In the corner of the Kangaroo bar, the atmosphere felt like someone had hit the pause button.
On the table between them sat two things.
On one side, Harvey's ten-million-dollar contract.
On the other, Link's plain stack of ordinary A4 script pages.
Russell Crowe's gaze bounced back and forth between the two.
Harvey leaned back on the couch, lazily blowing smoke rings, smiling like the outcome was already in his pocket.
Just then, a man in an Armani suit squeezed his way over.
"Russell!" He shot Link a sharp look, then instantly plastered on a flattering smile and nodded at Harvey. "Mr. Harvey, sorry I'm late."
It was Rick—Russell's agent.
He barely glanced at the script before snatching up the contract, his eyes lighting up.
"Ten million dollars! My God!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Harvey, you're incredibly generous!" He slapped a hand on Russell's shoulder, his tone turning commanding. "Don't overthink it! This is the one! You'll be living in Beverly Hills in no time!"
Rick shot Link a disdainful glance and snorted.
"Art? Can art pay your bills?"
Russell frowned even harder. Before he could speak, Link smiled.
He looked at Rick and said evenly, "Mr. Rick, do you really think Gladiator is a solid project?"
"Of course!" Rick stared at him like he was an idiot. "Directed by Ridley Scott. A massive epic. What's there to question?"
"Ridley Scott?" Link raised an eyebrow and turned to Harvey. "That's strange. I heard his agent was talking with Fox yesterday about X-Men."
He paused, then added casually, "By the way—how many drafts is your script on now?"
Harvey's smile stiffened for a split second. "Our people are still in talks with Ridley Scott… the script is being polished."
Rick's expression changed immediately.
Link ignored them and looked straight at Russell, his tone calm and unhurried.
"What you're holding is a bad check. He just wants to use your name to patch up a bunch of holes in his Roman Empire."
He slid his script forward, his voice steady.
"But I have two things that are guaranteed."
Russell's eyes lit up.
"First, you come with me to make A Beautiful Mind and win an Oscar.
Second, after we're done winning awards, I'll invest in a real epic. We'll rebuild Rome using the best technology in the world."
Rick slammed the table, furious. "Nonsense! What are you using to guarantee that? That money-losing foundation of yours?"
Harvey sneered. "Anyone can talk big. What makes you think you can use the best technology?"
Link was about to respond when his brick phone rang—ring.
He pulled it out, glanced at the number, and said casually, "Sorry. I need to take this."
"Hello?"
"Is this Mr. Link ? This is George."
Link straightened, lowering his voice. "Mr. George. Hello."
The voice on the other end was calm and measured. "Katherine told me about your idea. I like working with madmen—because only madmen can see the future. In principle, I agree."
Link smiled. "So?"
"So my lawyer will contact your lawyer tomorrow to work out the details." The voice paused. "Welcome to another galaxy, young man."
"Looking forward to it, George."
The call ended.
The entire booth fell silent.
Harvey curled his lip mockingly. "What, landlord calling to collect rent?"
Link didn't respond. He simply slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Russell frowned. "Who's George?"
Harvey remembered the area code he'd glimpsed on the screen. The glass in his hand trembled slightly, his eyes reddening.
He stared at Link, his mouth twitching as he forced out two words through clenched teeth:
"George. Lucas."
Rick's smile froze solid.
Russell held his beer, stunned for a moment, then finally let out a low laugh.
He weighed the script in his hand, then pushed the gold-embossed contract back across the table.
"Mr. Harvey," he said, grinning with a flash of white teeth, his voice rough, "your offer is generous. But first, I need to win a war inside my own head."
He paused and tapped the script.
"As for Rome—I trust Mr. Link won't make me wait too long."
Harvey's face turned green. He slammed his glass down on the table.
"You'll regret this."
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