said with a shrug, cutting off a piece of steak and putting it in his mouth. "I’ve known Gray Brown for over thirty years. He’s always handled it himself, and I’ve never questioned it."

Li Wei paused. "Well..." he said, "have you ever thought about having a different accounting firm handle your taxes this time?"

He pressed on, "My uncle, who’s also my agent, Don Quixote Cervantes, has a former colleague who opened a boutique accounting firm that specializes in tax services for ultra-high-net-worth individuals with assets over a hundred million. Want me to give you a referral?"

’If Johnny Depp accepts, they can naturally investigate his financial statements and, as a matter of course, root out this parasite.’

Li Wei looked at Johnny Depp, full of anticipation.

But unexpectedly, after chewing the steak in his mouth a couple of times and swallowing, Johnny Depp shook his head.

"I appreciate the kind offer," he said, "but... I’ve known Gray Brown for over thirty years. And besides... it’s a personal matter, after all. I’d rather handle it myself."

Li Wei completely understood Johnny Depp’s concerns.

In Hollywood, in most cases, the relationship with one’s personal accountant is even more intimate than with a significant other. This is because the accountant knows everything about your spending, expenses, and income—the legal and illegal, the public and the private.

Johnny Depp had been a star in Hollywood for so long; it was completely understandable that there were many expenses and purchases he wouldn’t want outsiders to know about. Li Wei got that.

’But if I don’t do this, how can I get involved in his life and catch this parasite?’

The saying goes, "a melon plucked by force isn’t sweet," but Li Wei couldn’t resist the urge to pluck it anyway.

He looked at the [Deceiver’s Mask] in his inventory and activated [Read the Room (Bronze)] once more.

"I understand," Li Wei said with a nod. "Then let’s talk about something else."

Johnny Depp suddenly felt an irresistible urge to open up, as if the pleasant atmosphere from his last chat with Li Wei had returned.

...

Half an hour later, Li Wei and Johnny Depp left the steakhouse, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, and turned into a cigar bar.

By the time Li Wei left, Johnny Depp had been smoking a cigar by himself for a good while before it suddenly dawned on him.

’I clearly refused to let Li Wei get involved with my taxes at first, so why did I somehow muddle-headedly agree to it later?’

He picked up his phone, about to tell Li Wei that everything he’d just said was just drunken nonsense from too much red wine, but after their chat, a ripple of doubt had been stirred in his heart.

’What if Gray Brown really is secretly skimming off my money?’

To be honest, in his forty-plus-year acting career, between royalties, image rights, film salaries, his own winery business, and personal appearances... money of varying amounts came in almost every day. At his peak, his pre-tax annual income was over a hundred million.

So why, after all these years, had he somehow muddle-headedly ended up on the verge of the same fate as his old buddy, Nicolas Cage?

"Maybe I really should let Li Wei’s team take a look? An innocent man has nothing to hide..."

He picked up his phone and instead dialed his old pal, Gray Brown. "Brown, I need to talk to you about something. It’s about the upcoming tax season. A friend’s accounting firm is going to take over my tax filing for this year..."

...

"Besides the tax filing, there’s something else you’re going to have a headache over."

On the ride back from the Bel Air Hotel, Don Quixote and Li Wei sat in the back.

Don Quixote first slowly raised the partition separating them from the driver before saying, "Once you invest this money, you can’t just call it quits whenever you want."

"Can’t you keep an eye on it for me?" Li Wei asked, stretching lazily.

"I’d like to," Don Quixote said, shaking his head, "but there’s a saying: ’different fields are worlds apart.’ Everyone has their own specialty, and I don’t know the first thing about Hollywood."

"And Hollywood money has always been synonymous with money laundering and chaos," he warned. "Are you familiar with *Forrest Gump*?"

"I am," Li Wei nodded. "Private Gump!"

"Exactly," Don Quixote said. "Let me use that as an example for you."

"Did you know that the author of the original *Forrest Gump* novel is named Winston Groom? Paramount adapted the movie back in the day," he said. "When they adapted it, they promised to give Winston Groom 3% of the net profits, just like the 8% net profit share you have now."

"Let me guess," Li Wei said after a moment’s thought. "The movie basically didn’t make any money?"

"Didn’t make money? Far from it, kid," Don Quixote scoffed. "Hollywood is just as much of a bloodsucker as New York, if not more. That movie was a massive global hit, but in the end, it officially lost 62 million USD."

