Chapter 56: The Counterstrike
Halle Berry stared grimly at the DV camera sitting on the desk. Suddenly, a realization dawned on her.
"You recorded us with this that night? Why were you even prepared to film?"
Wayne smiled faintly, his tone calm but sharp:
"That's right. A complete accident—though a very fortunate one."
He got up and turned off the TV, then looked at her, still composed.
"Go on. I'm giving you one chance, Halle. Go save yourself."
Halle's face was full of defeat as she silently placed the DV camera into her bag and walked out.
Wayne grabbed his briefcase, called for Nina, and the two headed home for the night.
This was his chance to strike—to plunge a knife deep into Ferran Goodman's back. Compared to his son, Ferran was on a completely different level. He was the kind of man who could smile at you even after being insulted to his face… but the moment he made a move, he aimed to kill.
Wayne would never forgive that kind of person. This was an opportunity he couldn't afford to let slip—not even if it meant letting the instigator, Halle Berry, off the hook. Ferran Goodman had to go down.
Someone like Ferran, who had spent decades thriving in the brutal world of Hollywood politics and still held a high-ranking seat at Universal, was not to be underestimated. He might already be thinking of a new way to retaliate. Wayne wouldn't get lucky twice.
He had to act before Ferran realized what was happening. Halle? She was small potatoes. Just a woman with a few tricks up her sleeve. He could deal with her any time.
On the ride home, Wayne sat silently in the car, staring out the window at the fading Los Angeles skyline. The warm sunset cast orange light over the pedestrians passing by, but his mind was miles away—fully focused on what came next.
Originally, he had planned to simply wait out the scandal—keep quiet until the media frenzy died down, then set a trap to get Halle Berry to admit the truth herself. But now, things were unfolding even better than expected.
Turns out Halle was smart enough to realize that if she didn't act, she'd be the sacrificial lamb. Ferran Goodman would absolutely hang her out to dry—and possibly even silence her completely. After all, for a powerless actress at the bottom of the Hollywood food chain, being silenced was all too easy.
When the car arrived at the Garfield estate, something unusual happened: neither Wayne nor Nina had to get out to open the gate. Before they could even reach it, a large white man stepped out of the gatehouse and opened it from the inside.
Hela had handled things efficiently. The issue of security couldn't wait—there had been people hovering around the estate constantly for the past two days. Whether they were journalists or had other motives, Wayne couldn't risk it.
Inside the villa, a housekeeper was already waiting with one of the new security hires—a tall, muscular white man who looked, at a glance, to be Eastern European, maybe Russian.
He was huge—easily over two meters tall, towering more than half a head over Wayne. Even through his shirt, his explosive muscles were visible, and his presence radiated pure strength.
"Boss," Hela explained, "I contacted Henry, the real estate broker. This security company works with him. They've got a good reputation. This is Sergei Bora. I brought in five men for now—he's their captain, and he'll be providing you with personal protection."
As soon as she finished speaking, the man who looked like a bear stepped forward with a greeting.
"Boss, good evening. I noticed people still hanging around outside, so I already sent my team to begin patrol. Would you like to speak with them?"
Wayne waved him off and sank into the sofa.
"No need. I saw the patrols, and two at the gatehouse. We'll have plenty of time to talk later. Are you a first-generation immigrant?"
"Second generation, boss," Sergei replied in fluent English. "I just left the military recently. They had me lined up as an instructor, but that didn't pay as well as field work. When Hela's call came in, I brought my team straight here."
Wayne nodded, satisfied.
Things were finally beginning to fall into place.
()
It was clear that the bear-like Russian ex-soldier wasn't just muscle—he had brains too.
"Okay," Wayne said, glancing at the towering man. "Just keep your team stationed around the estate. By the way—how's your driving?"
He had decided to relieve Nina of some of her duties. The assistant had enough on her plate already, juggling errands and driving him around.
"Driving's no problem at all!"
Security for five trained professionals like these cost nearly $300,000 annually. While the company took its cut, it was still a well-paying job—for veterans specially trained to protect the ultra-wealthy.
---
Meanwhile, Halle Berry, clutching a sleek black handbag, entered the private club where she'd arranged to meet Ferran Goodman. Her heart was racing.
Inside the bag, the DV camera—modified and concealed—was quietly recording. She'd slit a discreet opening in one of the handbag's creases to allow the lens a clear shot. Before entering, she double-checked that it was powered on and recording.
