They say Hollywood's dirt only comes second to the White House.
Dunn doesn't know much about the White House, but he knows Hollywood inside out.
And it's not as filthy as people think!
Sure, it's all glitz and glamour, full of secrets—booze, gambling, drugs, you name it. The unspoken "casting couch" deals? Yeah, they're real.
But the Hollywood of the new century isn't the same as it was fifty years ago. These days, those deals are more about mutual consent—both sides getting what they want. It might raise some moral eyebrows, but it's not exactly illegal.
Of course, there are outliers like Harvey Weinstein. That guy's a creep—used his power to force himself on plenty of actresses. Still, even a scumbag like him sticks to one hard line: no minors.
Hollywood bigwigs usually play it safe—Michael Jackson and Woody Allen's scandals left too deep a scar.
But sports?
Dunn can say with confidence: the sports world is a hundred, a thousand, a million times dirtier than entertainment!
Fixed games, doped-up athletes, crooked refs, shady gambling ties, corruption, power grabs—it's all there!
And when it comes to women? Disgusting. Some of these creeps even target minors—girls as young as six or seven!
Dunn's seen the headlines, so Leonardo's words hit him hard.
The U.S. gymnastics sex abuse scandal is horrifying.
Hundreds of girls—some just kids—assaulted. Male coaches, male doctors preying on young athletes. Even female coaches got in on it!
A lot of these creeps were big names—top coaches, star doctors who'd done big things for U.S. sports. When it all came out, the U.S. Gymnastics Association and the broader sports council pulled strings to bury it.
Victims grew up and fought back, but they hit walls—official or unofficial. Cases got hushed up, and the punishments? Slaps on the wrist.
It wasn't until 2016, after seven years of digging by the Indianapolis Star, that the full mess spilled out. They reported at least 368 American gymnasts abused by coaches or staff—half of them under 10 at the time.
That bombshell finally ripped the mask off the "Dream Team" of women's gymnastics.
It didn't stop there—it spread across the Western sports world. English Premier League teams like Chelsea and Manchester City had creeps targeting young boys.
U.S. swimming had its own gut-wrenching scandals.
Tennis, boxing—even FIFA's saintly president Blatter got caught groping female players at award ceremonies.
In his second shot at life, Dunn never saw himself as a hero. The world's too full of ugly crap for him to fix.
But U.S. gymnastics? That hits close to home.
Why? The age.
These girls start training at five or six, hitting the stage at fifteen or sixteen. They give up their whole childhood for a dream, only to face this kind of brutality. It's heartbreaking.
Dunn never planned to save the world. Take 9/11—he's not lifting a finger to stop it. He'll just watch it unfold, even if it means thousands of U.S. soldiers die and the Middle East burns.
What's that got to do with him?
He's living it up in America, carefree.
He might even cash in on the chaos.
But these gymnasts? They're different. Innocent, naive kids—most haven't even hit puberty—preyed on by monsters.
This isn't just an industry or race or border issue. It's a crime against humanity!
Any decent, flesh-and-blood person hearing this would be furious—wanting to tear those animals apart!
Even Leonardo DiCaprio—cynical, smirky Leonardo—gets dead serious talking about it.
…
The heavy topic kills the vibe between Leonardo and Dunn.
Rose sees Dunn's dark mood and slides over, settling into his lap. She hooks her arms around his neck, biting her lip. "How about… I call Cameron Diaz over? She could help you unwind."
Dunn shakes his head with a small smile. "Nah. This shoot's been rough, and dealing with Daniel Day-Lewis is a nightmare. Let's not bug her—maybe later."
Rose nestles in closer, cautious. "What were you guys talking about? You look so down."
Dunn lets out a long sigh. "Rose, tell me—when someone's got enough money, enough clout, what's left to chase?"
Rose grins. "Talking about yourself?"
Dunn nods. "Kinda, yeah!"
She teases, "Aren't you… always chasing new women?"
"Cough… that doesn't count!"
"Didn't you say your Hollywood career's just getting started?" She blinks, skeptical.
Dunn shrugs. "It is, but… it's on track. Ruling Hollywood's just a matter of time."
Rose giggles, covering her mouth. "Well, great! Aren't you pushing feminism? That's a huge, long-term gig. Could be your big goal."
"Feminism?"
Dunn raises an eyebrow. He's a macho guy—feminism's more a tool for him than a cause.
Rose, clueless to his real take, perks up. "Yeah, feminism! Such a cool direction. Like Martin Luther King—he's a hero worldwide! Sure, his personal life was messy, but his big image? That overshadows the flaws."
Dunn's eyes light up. Now that's interesting.
Martin Luther King, a pastor, did worse stuff than Dunn in private.
With media getting sharper, Dunn's antics won't stay hidden forever.
But if he hops on the feminism train—political correctness in full glory—like MLK waved the "racial equality" flag, Dunn could wave "gender equality." His personal slip-ups? They'd just be shadows in the sunlight.
"That's a damn good idea!"
Dunn can't help but praise her.
Rose beams, pleased. "Right? If you pull it off, your image would shine. Oh—I hear Harvey Weinstein's awful. You could take him down first!"
"Take down Harvey?" Dunn gives a wry laugh. "Not that easy! Wait—Harvey Weinstein… yeah!"
A lightbulb goes off, and it all clicks!
He's been wrestling with whether to personally blow the lid off the gymnastics scandal.
It's a good fight.
But it means going up against the U.S. Gymnastics Association, the sports council—maybe even bigger vested interests. It won't be a cakewalk.
In his past life, this mess had whispers for 20 years before it broke wide open.
But Harvey's name flips a switch. Dunn's mind's made up.
He's gonna play savior!
He'll clean up gymnastics—give those little girls a safe, green space to train!
"Damn right! I'm taking these scumbags down together!"
Dunn's eyes blaze with confidence.
Rose stares, shocked. "Dunn, what're you talking about?"
He grins mysteriously. "You wouldn't get it."
Harvey Weinstein's crossed Dunn too many times—he's been itching to deal with him.
But taking Harvey out? That's three big hurdles.
With Dunn's current juice, he can't clear even one.
First hurdle: Harvey runs Miramax, a Disney subsidiary. He's got Disney's shield.
Second: He's Jewish, with deep ties in the industry—big shots, especially in the Academy, where his network's unmatched.
Third: He's Hollywood elite. A guy like that's the industry's face. Exposing him slaps Hollywood itself—toughest nut to crack.
So dropping Harvey isn't like crushing some nobody like Joe Roth. It needs the perfect moment.
A few casual words with Rose, and Dunn's sharp enough to spot it.
That moment? The U.S. gymnastics scandal!
When you can't hit head-on, take a page from WWII Germany—skirt the Maginot Line, flank 'em, and blitz through before they know what's up!
Dunn laughs loud, his funk gone. He pulls Rose close, plants a kiss. "Babe, you're brilliant!"
Rose blinks, confused but flattered. "What? I don't even get it!"
"Haha, you don't need to!" Dunn chuckles, then winks slyly, voice low. "Wanna hit the bedroom?"
Rose blushes, biting her lip. "You sure we don't need to call Miss Cameron Diaz too?"
"Nope. Just you—I'm gonna spoil you good. Your reward!"
Dunn scoops her up in his arms and heads for the bedroom.