"They were that shameless?" Li Wei asked, a little surprised.

"Yes. Thirty years ago, the film’s production cost was said to be 55 million USD." Don Quixote started to reach for a cigarette, but then remembered he was with Li Wei and decided against it. "Back then, nobody thought a drama could be such a hit."

"But it was a monster hit worldwide," Li Wei said. "What was the final box office?"

"700 million USD. According to the profit-sharing logic between the studio, distributor, and film crew at the time, Paramount should have received a cut of at least 250 million USD, which means 200 million in net profit," Don Quixote said. "But they didn’t want to give Winston Groom his 6 million USD, so they pulled a slick move."

He glanced at Li Wei. "It’s exactly what you’re doing now. You set up a shell corporation in a Free Port, then had LW Beverages pay that corporation an exorbitant licensing fee to lower the beverage’s sales profit."

Li Wei rubbed his nose.

"But that’s all out in the open," Don Quixote continued. "The stuff they do in the shadows is practically untraceable. Have you ever heard of a 2005 movie called *Sahara*?"

Li Wei shook his head. The movie wasn’t particularly popular, so he’d basically never heard of it.

"That movie’s production model was the same as ours is now, with a large number of scenes shot on location in the Moroccan desert. The original budget was 80 million USD," Don Quixote said. "That was already a pretty high budget, especially considering it was almost twenty years ago."

"But by the time filming wrapped, the budget had ballooned from 80 million to 160 million." He cracked open a window. "A huge chunk of that was inflated costs for set construction and demolition, and untraceable expenses for on-site consumables."

"Many of the constructed sets were simply abandoned in the desert after filming. No one could say for sure how much those sets really cost."

"Take an explosion scene, for example." He started counting on his fingers for Li Wei. "A special effects technician says the explosion requires 500 pounds of special effects explosives and detonators, and quotes a price of 800,000 USD. But in reality, they only buy 200 pounds for 300,000. Who pockets the remaining 500,000?"

He shook his head. "By the time anyone checks, there’s no way to verify it. Everything’s been blown up, not even ash is left."

As he spoke, he stared at Li Wei. "Or let’s take the palace you need to build. I saw your script says, ’the possibility of the palace being burned down is not excluded,’ right? Who’s to say whether that equipment is worth three million or one million?"

"So you think we should find someone in Hollywood who knows the ropes and is trustworthy," Li Wei said, "to keep an eye on things for us and make sure there’s no trouble?"

"It’s not ’I think we should,’" Don Quixote emphasized, "’it’s we *must*’ find someone who knows what they’re doing to be on-site and watch over things."

"Do you have any connections or ideas on that front?" Li Wei asked, looking at Don Quixote.

"Like I said before," Don Quixote said with a frown, "’different fields are worlds apart.’ I can only say I’ll look into it, but I can’t make any guarantees."

"I do have an idea, though," he said. "He might be a good candidate."

...

「Los Angeles, 6:12 AM.」

Jason Miller was already awake.

His wife, Megan, was sleeping on his right, her breathing even. She was curled into a ball facing the wall, having hogged most of the comforter. When Jason woke up, only a thin blanket was left covering his waist.

As usual, he quietly turned over and sat up.

He glanced toward the window, very thankful that he hadn’t woken Megan. She had asked him to water the plant on the windowsill yesterday, but he had forgotten. Now, the poor plant was withering under the hot sun.

Jason got up quietly, went to the kitchen, and used his toothbrushing cup to get some water for it.

After he was done, Jason Miller checked his phone and saw a text from an unknown number.

It read: "Mr. Miller, the car Mr. Li Wei had shipped has arrived today. Please go to the dealership to pick it up. I’ve sent you the address."

The message was signed by someone named Chen Haisheng.

Jason Miller vaguely recalled the name. He had seen him when Li Wei visited last time—a handsome and strapping young Asian man.

He was the assistant to Li Wei’s agent, Don Quixote, and often doubled as a bodyguard and driver.

Jason Miller replied to the message: "Got it. I’ll go this morning."

Although hosting Li Wei was no longer part of his job description, and picking up a car for him wasn’t something a line producer should be doing, Jason Miller was more than happy to run errands for Li Wei.

’It’s not because of—well, not *entirely* because of the money,’ Jason Miller thought while brushing his teeth.