"This is ABC Television. The highly anticipated 76th Academy Awards Ceremony is about to begin, with the red-carpet segment starting right now…"
It was barely past five in the afternoon, Pacific Time, when Brian Lister was already in front of the TV, switching to ABC-1 just as the Oscar broadcast began.
He'd tuned in at the perfect moment; within two minutes people began strutting onto the red carpet. Though his favorite star hadn't shown up yet, watching one gorgeous couple after another kept him riveted.
Just as Australian actress Naomi Watts walked the Oscar red carpet hand-in-hand with her boyfriend Heath Ledger, old man Lister came home from work.
"Has it started?" Lister asked.
Brian Lister pointed at the screen. "Red carpet's on." Then, in a teasing tone, "Another May-December romance—ten-plus-year gap."
Lister hung up his coat, poured himself a glass of water, and sat in an armchair. "Didn't you say Matthew's attending this year? is he there yet?"
Brian shook his head. "Not yet."
"Hmm." Lister nodded and muttered, "I underestimated him—already clawed his way to the Oscars."
"is scoring an Oscar invite that rare?" Brian countered. "You probably don't know how huge Matthew is right now."
After all, the kid had once been his subordinate and was still a client, so Lister asked curiously, "Oh? Tell me."
Haven't you seen the news lately?"
Seeing his father shake his head, Brian rattled off, "Just over a week ago TMZ and Entertainment Weekly both reported Matthew landed the lead in national treasure by beating Jude Law, James Franco, Colin Farrell and Nicolas Cage in the audition!"
He sounded pumped. "Those younger guys are all second-tier like Matthew, but he beat Nicolas Cage—an Oscar winner, an A-Lister!"
Brian beamed with reflected glory. "Dad, isn't Matthew amazing?"
Lister simply smiled.
He said nothing more; working in a Hollywood-adjacent field, he knew it was just studio hype—but saw no need to burst his son's bubble.
Teens obsessing over stars is normal, and compared with the wilder celebs out there, Brian idolizing Matthew Horner hardly bothered him. His former driver's rise made a decent role model.
Not everyone climbs from chauffeur to bona-fide Hollywood Star.
Even Lister had to admire Matthew Horner for that.
On-screen, Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon swept past the cameras.
"Dad, look!" Brian jabbed a finger at the TV. "Matthew—Matthew's here!"
Lister focused and sure enough saw Matthew Horner step out of a black limo and onto the red carpet.
Brian stared, transfixed. "He's so manly!"
A perfectly tailored black tux set off his towering, commanding aura—wild and predatory, as if born for the spotlight.
The ABC host's voice rang from the set.
"No introduction needed—Matthew Horner was one of America's hottest leading men last year. Alongside Johnny Depp in pirates of the caribbean he created the classic on-screen duo of Will Turner and Jack Sparrow. Currently the fastest-rising male star in Hollywood, he has reportedly signed with Jerry Bruckheimer's national treasure as the film's lead…"
Lister could only marvel—leave it to a Walt Disney-owned network to plug its own tent-pole during an Oscar telecast.
"Did you hear that, Dad?" Brian chimed in. "The man just called Matthew the next megastar!"
Lister grunted, "Yeah, the next megastar."
As Matthew Horner reached mid-carpet, the director cut to the next arriving celebrity.
"That quick? Over already?" Brian Lister griped. "Way too fast!"
He stretched, stood up, and headed for the kitchen. "I'll check if Mom's got dinner ready."
"Go on." Lister waved him off, eyes still on the red-carpet feed.
To him the Oscar arrivals were a weather vane—any fresh face walking that carpet
was a potential new client for the agency.
Take Matthew Horner, for example—he's always handled party and housekeeping services, bringing in nearly ten thousand dollars last year. Housekeeping is straightforward, but every celebrity party costs a fortune, and the trend shows Matthew's party spending is only going up; he might soon be hiring high-end models at premium rates.
As the direct account manager, he'd definitely earn a fat commission.
Although Lister no longer saw Matthew on the TV screen, every thought revolved around him. He'd heard from Brian that Matthew's salary for national treasure and dawn of the dead had both crossed five million, and with the pirates of the caribbean sequel, he was undeniably a ten-million-dollar man.
That client dwarfs the previous Jonny Lee Miller!
Problem is, Matthew's current house is too small—parties or events are a hassle. Worse, such a tiny place barely needs upkeep, so housekeeping revenue is minimal. Lister's mind started spinning: isn't it time Matthew Horner upgraded? This little house hardly fits his status. He'd hinted before—maybe I should nudge him?
A bigger house makes parties easier; how many models fit in here? A Beverly Hills or Malibu estate could handle a dozen.
For Matthew's future happiness, I should find a chance to push him to move!
On Hollywood Boulevard, dusk settled and Kodak Theatre blazed with light.
Thanks to Uncle Laden's stunt, security for tonight's Academy Awards Ceremony was unprecedented.
Choppers circled overhead, barricades lined the Walk of Fame, and Kodak Theatre—venue of the Oscars—was fortified with every tech and manpower available: surveillance cameras, metal detectors, an officer at every corner. Even the 500 fans in the bleachers watching the red carpet were closely monitored.
Matthew stepped into the photo pen, striking practiced poses and flashing a winning smile for the cameras.
Since the broadcaster was Disney-owned ABC Television, they interviewed him after the shoot.
Nothing too surprising—questions focused on the Pirates sequel and the filming of national treasure, ending with the usual predictions segment.
"Personally, I believe the lord of the rings: the return of the king will win best picture, and its director Peter Jackson is most likely to take Best Director."
Facing ABC's live camera, Matthew answered calmly, "For Best Actor, I'm rooting for Depp—his performance in pirates of the caribbean deserves that honor! Charlize Theron is the Best Actress favorite; she's a good friend and I'm sure she'll win!"
Apart from Johnny Depp, Matthew's predictions echoed the consensus.
Once Oscar nominations drop, guessing the winners becomes the most fascinating game.
This year's media forecasts are strikingly uniform: best picture and Director to the lord of the rings: the return of the king and New Zealander Peter Jackson; Best Actor and Actress to Sean Penn and Charlize Theron, who've swept awards season; Supporting trophies to Tim Robbins and Renée Zellweger.
Some outlets even call it the least suspenseful Oscars ever—predictable races can feel dull.
With nearly six thousand Academy members, only two people know the results right now—PwC partners Greg Garrison and Rick Rosas.
They set out from PwC's L.A. office in separate cars, taking different routes to Kodak Theatre, each carrying a sealed envelope to avoid delays or mishaps.
After the interview, Matthew walked alone into Kodak Theatre along a special path. As a member of a nominated crew, he had a prime seat—fifth row center, easily caught by cameras.
Johnny Depp hadn't arrived yet. Matthew greeted a few crewmates, sat down, and scoped the room, focusing on young, attractive actresses—especially those who'd spark headlines.
He never forgot he was on assignment.
His gaze fixed on the Whale Rider contingent: thirteen-year-old Best Actress nominee Keisha Castle-Hughes was easily the most eye-catching actress in the room.