Viggo left with a face full of shock, while Leo continued discussing the script with Grace.
After a heated clash of ideas over the script, Leo and Grace eventually drifted into sleep.
"Don't move, I'm watching the movie."
The screen flickered with an obscure film in the dimly lit room.
To be honest, if not for that special memory, Leo would have nearly forgotten that back when he graduated high school, he had once watched this very film.
Now, having just finished reading the script, his mind was at peace. Instead, his attention was drawn to the film on the screen—it was The Aviator, the story of Howard Hughes. Leo had once seen it on a streaming platform, full of floating user comments at the time.
Compared to the movie's glorified portrayal of Hughes, the "fact-checkers" in the comments mercilessly stripped him bare.
Particularly, they highlighted his reckless behavior while in charge of RKO Pictures—one of Hollywood's "Big Five plus Three"—which ultimately drove the major studio into decline.
Leo knew well that destroying a decades-old studio couldn't have happened overnight; there must have already been cracks beneath the surface.
Perhaps it was time he himself owned a Hollywood studio. The thought lingered as Leo once again drifted into sleep.
Night shrouded Los Angeles in silence, but not everyone could sleep.
At Paramount's headquarters, the conference room was ablaze with light. Inside sat men who controlled the fates of most of Hollywood's talents.
"Let's hear it—what do you all think of our young billionaire planning to shoot a TV series?"
Paramount president Barney Balaban asked.
"What else is there to think? Not making television has always been our collective decision. Surely no one here is about to be blinded by money,"
said Jack L. Warner of Warner Bros.
"A billionaire with money to burn, and he doesn't make films—he wants to make TV? There's no future in that,"
scoffed Darryl F. Zanuck of 20th Century Fox.
"Head-on confrontation might not be wise. After all, the kid has money. We shouldn't use our old tricks. Instead, let's send our starlets to dazzle him. He's young—how could he resist the temptations of Hollywood?"
suggested MGM president Louis B. Mayer.
"I disagree. We must blacklist him!"
Howard Hughes, president of RKO, interjected bluntly.
His words made several men roll their eyes in secret. No one denied Hughes' brilliance, but his lack of tact and endless quirks made him unbearable.
Blacklist a billionaire? Hughes was wealthier than even himself—what sense did that make?
Still, no one wanted to provoke Hughes—when he went mad, he was a nightmare. So all eyes turned to the meeting's host, Barney Balaban, waiting for him to decide.
"Since the Paramount Decree, we lost our theaters, and business has been declining ever since. Meanwhile, television has been eating into us year after year.
To ensure profitability, the ban on industry members working in TV must remain.
We know little of this billionaire, so we must first use our connections to gather intelligence.
And yes, Louis' idea should also be used. As long as he gives up, we win."
"You're all cowards—none of you dare go toe-to-toe with a wet-behind-the-ears kid,"
Hughes spat before storming out.
Once he left, RKO's actual manager, Najeeb Halaby, quickly apologized on his behalf. Even he was frustrated with his boss, but powerless to rein him in. Someone had to smooth things over if RKO was to survive.
"Tell me, Najeeb—can your boss really run RKO properly?"
Jack Warner asked coldly.
Najeeb himself was unsure. Bringing Hughes in had been partly due to financial pressure, partly to use his fame to raise RKO's profile.
Now it seemed the opposite—chaos had spread, and reputation was worse than before. Najeeb had even considered replacing Hughes, but a suitable successor was hard to find.
The meeting ended, but three men lingered in the lounge: Barney Balaban of Paramount, Jack Warner of Warner Bros., and Louis B. Mayer of MGM.
They shared a common trait—they were all Jewish.
"So, what do you think of RKO?"
Barney asked.
"Warner has its own pace. We're not interested in acquiring RKO,"
Jack replied.
"Don't you think five majors is too many? Four sounds just about right,"
Mayer quipped.
"My thoughts exactly. RKO has no real value. Let Hughes ruin it,"
Barney agreed.
The next morning, as the five moguls were still in bed, each was awakened by urgent calls. They all received the same news: KTLA had approached them to collaborate on a TV series.
Without hesitation, they ordered their subordinates to reject the offers.
At KTLA headquarters on Sunset Boulevard, every staffer who had gone out to negotiate came back dejected. The atmosphere in the office was heavy.
"Boss, Hollywood has turned its back on us. What's our next step?"
Viggo asked gloomily.
Unlike the others, Leo remained calm, toying with a business card in his hand. It bore a single name: Clark Gable.
"Resistance is expected. That's within my plans. What I need is a lever—to move the world."
Clark was honored to be invited once again. This time, Leo didn't meet him in the parlor, but out on the lawn.
Clark was nervous. He feared Leo would bait him with film investments in exchange for starring in a TV series. He reminded himself repeatedly not to be swayed.
But to his surprise, Leo never mentioned TV. Instead, he and Grace asked in detail about Red Dust.
The conversation thrilled Clark, especially since Leo hinted more than once that if Grace became the lead actress, he might invest.
Though no deal was finalized, Clark still shook Leo's hand with excitement, already dreaming of Red Dust being revived.
That dream collapsed the next morning when his agent called.
"Goddammit, Clark—how could you agree to make a TV series with that billionaire?!"
Clark was stunned.
"What the hell are you talking about? I never agreed! Listen, Johnson—Mr. Valentino might invest in Red Dust!"
