Chapter 57: Let It End Like This
"Alright, it's time for questions. Please raise your hands first."
The moderator smoothly took the mic, addressing the sea of reporters already bursting with impatience.
"Hello, I'm Jones from ABC News. About the video that was just shown—can I get a copy?" one of the front-row journalists asked bluntly.
"Of course. Any media outlet that needs one can get a copy from Warner staff after the press conference. Next question."
"Director Garfield, do you have a personal feud with Ferran Goodman? Why did he try to frame you?"
Wayne took the mic, paused for a moment, then answered calmly.
"I don't really know why Mr. Goodman did what he did. Maybe it's because I don't get along with his son."
"I was falsely accused of being a racist, and I stayed silent because I was afraid no matter what I said, it would sound like a poor excuse. I waited—until Halle Berry came to me on her own."
All the cameras and reporters were trained on Wayne. For days, this young director had been at the center of a storm, yet he hadn't said a word. Now, with one move, he'd flipped the entire narrative.
---
"Bang!"
In another part of the city, Adam Goodman hurled his teacup at the TV screen.
"That bitch! I knew we couldn't trust her. She dared to go behind my back and meet Wayne Garfield? That bitch!"
Adam was shouting, practically incoherent, while Ferran, surprisingly, seemed eerily calm.
He knew it was over. A scandal of this scale would force Universal's board to demand his resignation. And once he lost his executive position, what was he?
"Adam, start packing," Ferran said with chilling calm. "I'm resigning. We're leaving Los Angeles."
"Why, Dad?! We still have a chance! So what if he knows?"
"There is no chance anymore. I can't wait for the board to fire me. Do you think moving away is the end of the world? No—it might actually be our saving grace. If he sues us, that'll be the real apocalypse."
Ferran shook his head bitterly. Why was his son always so far behind the curve?
"I'm not leaving! I still have work. I have Far and Away—his little low-budget horror flick will get crushed by our box office!"
Seeing his son descend into irrational defiance, Ferran didn't bother replying anymore. He didn't regret orchestrating the scheme—but he did regret trusting that woman.
---
After the press conference ended, Halle Berry hesitated as she approached Wayne.
"I did everything you asked. You're not going to sue me now, right?"
"Relax, Halle." Wayne looked at her tired expression and suddenly felt… bored. Cold revenge wasn't really his thing after all. "You were a victim too. You played your part well. Go home. I'll keep my word."
"And… that tape?"
"It's going in my private collection. That's all. It won't be leaked."
Originally, he had planned to 'accidentally' leak the tape after the press conference. But now… it didn't seem necessary anymore.
After she left, his agent Jimmy came up quietly.
"About Ferran Goodman—should we still press charges? Ryan is ready."
"Tell him to wait a few days," Wayne said, exhaling slowly as he gazed out the window over Los Angeles. "No major studio wants a scandal like this to escalate. Whether he resigns or gets kicked out—once that's done, Ryan hits him with a defamation suit or something worse. I want him stripped naked and booted from Hollywood."
"Don't overthink it, Wayne. You're a genius—a filmmaking genius," Jimmy said, choosing his words carefully. "Your mind should be on cinema. After this, at least people will know you're not someone to mess with."
"No, Jimmy," Wayne said, lighting a cigarette. "I know how these people think. If you don't fight back, they'll just assume you're weak."
He took a long drag and added, "Forget it. I'm just a director. Starting tomorrow, all my focus is back on set. You handle the rest."
He realized something through this entire mess—he was just a regular person. According to the plan, he should've used Halle, exposed her again, and had his lawyer sue her for defamation.
Same with Ferran Goodman. After such a massive scandal, there was no way he'd keep his job. No other studio would hire him again.
Wayne should've finished him off—dragged him to bankruptcy and kicked him out of L.A. for good.
But… he couldn't do it.
He let Halle go. He kept his promise to her. She'd been used as a pawn, and at the end of the day, he didn't have the heart to destroy her.
He knew this wasn't the "right" move. He should have crushed both Halle and Ferran. That's what a ruthless Hollywood mogul would do.
But he wasn't that. Despite two lifetimes, he still hadn't learned how to strike with lethal finality.
---
Warner staff had already distributed copies of the footage to all attending reporters. The press, their eyes gleaming, were ready to rush back and break the story.
