The most critical part was that the two factions really couldn't afford to tear each other apart.
After years of myth-building around the "Squidmen," they had been portrayed as intelligent, united, and powerful. If the two sides were to fall out publicly, that carefully constructed image would shatter instantly.
Letting outsiders laugh at them would be a minor issue but if it affected the Squidmen's social standing and survival space, it would be disastrous.
After maintaining this strange, silent truce, Gilbert became the rope being pulled by both factions. The radical faction's media kept attacking him, trying to destroy his reputation, while the moderate faction defended him, working to preserve his prestige and use it to increase their own influence.
And, surprisingly, it worked. George Lucas even openly declared himself part of the moderate faction, which infuriated the radicals. Steven Spielberg never publicly stated his stance—perhaps because of his association with "the island."
In private, however, Spielberg reportedly said that keeping the current balance was fine. He had no interest in any kind of "restoration movement."
But life is often full of helpless choices—once you make one, you have to bear the consequences.
"There's a man named Epstein," someone told Gilbert, "who wants to invite you to his private club."
The crew was in New York for a day, holding two promotional roadshows.
Before leaving North America, Gilbert received an invitation letter. He took one look at it, tore it into shreds, and didn't even bother to read further.
"Did Donald ever go there?" Gilbert asked.
Ivanka thought for a moment before replying, "I don't know if my father ever went, but I've heard this Epstein has wide connections. He's well-established both in Hollywood and on Wall Street.
His club is one of the favorite gathering spots for New York's high society. Everyone who's been there praises it—saying it's 'heaven.'"
Gilbert nodded slightly. "A person like that must either be incredibly charming or possess certain… special methods to attract so many people to his place."
"So you don't want to check it out for yourself?" Ivanka asked.
"What's there to check?" Gilbert shrugged. "It's nothing but a hub for deals and indulgences."
Such clubs mainly served as venues for exchanging information—stock market tips, insider news, resource trades, or rumors of upcoming wars.
Of course, thanks to their strict privacy, they also catered to certain unspeakable desires. Rumor had it that a fourteen-year-old girl once entered that club and came out as a corpse.
Her parents filed a police report, but the case was hastily ruled a suicide. They didn't even receive compensation.
The truth was that the perpetrator was the son of a major political figure in Washington, who had conveniently funded the NYPD's election campaign in exchange for "settling the matter quickly."
And considering how many wealthy members the club had, even a small fraction of their "donations" amounted to astronomical sums.
In House of Cards, Peter Russo merely solicited prostitutes, drove drunk, and struggled with addiction and even that was unforgivable. But in reality, people could commit murder to satisfy their desires and walk away untouched.
So if someone claimed this club wasn't hiding anything filthy, Gilbert would never believe it.
Unfortunately, he wasn't Captain America, Batman, or Iron Man—he couldn't single-handedly wipe out all that corruption. All he could do was pretend not to see it; what's out of sight causes no stress.
It had already taken him an immense amount of effort to deal with the group from "the island" last time and since then, suspicion had followed him everywhere. Gilbert had no intention of going through that again.
It was better for everyone to leave each other alone—stay in their own lanes and limit the conflict to verbal skirmishes.
Still, judging by the endless stream of ambiguous invitations he kept receiving, it seemed those people hadn't given up.
If it wasn't an invitation to a "club," it was to a "private resort island." After attending a few selectively, Gilbert had stopped accepting any more.
That was their usual method: first, lure you in with tempting information and benefits; then slowly draw you deeper until you slip up—ideally into something criminal, so they can hold it over you.
Once they've got leverage on you, you're trapped. To protect yourself and your gains, you're forced to join them, collect dirt on others in turn, and keep serving the organization.
Their goal was to control everything—from the East Coast to the West, from Wall Street to Silicon Valley, from Pennsylvania to Washington.
They wanted to rule the world—to do whatever they pleased.
But Gilbert hadn't fallen for their trap. His public "flaws" were nothing serious. So what if he had many women? What powerful man didn't? He wasn't a pedophile, and he hadn't killed anyone. There was nothing for him to fear.
Besides, in this world, there are no real secrets.
Everyone knew what that group was doing they just didn't dare to offend them. Otherwise, the truth would have been exposed long ago.
So what if they controlled the media? Gilbert also controlled the media, along with the world's largest social network and the biggest search engine.
With just a few data leaks online, he could ruin all of them in an instant.
Perhaps it was precisely because of the power of online public opinion that more and more Wall Street investors and "Squidmen" financiers were desperate to acquire shares of Gilbert's internet companies.
Unfortunately for them, Gilbert refused both soft and hard tactics. Threats didn't work; if they pushed too hard, he'd slap them right back — showing them what it truly meant to be a world-class tycoon.
Under those circumstances, their only remaining option was to work with Washington to keep targeting Gilbert shrinking his assets, clipping his wings, fabricating charges, and trying to throw him in prison.
But if it ever came to that, the people behind Gilbert weren't about to sit and do nothing. Fine then it would be war!
"You hit me today, I'll hit your people tomorrow," he thought. "At worst, it's civil war! Go ahead, drop your nukes and destroy humanity I've been reborn, what do I have to fear?"
Disgusting as they were, aside from their usual tricks — beautiful women, handsome men, all kinds of seduction they had no real way to deal with him.
"I used to think filmmaking was just about making movies," Gilbert said to Ivanka on their way to Philadelphia. "I didn't realize how complicated things would become later."
Ivanka ignored that and said instead, "The Friday box office for The Last of Us looked good — $23.51 million.
Adding the midnight screenings, the total is now $36.05 million."
"It's mainly because of good word of mouth," she added. "If it keeps this pace, the first-weekend box office could reach around $80 million."
"Not bad!" Gilbert smiled, clearly satisfied with the result. "My expectation was $60 million — this performance is more than enough to make everyone happy."
Happy was an understatement — he was overjoyed.
To be honest, studios rarely had faith in original films. If it weren't for Gilbert, a script like The Last of Us would never have been greenlit, much less released.
Gilbert continued, "Once the North American promo tour wraps up, I'll have Tom focus more on the overseas campaign."
"What are you planning?" Ivanka asked.
She half-expected him to say he was declaring war on Epstein's circle. Truth be told, she was sick of those people — always trying to tempt her, hoping she'd lure Gilbert in.
But Gilbert had zero interest in them; to him, they were just stray dogs on the roadside.
"I'm launching my Cyberpunk Universe," Gilbert said, rubbing his hands excitedly. "I'm about to direct a TV series for the first time and honestly, I'm kind of thrilled!"
Watching Gilbert's childlike excitement, Ivanka couldn't help but roll her eyes helplessly.
....
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