`The document they handed over by assistant bore three bright red union seals.
"Indefinite work stoppage."
Those words instantly froze the air in the rehearsal room.
Bender opened his mouth but couldn't say a word. Chuck Russell's eyes, which had just lit up moments earlier, dimmed again. Jim Carrey—rarely serious—didn't crack a single face this time. He just stared at the document like it was a death sentence.
The two New Line producers exchanged a glance. One of them, Mike, swallowed hard and looked toward Link, his tie suddenly feeling way too tight.
"Mr. Link," Mike cleared his throat, his voice dry and strained, "we need an explanation. We didn't invest this money so you could go to war with every union in Hollywood."
The other producer quietly set his briefcase on his knees, clearly preparing for a quick exit if things went south.
All the pressure in the room collapsed onto Link alone.
He picked up the document, read it carefully, then folded it once… twice… until it became a small square. He casually set it on the corner of the table. The movement wasn't fast, but everyone in the room could feel the restrained force in his fingers.
"An explanation?" Link looked up. His face was calm, but his eyes were ice-cold.
"The explanation is simple. The game has started."
Bender nearly lost it. "Link! This isn't a damn game—this is a war! And we don't even have guns!"
"Who says we don't?" Link leaned back in his chair and looked at Mike. "Harvey wants us to play by his rules, right?"
"Yes! But we can't beat him at his own game!"
"Then we flip the table."
His tone was mild, but the words carried real bite.
Link turned back to Mike. "You can call Shaye right now. According to the contract, if you pull your funding, you owe three million in penalties. But if you're willing to trust me one more time…"
He leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with him, speaking slowly and clearly:
"Before the Christmas box office window ends, I'll double New Line's stock price."
Mike froze for a few seconds. Then he quietly took his hand off the briefcase and sat back down.
Only after the investors were settled did Link close his eyes and sink into his thoughts.
[Empire Blueprint (Basic)]
[Function Two: Strategic Simulation]
[Decision Point: How to respond to the union work stoppage?]
Option A: Legal action → Success rate: 12%. Time required: 1–2 years. Project collapses. Pangu goes bankrupt.
Option B: Private settlement → Success rate: 38%. Requires surrendering creative control + public apology. Pangu's reputation destroyed.
Option C: Public opinion counterattack → Success rate: 91%. High risk. Possible total isolation by the old powers.
Link opened his eyes, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
He liked "high risk."
"Lawrence," he said quietly, "get me Sarah Jenkins from The Hollywood Reporter."
Bender stared at him. "Sarah Jenkins? That savage reporter with the poison pen? We should be calling lawyers right now!"
"Lawyers clean up after wars," Link said calmly, picking up the phone. "They don't lead the charge. What I need is a PR bomb that blows up all of Hollywood."
Bender wanted to argue again, but when he saw the confidence in Link's eyes, he dialed the number.
"Ms. Jenkins, this is Link."
There was a brief pause on the other end, then her voice turned excited. "Mr. Link! Following up on Cannes?"
"No," Link said with a faint smile. "I've got something bigger. An exclusive story about how Harvey Weinstein manipulates the three major unions to strangle independent film projects."
On the other end of the line, all that remained was rapid breathing.
Link didn't give her time to think—he pressed harder.
"I'll send you copies of the work stoppage order. And a list—over the past five years, more than thirty small companies like ours were quietly crushed the same way. Remember Island Diary? Test screenings were through the roof, and it still died on the beach because of some bullshit 'union surcharge.'"
Sarah Jenkins said nothing, but Link could feel it—the predator on the other end had caught the scent of blood.
"Tomorrow morning," Link said, his voice cold as ice, "I want all of Hollywood debating one question—"
"Which matters more: union rules… or a great movie?"
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