The conference room was spotless and bright, with wide, clear windows.
From the 39th floor, Manhattan's streets looked like blood vessels, and the cars and pedestrians below appeared as ants scurrying about their lives. Yet, this height wasn't enough—certainly not high enough to break through the clouds and feel the sun's unfiltered brightness.
People always wanted to climb higher—
The 49th floor. The 59th. The 99th.
Until they could overlook the entire world.
But Lucas Wood found it all rather dull. Everyone seemed driven by the desire to conquer—conquer the world, the universe, the stars. Yet, the more they yearned for this, the more it revealed their insecurity and inner emptiness, hiding their insignificance behind grand, unreachable goals.
Conquest had nothing to do with courage or boldness.
Still, life was about finding ways to pass the time.
Lucas didn't mind their ambitions for "conquest," as long as they didn't interfere with him. In fact, he might even use their mentality to create a space of indulgence for himself: an $8,000 handcrafted Italian sofa, a £10,000 British bespoke suit, and a $350,000 piece of modern art—allowing him to enjoy life's luxuries in peace.
Not bad, really.
In front of him sat a man just like that—
Speaking passionately about his dreams, painting a grand vision of the world he hoped to shape—his ambitions, his goals, the achievements he sought.
Blah, blah, blah. The words were full of "I, I, I," a trait typical of Hollywood types.
For some reason, Lucas felt a slight throb in his temple, his heart skipping a beat. An inexplicable sense of anxiety crept in, a feeling of unease gripping him tightly.
It felt like a bad omen.
Quietly regaining control, Lucas brought his drifting thoughts back and leaned slightly forward. He decided to steer the conversation.
"Mr. Pitt."
"Brad Pitt."
Finally!
The man dubbed the "Sexiest Man Alive" stopped his endless monologue and looked at Lucas, his eyes playful—
There was no anger, no frustration, but clearly, he hadn't fully accepted being interrupted. His gaze locked on Lucas, and the motion of chewing his gum slowed down, gradually letting the silence grow awkward.
Lucas never knew Brad Pitt could talk so much off-screen.
But it didn't matter.
Lucas cut straight to the point, "This won't work."
"I don't know much about movies."
"But I do know that starting your own production company won't make you a legendary actor, nor will it make you a billionaire."
"This is their game, a Wall Street game."
"Of course, unless your only goal is to have the freedom to pick scripts, make films that interest you, regardless of their success or failure, and change your pretty-boy image—then yes, starting a production company is a good idea."
"Not brilliant, but smart enough."
"However, if your goal is to change your standing in Hollywood and achieve your dreams, starting a production company isn't the way to do it. You'll never surpass DreamWorks."
"And they had three backers; you only have yourself."
"Or… does your wife's money also come into play?"
His tone was calm and steady, but the sharpness hidden in his words was impossible to ignore. There was no change in his pitch, yet every sentence felt like a jab.
Brad didn't speak, but his agent beside him erupted.
"You better show some respect!"
"This is Brad Pitt, Hollywood's most valuable man. If anyone can change the industry and make history, it's him."
Lucas remained expressionless, his brow not even twitching.
"Oh."
That's all he said.
"So, the $20 Million Club?"
The room fell silent because Brad wasn't part of that exclusive $20 Million Club.
"Never mind, no need to answer. Because even being in the $20 Million Club wouldn't change anything. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here looking for investment advice to start a production company, right?"
"Even if you became the next DreamWorks, you still wouldn't change your status—because you don't have enough money."
"And I'm not talking about $100 million or $200 million."
Buzz, buzz, buzz. His phone vibrated softly.
John Quinn, one of the company's top executives and the man who promoted Lucas to partner a few years back, had faith in Lucas' talents.
When Brad Pitt approached them for financial advice, signaling he was searching for partners, John saw an opportunity—not just in Pitt himself, but in gaining a foothold in Hollywood. By opening a Los Angeles branch, their firm could attract actors clueless about money management, securing a new market.
John trusted Lucas to handle the situation. And he'd heard Lucas' brother was an actor too, which could be a bonus.
Up until now, the conversation had been tense, but John believed Lucas had control of it—until the phone's vibration broke the flow.
John glanced at Lucas—
Was this all part of the plan? A tactic to further disrupt Brad Pitt's ego?
Lucas glanced at the caller ID as he answered, continuing to speak.
"Starting a production company, that's a choice. It means you're playing their game, but…"
His voice trailed off as he saw the name on the screen—
Noah Newman.
Anson's assistant. Anson had always refused the idea of hiring an assistant, preferring to work alone. So Lucas had gone ahead and hired one through Edgar, assigning Noah to Anson without waiting for any protests.
Lucas knew Anson wouldn't fire Noah—he'd feel too guilty about making someone lose their job. In the end, Anson kept Noah, just as Lucas had predicted.
Now Noah was calling. Had something happened?
Lucas' heart raced, the sense of foreboding growing stronger.
He nodded politely to Brad as an apology but didn't speak before answering the call.
John's expression shifted slightly, and he decided to break the tension, turning to Brad with a quick explanation, "…it's a busy time for us right now."
After just a few seconds on the phone, Lucas hung up, barely five seconds passing. "Sorry, something urgent came up. I have to leave now."
He rattled off a string of words, not waiting for any response. Turning swiftly, he pulled open the conference room door and left, like a storm passing through.
Inside the room, everyone exchanged confused glances, utterly bewildered by what had just happened.
John's smile froze halfway across his face.