"Martin, Eric just called. He said Judy complained to him, claiming she was under pressure from the senior management at the newspaper."
Australia, on the set of Iron Man.
During a break in filming, Gordon came over and whispered in Martin's ear.
Martin chuckled. This woman named Judy was clearly testing Eric.
He thought for a moment, then said,"She's a smart one. She probably wants to gauge the influence of the person backing Eric. Fine—let her. It's about time we flexed a bit."
Just as Martin suspected, Judy's intention was to test the strength behind Eric's support.
Her next steps would depend on that.
Even if Ms. Hillary could shield her temporarily from the wrath of that man—and the congressman's fury—
Hillary couldn't protect her forever. At best, she could spare only a sliver of attention to this matter.
For Judy, this could be the turning point of her entire career.
But to Hillary, it was just a pawn tossed into the corner of the chessboard.
A win would be great. A loss? So what. At most, Judy would be sacrificed to placate the rage of Harvey and the congressman.
However, if the person behind Eric was strong enough, Judy might even dare to aim her fire at the congressman himself.
Soon, she would learn just how powerful that backing was.
The very next day, Judy received a call from Arthur Ochs Sulzberger Jr.—the ultimate boss behind the New York Times.
Since 1961, the Times had been owned by the Sulzberger family, who maintained close ties with the Rockefeller Foundation.
In 1969, the paper transitioned from a family-run business to a public company, becoming a massive media conglomerate spanning newspapers, magazines, TV, radio, and foreign assets.
Still, the Sulzberger family remained the largest shareholder and retained the position of publisher (effectively the CEO).
To Judy, Arthur Ochs Sulzberger Jr. was a true heavyweight.
A media magnate with vast influence—someone not even Hillary would dare offend lightly.
Yet at that moment, this titan of media spoke to her with warmth:"Reporting social issues is part of our duty at the New York Times. Judy, you've done good work."
Judy beamed. "Thank you, Mr. Sulzberger."
But inside, her mind was racing with speculation about the force backing Eric.
Only bigger tycoons can move other tycoons. Politicians? They're just the hounds of capital.
Who was it?
Could it be someone from the Rockefeller family?
Her thoughts ran wild—until Arthur spoke again:
"Judy, you know the Times' editorial style. We rarely rush to be the first to break a story. But if we do, the credibility must be unimpeachable. That's how we've earned the public's trust."
Judy nodded solemnly."I understand. The New York Times has always seen itself as the 'paper of record.' I know reporting on Harvey will expose us to unprecedented pressure, so... what are you saying, exactly?"
She was still probing.
Arthur chuckled."Of course you should continue. The paper fully supports you. But—every single report, every article, must have complete, clean, and airtight evidence. Understood?"
Judy took a deep breath, suppressing the thrill rising in her chest."Understood, Mr. Sulzberger."
"Call me Arthur." He stood, patted her shoulder, and said warmly, "Do a good job. I'm glad my paper has someone like you."
As soon as Judy stepped out of Arthur's office, she pumped her fist in the air.
Yes!
Weinstein Films.
This new studio, located in the southeastern corner of Hollywood, was founded by Harvey and his brother Bob after Harvey had been ousted from Miramax by Disney.
At this moment, Harvey's office was a wreck—shredded newspapers, shattered ashtrays, cracked phones, and a coffee pot crushed beyond recognition littered the floor.
Clearly, there had just been a violent outburst.
Bob Weinstein opened the door and sighed at the chaotic scene.
He had warned his brother many times to restrain himself in certain... areas. But Harvey never listened. He always bragged about his backing, his connections—convinced no one could touch him.
But he never realized: a "backer" is useful only when you're useful. Otherwise, that backing becomes a liability—a landslide dragging you down.
As for connections? Even more fragile. Built on favors and resources. When you have them, everyone's your pal. When you don't, you're on your own.
Now, with one damning New York Times article after another, Harvey's so-called "connections" were already fleeing. Even the congressman's efforts couldn't hold them.
Quentin—once his loyal protégé—had stopped answering his calls.
What a bunch of ungrateful bastards!
Harvey's once-bustling office was now deserted. No one dared to show their face—
Except the lawyers.
Those vultures were circling his wallet already.
Damn it!!!
"What now?" Harvey growled, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at Bob like a wounded beast—more bull than man, more wolf than human.
"There's news from the firm," Bob said cautiously. "That reporter and those... uh, women—came to verify the settlement agreement. Legally, we couldn't stop them. The firm wanted me to remind you: you need to be careful. They might sue. And if they win... you'll owe a fortune."
"Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!! Goddamn bitches! Why didn't the lawyers call me directly?!"
Bob glanced down at the demolished phones—mobile and landline alike.
"Do any of your phones still work?"
Harvey followed Bob's eyes, saw the wreckage, and gave a bitter laugh.
"I was... in a bad mood."
Then his expression hardened."What did the lawyers say? What are our chances in court?"
Bob hesitated."We don't know how much evidence they have. The lawyers said... best-case scenario? We pay. Worst-case? Prison."
"Fuck! I'm not going to jail!" Harvey slammed the desk.
Bob fell silent.
Harvey took a long breath, trying to suppress the fury surging through him.
"Go handle what you need to. Let me calm down," he muttered to his brother.
Bob nodded and stepped out, leaving Harvey alone in the wreckage—breathing hard, eyes wild, mind spinning.