Only Ferran Goodman was inside. He looked annoyed—he probably wouldn't have agreed to this meeting if she hadn't dropped hints during the phone call that she had learned about Wayne's supposed "evidence."
"What's going on?" Ferran asked with a scowl. "You said you found out what evidence Wayne Garfield has?"
Halle subtly shifted her handbag to face him directly before replying.
"Yes. Not only does Wayne have evidence, he also knows it was you who told me to smear him with false accusations of racism."
"That makes no sense! How would he even know that?" Ferran narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Where'd you hear this?"
"From a friend at CAA. He's close with Wayne's agent, Jimmy. Said Jimmy told him directly. Mr. Goodman, what am I supposed to do now? You're the one who made me do this. If Wayne really has proof, I'm finished!"
"Shut your mouth." Ferran cut her off irritably. "That's enough. I'll look into it myself. Nothing's happened yet. For all we know, he's bluffing."
Clearly rattled, Ferran wasn't entirely convinced, but he couldn't afford to ignore the possibility.
"Go home and stay there. No media, no interviews. I'll handle the rest."
Without another word, he stood up and left the room, not even looking back.
Halle clutched her handbag tightly, returned to her car, and quickly peeked inside to confirm the footage had been captured. She knew there was no going back. Handing this over might be her only way to protect herself—and maybe earn Wayne's forgiveness.
---
The next day, the DV footage was delivered to Wayne. Halle herself watched it first, then gave Nina instructions over the phone before turning it over to John.
A press conference was scheduled at Warner Bros. HQ the following day. Invitations had already been sent to all major news outlets. The purpose? To address and clarify the accusations of racism against Wayne Garfield.
Filming on set continued to be difficult. With morale low and tension high, Wayne didn't push the team too hard. He stuck to simple scenes, focusing on repetition to maintain progress. But when he noticed most people looking at him with pity, he knew their minds were elsewhere.
He wrapped up early. After tomorrow's press conference, he expected things to return to normal.
---
The next morning, dozens of reporters and photographers crowded into the 7th-floor conference hall at the Warner Bros. building, buzzing with anticipation.
This scandal had exploded, and the press was hungry for updates on Hollywood's rising director—now accused of racism and sexual harassment against a beautiful Black actress.
At 8:30 AM, Wayne entered the room, flanked by Warner staff, and took a seat at the front. The room fell silent. Dozens of cameras and reporters trained their lenses on him.
"Before we begin, please remain quiet," the Warner PR rep said into the mic. "You'll have time for questions at the end."
The curtains were drawn. The lights dimmed.
A video began playing on the projector.
The footage was clearly shot in secret—grainy but unmistakable. The voices were audible. The setting was clear.
"So what's the deal? You're saying Wayne Garfield…"
Gasps and murmurs filled the room—but quickly died down as everyone realized what they were seeing. Flashes erupted as every camera turned toward the screen.
Nobody had expected a twist like this.
Minutes later, the footage ended. Lights came back on. Before reporters could shout out questions, the PR rep stepped aside as the door opened again.
Halle Berry walked in and took a seat at the mic.
The room exploded in whispers and camera clicks. Everyone recognized her—but no one knew what role she was about to play next.
"Good morning," she said, calm but emotional. "I'm Halle Berry. I'm here today to clarify something. The accusations against director Wayne Garfield—that he racially discriminated against me and sexually harassed me—are completely false.
It was Ferran Goodman, senior production executive at Universal Pictures, who planned and coerced me into making those claims. He threatened that if I didn't do it, I'd never work in Hollywood again.
I couldn't fight back. I was scared. He's a powerful man. I didn't understand why he wanted to destroy Wayne, but I went along with it.
Since then, my conscience has been tormented. Wayne Garfield is a good person, and I became an accomplice in framing him.
Today, I want to apologize publicly—to Director Garfield and to the people who believed the lies. I accuse Ferran Goodman of orchestrating this entire campaign.
He used Universal's media network to rapidly spread those false stories nationwide. He even arranged for the original interviewers who first aired the accusations…"
From the moment she spoke, every camera was aimed at her. The earlier hidden footage, now paired with her live confession, turned the scandal on its head.
Every reporter in the room knew—public opinion was about to do a complete 180.
All the opportunists who had rushed to attack Wayne over the past few days? They were about to get burned.
And as for what had really motivated Halle to confess? That didn't matter to the press.
All that mattered was that they had the scoop—and the storm had officially reversed course.