"You fool! You'll promise anything for that damned film! I've already received seven termination letters this morning. All your projects are canceled. Worse—you're now facing massive breach-of-contract penalties."
"I told you—I never agreed to do TV! And why should I pay penalties if they fired me?!"
Clark roared.
"I believe you. But no one else will. Look at your smile in the papers—it says otherwise. As for penalties—Clark, you've been in Hollywood long enough. Do you really think you can demand money back from them?"
his agent's cold words hit like ice water.
"What the hell is going on, Johnson?"
"Check today's New Press. You fool—you underestimated the power of those moguls."
Clark grabbed his newspaper. On the front page, the headline screamed:
"Star Clark Gable and Billionaire Leo Valentino to Produce America's Greatest Western TV Series."
Below was a photo of their handshake. As his agent said—Clark's smile was radiant.
Enraged, Clark stormed out, only to run into Ronald Wilson Reagan, the recently elected president of the Screen Actors Guild.
For someone of Clark's stature, the union was irrelevant. Especially with Reagan—a mediocre actor with no major works—as president.
"Ronald, what are you doing here?"
Clark asked irritably.
"I'm here to calm you down,"
Reagan replied.
"How can I calm down? I've been framed!"
"I know. But storming into Valentino's mansion will only destroy you. You'll confront him, he'll throw you out, and your career will be finished."
"Whose messenger are you, Ronald?"
Clark asked sharply.
"Not a messenger. Just someone reminding you—the union has your back. Maybe it's time you, as an actor, fought back for your rights. They broke the contracts first—why should you pay?"
"They're the Big Five! We can't fight them,"
Clark exclaimed.
"Once, that was true. But now, they've provoked someone even they can't handle. This is our chance to claim what's ours. Clark—you have no choice. Join us. It's your only way out."
Seeing Reagan's confidence, Clark froze. He realized instantly—Reagan was Leo's man. He thought of his bright smile yesterday, not knowing he had been made into a pawn.
Looking at Leo's mansion in the distance, Clark felt for the first time the ruthlessness of the powerful.
"What do you need me to do?"
he asked.
"Tomorrow, come to the union. Lawyers will be waiting. Trust me—you'll rise again, Clark,"
Reagan assured him.
"And you, Ronald—what do you gain?"
Clark asked.
"I'll get what I want."
Reagan drove off—toward Leo's mansion.
In the familiar parlor, Leo met the future Ronald. Though older than Leo, Reagan was considered "young" in this sense—he would one day become the 40th President of the United States, though Leo remembered him only as an old man.
Frankly, Leo had not expected this meeting.
After the Pennsylvania assassination attempt, Leo had ordered Mike to infiltrate all unions. By now, nearly all were under Mafia influence. That included the Screen Actors Guild.
Hollywood had always been a natural hub for money laundering—irresistible to the mob. Don Vito's godson Johnny was already a major producer here, running his own studio. Italians made up three-fifths of Hollywood's workforce.
A single call from Leo, and the union's president—an Irishman under Mafia influence—appeared before him.
"Ronald, I hear you've joined the Republican Party, aiming for politics?"
Leo asked.
Reagan's eyes lit up. His efforts were precisely to secure Leo's backing and smooth his political career. Helping Leo now would also earn him immense prestige among actors.
"Yes, Mr. Valentino,"
Reagan answered eagerly.
"How's it going?"
"Very well, sir. Clark is cornered—he'll bring those termination letters to the union tomorrow. With your lawyers, the majors will take a fall.
As for the next move, the small actors I've chosen are ready. They hate the studios and will gladly stand against them. But may I ask—which studio is our primary target?"
"Paramount,"
Leo said firmly.
"Since the Paramount Decree, all eyes are on them. Another scandal will only bring more attention—and that's to our advantage."
At Paramount, Barney Balaban hummed cheerfully as he entered his office, still basking in the memory of last night with a young starlet.
But his secretary's grim face told him bad news had arrived.
"What happened?"
Barney asked.
"Clark Gable is suing us."
"What? Is he insane? Where'd he get the nerve?"
"The Actors Guild,"
the secretary said.
"The Guild dares?" Barney scoffed, clinging to his old arrogance. But then realization struck.
"This is that billionaire, isn't it?"
The secretary nodded.
Barney massaged his temples. "Young people today—so thin-skinned. Since he's involved, our old blacklist tactics won't work.
Reach out to Clark. Invite him for tea. Tell him we'll back him, give him resources, make him a bigger star. I trust he'll reconsider and drop the suit."
The call was made, but came back with an answer that stunned Barney:
"He said don't waste your time. He won't settle. He'll fight to the end for the actors' rights."
Crash! A priceless Chinese vase shattered as Barney, usually refined, cursed in rage.
Forcing himself to calm, he called the other moguls. Though Clark had sued Paramount, a loss would damage them all. But this time, tensions were high—none wished to spend extra money. Some even thought Paramount's downfall might be to their advantage.
The only one eager was Howard Hughes, offering funds and lawyers. But Barney refused—he knew Hughes was nothing but a mad troublemaker.
When the others still withheld support, Barney played his trump card:
"If none of you help, I'll seek out someone who will. David Rockefeller from the East Coast has already offered his hand."
That changed everything. None of them wanted New York money meddling in their Hollywood kingdom. Independence was better than servitude.
One by one, the others finally agreed.