Chapter 117 – "Don't Lie to Me! He Is a Tyrant!"
"Tyrant?"
Nina suddenly grabbed Halle Berry's arm, her eyes drifting toward her boss before breaking into a silent, wide grin.
"Halle, I think you've misunderstood Wayne a bit. He wasn't always like this. I swear, the longer he works on set, the more patient he becomes. It's rare to see him lose his temper."
That only made Halle Berry more confused. Even though she hadn't worked on many films yet, she'd heard the stories—directors were notorious for their temperaments, and the more successful they were, the worse it got.
Wayne's cup-smashing moment that morning was seared into everyone's mind. That terrifying flash of fury, even if it had only lasted a second, was enough to make people instinctively back away from him—no one wanted to be the next target of his rage.
"Nina, don't try to fool me," Halle whispered, elbowing the assistant. "You saw his face this morning. And don't forget—you were hiding with me behind the trailer, and you're the one closest to him!"
Thinking back, Nina shivered a little herself. Wayne had always treated her—and everyone around him—really well. But that morning had been the first time she'd truly seen him angry.
"I don't blame him for snapping, Halle," Nina murmured. She knew exactly how much Wayne had riding on this project. "You don't understand how important this film is to him. It's his ticket to the real Hollywood elite. If anything derails this project… imagine the consequences."
Sixty million dollars had been poured into this film, and from the moment he signed the deal, Wayne had been stretched tight. Nina knew that no one else—not even she—could fully grasp the weight on his shoulders.
Around them, the crew murmured in hushed clusters, eyes flicking toward the director's chair. If today's issue wasn't resolved properly, it would shake Wayne's authority over the entire production.
"Halle, looks like there's news. Let's go!" Nina pointed as Zack Snyder jogged through the crowd, heading straight for the director and producer.
"You go," Halle said, backing away. "I'm not getting caught up in that."
As Nina hurried after Zack, Halle climbed back into the trailer, scoffing under her breath. She didn't believe a word the assistant said. She trusted her own instincts:
Wayne Garfield was absolutely a tyrant.
And not just on set.
Halle thought back to the night she'd left Wayne's estate—and immediately shivered. The twisted games that man had played, the way he'd trampled her dignity… her body still ached at the memory.
Even now, she couldn't understand how she'd been foolish enough to throw herself willingly into that tyrant's arms.
—
Zack Snyder, breathing heavily, finally reached Wayne and John.
"He's been found," he said quietly, as Wayne's eyes snapped open.
"He was in a dive bar not far from the hotel. You wouldn't believe it—place was crawling with junkies. It was seriously dangerous."
Wayne finally let out a long breath. "What condition is he in? Why didn't you bring him back?"
"He's… okay, physically. Looks like someone gave him laced weed. Combine that with the alcohol, and he passed out cold on one of the bar tables. We took him back to the hotel to sleep it off. But there's no way he's fit to shoot today."
Zack hesitated, shifting uncomfortably.
Wayne leaned forward in his chair, pressing his fingers to his temples. "What else? Spit it out, Zack. What did Nicholas Cage do this time?"
Zack glanced around, then leaned in and spoke quietly.
"When we got back to the hotel… there were already reporters there. From The New York Times."
"Son of a bitch!"
"Goddammit!"
Wayne and John cursed in unison. The implications hit them like a truck.
They didn't even need competitors to sabotage them—this was enough. If that story made it to the press, especially right before the film's release, it could devastate both public perception and box office numbers.
Wayne had officially lost it.
He leapt to his feet and kicked a small table across the set. He had never been this furious in a professional setting.
"Zack," he barked, "cancel today's shoot. And make it clear—no one talks to the press!"
As the assistant director rushed off to deliver the order, Wayne turned to John.
"Figure out a way to do damage control, brother! A $60 million film, and we've got this kind of scandal on day one! Every newspaper, tabloid, and talk sho
w in America is going to have a field day with this."
John was hit by a wave of helplessness. What the hell is going on here?
"I'm heading back to deal with the media," he said, his tone heavy. "I also need to report this to the studio and get the PR department ready for any fallout."
He stormed off toward his car with a grim expression. But just as he opened the door and sat down, he abruptly got back out and returned.
Looking around at the swarm of over a hundred crewmembers packing up equipment, John gritted his teeth. "There are way too many people here. Someone must have sold us out to The New York Times!"
For the first time ever, the normally affable John showed a flash of menace. His tone turned sharp and icy. "Wayne, find out who leaked it. I'll make sure they understand exactly why Warner Bros. and Time Warner are called the kings of capital!"
Before Wayne could respond, John had already spun on his heel, jumped into the car, and sped off toward the hotel.
This wasn't just Wayne's crisis. For John, it was personal.
His career was tied to Wayne's. If this unconventional commercial film succeeded, John would stand to gain almost as much as the director—just in a different form. It was his golden ticket to climb the Warner Bros. executive ladder.
If the $60 million project tanked, Wayne might still claw his way back. He could start small again, rebuild from indie films. After all, his racial advantage ensured someone would eventually extend him a lifeline.
But John, as the lead producer and production manager, would be the one taking the fall. Warner Bros. would not hesitate to pin the blame squarely on him.
As the car disappeared in the distance, Wayne sat quietly in his director's chair, mentally strategizing ways to salvage the situation and minimize the damage. Somehow, the film had to get back on track.
It wasn't until the entire street had cleared—leaving only Wayne, his assistant Nina, and bodyguard/driver Sergey—that Wayne finally stood up.
Sinking into the backseat of the car, he chuckled as he watched Sergey pack up his chair.
"Boss, are you okay?" Nina asked cautiously, concerned by his sudden laughter.
"Of course," Wayne said dryly. "Just thought it was funny how the props team packed everything up… but no one reminded me to take my chair."
Funny? Nina understood exactly why no one said anything. Who'd dare approach the director at a time like this? No one wanted to become a punching bag for his rage.
As the Rolls-Royce cruised through the bustling streets of New York, Wayne gazed absently out the window at the hurried lives of the metropolis. The pace here was so much faster than L.A.—men and women in business suits hustled past each other with unreadable expressions, chasing their own versions of success.
"If you hadn't given me this job," Nina murmured from beside him, "maybe I'd be one of them—wearing a blazer, crunching numbers on Wall Street, barely earning enough to survive in this city while dreaming of someday owning a home here."
Wayne turned to look at his assistant—the average-looking woman who had never tried to be anything more than reliable—and gave her a soft smile.
"You've done a fantastic job, Nina. Trust me, if you took even two weeks off, my work—and my life—would be a total mess."
Having worked beside Wayne for so long, Nina knew better than anyone that Hollywood kept turning no matter who came or went. Assistants were no exception. If she vanished tomorrow, it wouldn't take long before someone just as competent replaced her.
"Boss, then don't ever let me go," she said with a grin. "I've got two younger brothers in college, and your salary means everything to me."
"What are you talking about?" Wayne chuckled. "This is just a bump in the road. No way this little mess is going to derail the whole production."
He was furious earlier, yes—but he also knew this incident could be contained. It had to be.
(End of Chapter)