Chapter 261: Small Moves Behind the Scenes

Chapter 261: Chapter 261: Small Moves Behind the Scenes

Two days later, Mel Gibson sat in his private office, his expression so dark it looked as though it could drip water.

Several entertainment tabloids lay spread across his desk. The front pages were no longer filled with negative coverage of Irene.

Instead, they carried a deliberately vague report titled A Certain Veteran Director Implies Peer Misconduct for Cooperation; Industry Insider Reveals Hidden Truth.

No names were mentioned directly, but the article pointed squarely at key details — "Fox producer," "leaked private conversations," and "currying favor with investors." Anyone in the industry could tell exactly who it was targeting.

"Useless! All of you are useless fools!" Mel Gibson swept the newspapers onto the floor with a furious gesture, then slammed his glass down on the table. Ice and liquor splashed everywhere.

Standing before him were two Fox producers, their heads bowed so low they nearly touched their chests. Neither dared to breathe too loudly.

"I asked you to handle one small thing, and you couldn’t even do that!" Gibson’s voice was tight with suppressed rage.

"I told you to leak a few rumors and muddy the waters. Who told you to leave a trail? Now it’s fantastic — all of Hollywood thinks I’m the one behind it. Are you trying to make me the laughingstock of the industry?"

The tall, thin producer stammered, "Mr. Gibson, we didn’t expect Shelly to move so quickly, let alone find evidence that we leaked the news... We tried to cover our tracks, but the reporters already had leads. It was like they were waiting for us to slip up."

"Leads? What leads?" Gibson narrowed his eyes, his tone growing colder. "Did you get careless with the money? Or did someone record your conversation?"

The shorter, stockier producer waved his hands frantically.

"No, no! We only dealt in cash, and we met in deserted places. There’s no way anyone recorded us! I think... Irene Coppola was watching us all along. She set a trap, and we walked right into it."

Gibson paused, then sneered. "Her? She has that kind of pull? She’s just a lucky newcomer riding high on a couple of films. Her ego’s already out of control." But despite his words, unease stirred in his chest.

He had assumed Irene was young enough to take the smear campaign quietly. He never imagined she would remain unfazed, identify the mastermind so quickly, and turn the narrative against him without making a sound.

"What do we do now, Mr. Gibson?" the tall producer asked cautiously. "Adelaide’s people have already called. They said if this is tied to us and damages the partnership with Irene Coppola, we’ll be held accountable. The Passion of the Christ could be affected too."

At the mention of The Passion of the Christ, Gibson’s expression soured further. He had poured years of preparation and a fortune into the film. His partnership with Fox was essential.

The subject matter was sensitive. Several studios had already turned him down over distribution concerns. Fox was his best option. If this deal collapsed because of the scandal, his losses would be catastrophic.

"What else can we do?" Gibson forced himself to breathe and calm down.

"First, stabilize Fox. Call it a rumor. Say someone is deliberately smearing you and me to sabotage the deal. As for Irene Coppola, leave her alone for now. If we push again, we’ll only lose more."

He paused, a ruthless glint flashing in his eyes. "But this isn’t over. I’ll remember this. When Pirates of the Caribbean flops, we’ll have plenty of opportunities to deal with her." He had never believed in Irene’s project. In his mind, it was destined to fail.

The short producer jumped in. "Exactly! Anyone who touches a pirate movie is a fool. Irene Coppola is going to cost Fox a fortune. When that happens, Fox will realize she’s nothing. Then we’ll make her pay."

Gibson snorted but said nothing. He bent down, picked up one of the crumpled papers, and stared at the vague headline. His fingers tightened until the newsprint wrinkled in his grip.

He knew he had miscalculated. Not only had he failed to suppress Irene, he’d also branded himself as petty. But the resentment wouldn’t fade.

Every time he thought about her rising influence — about resources that should have been his going to her — it felt like claws raking at his insides.

"By the way," Gibson said suddenly, looking up at the two producers. "Isn’t Irene Coppola prepping a new project? See if you can cause her some trouble."

The tall producer blinked. "What do you want us to do?"

"Nothing major," Gibson said, a calculating smile tugging at his mouth. "See if you can bribe a few actors. Make sure she can’t start shooting. And be careful this time. Don’t get caught again."

The two producers exchanged glances and nodded quickly. "Don’t worry, Mr. Gibson. We’ll handle it flawlessly this time."

Gibson nodded, satisfied, and waved them out. Alone in the office, he walked to the window and stared down at the bustling Hollywood streets, his eyes cold and dark. "Irene Coppola, don’t get too comfortable," he murmured. "Our game has just begun."

...

The sunlight on July 31st was perfectly intense, spilling across the lawn of Irene’s new home. The green grass curled slightly under the heat, but it still radiated a stubborn vitality.

In the center of the garden, a set of white wrought-iron tables and chairs sat beneath a parasol. A checkered tablecloth covered the tabletop, laid out with iced lemonade and freshly baked cookies.

A professional camera and tripod were positioned across from it. Jack, Irene’s frequent cinematographer, crouched on the ground, adjusting the lens angle one more time.

Britney stood under the parasol, tugging at her black T-shirt printed with a charity slogan supporting people with ALS. "I’m ready. Can we start?"

The camera was trained steadily on her. Jack nodded. "We’re good. The light is perfect. Just keep your expression relaxed."

On the grass to the other side of the frame sat a bucket of ice water mixed with cubes. Under the blazing sun, faint wisps of white mist rose from it. Even from several meters away, you could feel the chill.

Britney’s assistant, Bella, waited nearby with a thick towel. As soon as the ice water was poured and the video ended, she would rush over to make sure Britney didn’t catch a cold.