After two glasses of red wine, Claire once again triggered his "bonding" effect.
"Uh, I... might not hold my liquor well. Maybe I should stop drinking—I think I'm feeling a little dizzy." Slumped in his seat, Claire's body began tilting uncontrollably.
Danielle Sharpe, seated beside Pete Tong, immediately rushed to Claire's side with concern. Skillfully, she pulled his phone from his pocket and sent identical messages to his uncle, Cristiano Ronaldo, and Sir Alex Ferguson:
[Claire is drunk. Could you please come pick him up from the Devonshire private club? I believe he has a match tomorrow.]
After sending the messages, Danielle didn't put the phone back right away. Instead, she found her own contact in Claire's phone and changed her name to [Sweetheart]. Then, without hesitation, she deleted Lucy's number entirely.
Finally, with her uncle's reluctant help, Danielle laid Claire down on the sofa. Ignoring Pete Tong's stormy expression, she even pulled out her own phone and snapped a selfie with the passed-out Claire.
Costa Muyal and the others, witnessing Danielle's bold moves, quickly excused themselves from the table—leaving only a fuming Pete Tong and the busy Danielle behind.
Time passed indistinctly. The crowd in the private club shifted, glasses were refilled, and bottles emptied until the sky outside darkened.
Cristiano Ronaldo, trailed by Park Ji-Sung, hurried in with anxious expressions, guided by security. Ronaldo eyed Claire, now sprawled on the sofa and snoring loudly, and cautiously asked, "Did anything else... happen?"
"No, this time he just passed out. I was half-expecting him to pull another earth-shattering stunt," Danielle replied.
Ronaldo glanced at Danielle's uncle but didn't press further. Instead, he gave her a small smile before hoisting Claire onto his back and carrying him out. Park Ji-Sung, meanwhile, politely accepted the contract Danielle handed him, nodding at the remaining guests before following Ronaldo.
Pete Tong, seeing his niece's lingering gaze as Claire was taken away, could no longer hold back. After exchanging a few terse words with Costa Muyal, he dragged Danielle out with a face like thunder.
Costa Muyal watched them leave, chuckling to himself. "Ah, a grown daughter is no longer her father's."
The woman beside him—now that his secretary and assistant had left—leaned in curiously. "Was it really Mr. Tong who helped Claire get Jeff Bewkes to intervene?"
Costa smirked. "What, you think a British music critic and TV host could sway Warner Bros.' top brass?"
Katy Perry, pouting playfully, nestled closer. Costa, clearly enjoying her antics, slid an arm around her shoulders and planted a light kiss before explaining:
"Warner Music and Warner Bros. split long ago. Pete's involvement just added an extra layer of security to Claire's contract."
"Then why is my cut only 20%?" Katy grumbled.
"Are you seriously complaining? You can't compare yourself to Claire—he's a professional footballer! Calling him 'the future' barely does his talent justice. Honestly, we're lucky Pete stepped in. Without him, neither us nor Universal could've signed Claire."
Costa, now ignoring Katy's clingy protests, focused on typing a message on his phone.
Meanwhile, in Hollywood, Edgar Bronfman Jr. watched with interest as Transformers underwent editing. He'd had his eye on the film adaptation since its early stages, tracking its progress from pre-production to filming. Now, as the final cut took shape, he couldn't help but regret not investing when Paramount greenlit the project.
"Hey, Spielberg, what's your box-office prediction for this?"
"I'm not the director—you'll have to ask Michael," Spielberg replied, eyes fixed on the screen.
Unfazed, Edgar—fellow member of Hollywood's Jewish elite—continued praising Megan Fox's fiery performance. "Casting's spot-on. This girl's a spitfire. Heard she's been giving Michael hell."
Edgar burst out laughing. "Wait, the legendary playboy Michael Bay actually met his match? Now that's fresh."
"Though she might need to reshoot a scene in London. Skipping it could drive up costs."
Just as Edgar was about to respond, his phone pinged.
[Claire Lee successfully signed. Our streaming platform is ready for launch.]
His grin widened. "By the way, have you locked in the film's theme song yet?"
"Not yet. Got any artists in mind?"
"Oh, just you wait. I'll make sure it's a surprise."
Back in his car, Edgar fired off a flurry of messages. His screen displayed every detail of Claire's negotiations with Costa Muyal. After scanning the report, he smirked.
Truthfully, Edgar hadn't signed Claire out of admiration for his talent. As a capitalist, his motives were far more calculated.
Though still branded Warner, Warner Records had actually been sold in 2004 by the cash-strapped Warner Bros. Pictures to Edgar's investment group for $2.6 billion.
The saying "blood is thicker than water" didn't apply here. Under Edgar—dubbed the "Ruthless CEO" for revitalizing Universal Music from near-bankruptcy in 1996—Warner Records underwent brutal restructuring.
What set Warner apart wasn't just its Hollywood ties (money could buy those) but its global network of over 1,000 radio stations, acquired in the $600 million asset package.
Yet as Amazon, Google, and eBay reshaped industries, Edgar saw the writing on the wall: the internet would devastate traditional music. His solution? A radical pivot.
After two years of reforms, Warner Records went public. Now, with Claire as a pawn in his grand scheme, Edgar was ready to unleash his vision—one that would send Warner's stock soaring.