The lively party was still in full swing when Leon said his goodbyes to a tipsy Eli, Trevor, and Dave, slipping out early.
In the car, the buzz of alcohol and the easygoing vibe vanished from his face. He didn't start the engine right away. Instead, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
"Alice," he said as soon as the call connected, "look into Martin Cole, my old agent. I need his current address—every detail you can get. Also, dig up his recent bank transactions, phone records, and regular hangouts. Keep it quiet."
Rapid keyboard clicks came from the other end. "Got it. Usual deal. I'll send it to your encrypted email in an hour."
"Thanks." Leon hung up, lit a cigarette, and let the smoke curl through the sealed car, framing his expressionless profile.
Try to ruin me, Martin Cole? You better just be drunk and talking big. Otherwise…
An hour later, in the study of Leon's apartment, his computer screen displayed Alice's encrypted file. Martin Cole's address, habits, and financial situation were laid bare. The guy was struggling, clearly desperate for cash. That explained why he was trying to latch onto Leon like a lifeline.
Leon scanned the info, his eyes locking onto Martin's home address and a key detail: every Wednesday night, Martin got plastered at a regular bar and took a cab home. A plan quickly took shape in his mind.
...
Wednesday night, Martin Cole stumbled back to his rundown apartment, drunk as expected. He fumbled with his keys, barely managing to unlock the door, and staggered inside, oblivious to the faint, fresh scratch on the lock's edge.
He collapsed onto the couch, snoring within minutes.
In the darkness, a figure emerged from the bedroom shadows like a ghost. Gloved and silent, they moved with precision, searching the apartment thoroughly. In a cheap safe disguised as a book, they found what they were looking for: a thick manila envelope labeled "Leon." Inside were outdated, shady contract drafts, cherry-picked email printouts, and a few ambiguously angled personal photos—old stuff that, with malicious editing, could stir up trouble.
Leon flipped through it, a mocking smirk tugging at his lips. This is it? He'd overestimated the guy.
He emptied the envelope into his bag and replaced it with another set of documents Alice had uncovered: evidence of Martin's own "achievements" as an agent—forged documents to skim client commissions, manipulated audition outcomes, and even vague hints of inappropriate contact with underage actors. The evidence was gray-area stuff, but enough to spark an investigation. Each piece was far more damning than Martin's flimsy dirt on Leon.
Leon restored the safe to its original state, erased any trace of his presence, and slipped out as if he'd never been there.
...
A few days later, Martin Cole got an unexpected call from Doug Fret, a reporter known for his sharp edge.
"Mr. Cole," Doug said, his tone dripping with suggestive sympathy, "I've heard some things… about how Leon Donaldson treats his 'old friends.' I have a different take on Chainsaw's success. The public deserves to know the story behind the glitz. Rumor has it you've got some material?"
Martin was over the moon. Struggling to find a big enough platform, and now a famous reporter was knocking? He launched into a tirade, painting Leon as an ungrateful, ruthless monster, hinting at the "bombshell" evidence he held.
Doug listened patiently, feigning outrage at the right moments. "Mr. Cole, talk is cheap. If you've got solid proof, my column's willing to pay. But it has to hold up under scrutiny."
Martin, thrilled, hung up but felt his original dirt wasn't heavy enough. Then, a "lucky break" fell into his lap. At a seedy bar where washed-up agents and tabloid reporters swapped industry gossip, a mysterious middleman claiming ties to "Fox's mailroom" sold Martin a floppy disk that could "take down Leon Donaldson." Martin drained his last savings to buy it and vanished.
Clutching the disk, Martin rushed home and shoved it into his computer, hands shaking. The files were gold: forged financial documents and internal memos showing Leon had signed a secret "dual contract" with Fox. The public contract looked normal, but a hidden addendum revealed Fox funneled a massive "creative consulting fee" to him through a shady Cayman Islands shell company—a blatant sign of tax evasion and money laundering.
Even juicier were emails between Leon and the notoriously stingy Harvey Milk, coldly discussing how to inflate Chainsaw's marketing costs with fake ad placements and nonexistent market research contracts to hide profits and screw over a minor investor who only got backend profits. It was explosive.
This wasn't just a talented young writer anymore—it painted Leon as a morally bankrupt con artist colluding with greedy execs. It fed perfectly into Martin's hatred and his vision of Hollywood's "dark underbelly."
Martin lost it. He felt like God was finally on his side. This had to be Leon and Fox falling out or Leon crossing someone powerful, handing Martin the ultimate weapon.
Without hesitation, he packaged all his scraps of dirt with this "priceless" bombshell and contacted the one reporter he thought bold enough to run it: Doug Fret.
"Doug! I've got it! This is a nuke! Ironclad proof Leon Donaldson and Fox execs are dodging taxes, faking books, and ripping off investors! I paid big for this—straight from the source!" Martin screamed into the phone, his voice warped with excitement and greed, already picturing Leon's downfall and jail time.
Doug played cautious, asking to see a sample. Martin sent the most damning pages. Doug replied, "This is shocking… but it's serious. I need to ensure my source is protected and this is exclusive. We need to meet in person, cash deal."
Martin agreed, dreaming of cash and revenge.
At the meet, Doug took the full "dirt package" and paid cash—funded by Leon. Martin left, smug, waiting for Doug's column to blow up the world.
Instead, police and the agents' union investigators showed up.
Doug didn't publish. Citing the "gravity" of the material, he "responsibly" turned it over to the union's ethics committee and Fox's legal team for "verification," and, "out of professional duty," alerted the authorities.
The union and Fox's lawyers moved fast. Martin's old dirt was weak, and the "bombshell" data? Tech experts found hidden digital fingerprints tying it all back to Martin's own computer and devices.
The case was airtight: Martin Cole, bitter over his former client Leon Donaldson, not only gathered flimsy slander but fabricated a trove of fake evidence to sell to the media for profit and defamation. Witnesses? Doug Fret, the "upright" reporter. Evidence? The forged files and their origin. Motive? Martin's resentment and financial desperation. It was a slam dunk.
When Martin was arrested at home, he was dumbfounded, screaming, "It was Doug! Doug Fret set me up! He bought it! He tricked me!" But no one bought it. A respected reporter exposing a conspiracy versus a disgraced ex-agent with all evidence pointing to his guilt? His claims sounded like a desperate dog barking.
Doug Fret published a timely column: "Beware Hollywood's Hidden Daggers: How Falsehoods and Personal Grudges Tried to Destroy Success." He painted himself as a vigilant journalist who cleverly uncovered a vile plot against a rising star, defending the industry's "truth."
Martin Cole was permanently banned from the agents' union and faced charges of forgery, defamation, and fraud, his reputation and freedom gone.
As for Leon Donaldson?
In his apartment, watching the news, he got a call from Doug Fret.
"It's done," Doug said simply.
"Thanks. Nice column," Leon replied.