At this point, Wayne didn't need to do anything else. The "kings without crowns"—the journalists—would fan the flames.
The only regret? They hadn't caught Morgan Freeman in the crossfire.
---
With public opinion shifting overnight, the crew returned to work with renewed focus. The pity and skepticism in their eyes were gone.
Filming finally resumed in earnest. You could feel the change in energy on set.
"Will! Wipe that smile off your face. Your girlfriend's mom is trying to hypnotize you—look terrified, okay?"
"Steve! Dim the lights. I want a moody shot. We're going in for a close-up!"
Wayne barked orders from behind the monitor, nodding at Luke to cue the next take.
"Get Out, Scene Three, Take Sixteen… Action!"
"Cut! Robert, use camera three for a top-down shot. Reset—let's do it again!"
Since filming resumed, the director seemed to change overnight—becoming strict and demanding. The sudden shift to a tense work atmosphere made everyone tread carefully.
"Cut! That was good, Will. Nice job. Let's go again."
Nina stood with Sergei in a corner of the soundstage, watching the filming unfold.
"So this is how movies are made, huh? I thought it'd be more mysterious."
Sergei looked around with interest. What he saw, though, was just repetitive, tedious shooting. He realized filmmaking wasn't all that glamorous after all.
"You'll get used to it," Nina replied, half-smiling. "Comes with the job when your boss is a film director."
Seeing that filming paused, she grabbed Wayne's water cup and jogged over to hand it to him.
"Mace, when you smile at Will, show the kind of expression you had during your audition—yes, that's the one."
Wayne took the cup from his assistant without even looking, took a sip, and handed it right back. Everyone assumed his recent stringency came from the upcoming comedic scenes, which were notoriously difficult.
If there was any part of this movie Wayne didn't feel confident about, it was the humor. Comedy wasn't his strength—never had been. And he didn't plan to walk that path either. His goal was simply to make the comedic segments passable.
His long-term plan was clear: after this, he would shift toward mainstream commercial films—no more low-budget slapstick. His ambition lay in serious, dark, thought-provoking dramas.
As for ultra-low-budget gore horror movies—the kind made just to shock and disgust without any real theme—he wouldn't touch those either. And if you looked closely at Hollywood, you'd notice most directors who started in that genre eventually sought to reinvent themselves.
Wayne would be no different. Although his film wasn't pure schlock horror, he still worried about being typecast as a thriller director.
Currently, the entire production was confined to indoor sets. Almost all the scenes were being shot on built sets, and thanks to Warner Bros.' massive prop warehouse, Wayne had gone full madman—he even recreated yard scenes indoors.
This approach was still uncommon at the time. Most directors preferred shooting on location, considering it more authentic. But Wayne didn't care about such notions. He wasn't chasing Oscars.
This film had one purpose: make money.
---
At the specially constructed window set, Mace was already in position. Wayne conferred with Robert about camera angles and lighting, then took a seat opposite Mace.
"This scene's a bit tricky," he said. "But nothing you can't handle. Think back to your audition—channel that energy. Pay attention to your smile. It needs to convey sadness through laughter. You're the emotional core of this scene, and I'm giving your expression a close-up."
"No problem."
Mace was gradually loosening up. Her role required the most nuanced facial expressions of anyone on the cast.
"I've been practicing at home," she said with a smirk. "I scared my mom so much with that smile, she wouldn't eat dinner at the same table."
Once everything was ready, Wayne gave Luke the nod. Luke stepped in front of the camera with the slate.
"Scene 22, Take 1—action!"
Wayne leaned forward behind the monitor, elbows resting on the table, eyes fixed on Mace.
She stood at the window, gazing outside. When she saw Chris—played by a young Black man—notice her, she gave a slow, bittersweet smile.
Wayne watched her expression on the monitor's close-up and nodded in satisfaction. The girl had talent. Unfortunately, her plain looks and limited acting range would likely keep her from ever becoming a star.
"Cut! Very good. That's a wrap for this scene. Ten-minute break."
At their current pace, Wayne was more than satisfied. While the scenes completed so far were relatively simple, at this rate, the entire shoot would wrap in under two and a half months.
Despite the early scandal on day one—allegations of racial discrimination from the director himself—production had recovered swiftly. Given that many of the main cast members were Black, it was a small miracle things went so smoothly.
And the faster the shoot, the more time Wayne would have for post-production.