Chapter 593: The Start of #MeToo

127 Hours was unexpectedly a smash hit.

Maybe everyone was just curious to see the mighty "Legolas" and "Neo" mutilate themselves.

In any case, the box office was guaranteed to bring in big money.

Meanwhile, Brad Pitt was going through a rough time.

Ever since the "Maidgate" scandal broke, more and more women—maids he had either seduced or coerced—were being dug up by the relentless press.

These "victims" began weeping to the media about Pitt's predatory behavior. Some, pushed by opportunistic lawyers, even prepared to sue the Hollywood star.

With the number of "victims" growing by the day, Brad Pitt was panicking.

"Fuck's sake, Brad," his agent Brad Grey snapped over the phone. "Did you really mess with all these women? Twenty maids? Are you kidding me?"

This idiot couldn't keep it in his pants.

Brad Pitt was furious, too—though more at the alleged "victims" coming forward.

"Fuck, I've never slept with that many people! That black woman, Kandi or whatever, she's massive! How the hell would I be into her?!"

"You sure about that?" Grey asked, clearly skeptical.

He'd seen enough bizarre kinks in Hollywood to question even the obvious. Was Brad hiding a thing for unconventional body types?

"Of course I'm sure!" Pitt exploded. "I don't go for heavy-set dark women. That woman's ass is like a water tank—I'd suffocate if I sat on it! There's no way I touched her!"

"Okay, okay, I believe you. So maybe some people are just jumping on the bandwagon. Can you identify the real ones?"

"Uh... well…" Brad faltered.

Truth was, he couldn't remember. Aside from "the black and fat one," the rest of the alleged victims were, well… mostly in line with his usual type. Honestly, if the mood had struck, he could've gone for any of them.

"Now we're in deep shit," Brad Grey muttered, hearing the hesitation in Pitt's voice.

Meanwhile, elsewhere...

"Motherf—!"

"We're in deep shit!"

Eric paced the room in a frenzy.

"Why is this happening?! It wasn't supposed to go like this!"

"What do we do now?" Adelaide asked nervously.

When the "Maidgate" video leaked two weeks ago, Eric realized—too late—that it was the exact footage he'd given to Harvey Weinstein. Same scene, same plot, same angles. But... with one huge change.

The female lead had been swapped!

Eric finally understood why Harvey had flipped out—but he was also baffled.

He'd given Weinstein a tape of Brad Pitt and Georgina Chapman. How the hell did it turn into a video of Pitt and some random maid?

Where did it all go wrong?

But now wasn't the time to figure that out.

The real crisis was: should they return Harvey's money? The $3 million?

"Hell no," Joyce said flatly. "We earned that money. Why should we give it back?"

"But if we don't," Adelaide countered, "Harvey might come after us."

She was an experienced paparazzo and knew full well how entangled Hollywood bosses were with organized crime. If Harvey went nuclear, they were toast.

"Unless the paper backs us up," said Harper. "Our outlet's got enough muscle to take a hit from Harvey."

"But why would they protect us?" asked another member of the group (still unnamed, poor guy).

"What if we share some of the money with the paper?" Harper offered.

"Share the money? How much? A million? Two? Three? And who's giving up their cut, huh? You? You? You?" Joyce snapped.

At that moment, Eric slammed the table.

"We're not giving back a cent. And we're not bribing the paper either. The only option is to strike first—take Harvey down before he has the chance to retaliate. If we destroy his reputation, he'll lose his power. Then who's going to come after us?"

"Take him down? How? He's got that congressman backing him," Adelaide pointed out.

Eric leaned in. "So what? If we bury Harvey deep enough, that congressman won't think it's worth saving him. That's our shot."

Joyce nodded. "He's got dirt. Lots of it. Our paper—and others—have been sitting on stories about him for years. They were all suppressed."

"Exactly," said Eric. "We dig those out. Then we find a victim who's willing to go public. Once one comes forward, the floodgates open. Even if they don't, paparazzi and lawyers will push them out. Just like what's happening with Pitt."

"But even if we find someone, it's useless if the media won't run the story," Harper pointed out. "Harvey's silenced everything before."

"So we're stuck in a loop," Adelaide sighed. "To stop the congressman from protecting him, we have to ruin Harvey. But to ruin Harvey, we need the media, and the congressman can block that too. We're screwed either way."

"Not necessarily," Eric said, eyes lighting up. "We can't beat that congressman. But someone else might."

"Who?"

"Martin."

"You want to work with Martin?"

"Why not? Harvey and Martin are sworn enemies. And it was Harvey who ordered us to tail Martin in the first place. We tell Martin that? He'll be thrilled to return the favor. It's not us asking Martin for help—it's us helping Martin."

Eric spoke with conviction.

"Anyway, we've got no better plan. Let's try it."

"Let's do it."

"Agreed."

"Agreed."

When Martin picked up Eric's call, he was thoroughly confused.

By the time the story was laid out, he was even more bewildered.

Wait—were these clowns from News of the World about to kick off the MeToo movement?

Then again…

It didn't sound that far-fetched.

Harvey was a ticking time bomb. Maybe it was time someone lit the fuse. Getting him behind bars would be a clean, satisfying way to write this subplot out of his life.

Maybe even a public service.