1101-1105

*Chapter 1101: The Vanished Memories*

*Missing?*

This was an answer Anson hadn’t expected, and he couldn’t connect the dots.

Anson looked at Lucas. “So, did I find my way back on my own?”

“Wait, Luca, are you sure I’m really your brother? Not an impostor? Should we do a DNA test to be sure? It would be bad if there was a mistake.”

Anson made a small joke, trying to lighten the mood, as the sadness and heaviness in the air were almost palpable.

It was suffocating.

However, this time Anson’s humor didn’t work.

Lucas's eyes were filled with struggle.

“Two days later, the family received a letter. Inside was a photograph and a ransom note.”

“They demanded one hundred thousand dollars.”

Anson was stunned—

This was... a kidnapping?

If it had been an abduction, the criminals wouldn’t have contacted the child's parents at all. They would have sold the child off in secrecy, and the child would have disappeared without a trace, possibly never to be found again.

But that wasn’t the case.

So, it was indeed a kidnapping, and most likely a premeditated one.

At that moment, Anson was very calm because he had no memory of the incident; it felt like he was listening to a story and could analyze it objectively.

But Lucas couldn’t.

For a long, long time, he hadn’t revisited those memories. He thought he had completely forgotten, that the wounds had fully healed.

They hadn’t.

Everything was still so vivid; he could clearly remember every detail:

In the Polaroid photo, little Anson was tied to a chair, blindfolded, with his mouth covered. His pale cheeks bore smudges, and his clothes were dirty and covered in mud. The wounds on his arms and knees weren’t even bandaged, stained with filth.

The background looked like a basement, where Anson was abandoned, alone amidst a pile of bricks and garbage.

When he closed his eyes, Lucas could still hear his mother’s heart-wrenching cries and his father's pacing footsteps. Even if he locked himself in the closet and covered his ears with his hands, the sounds would still find their way in, almost overwhelming him.

His parents never blamed him, but he knew—

“It was my fault.”

Lucas still believed that.

“If I hadn’t taken you out, if I hadn’t let go of your hand…”

Anson tried to pat Lucas on the shoulder but found it too difficult; his right hand froze mid-air. “But in the end, I did come back, didn’t I?”

Lucas shook his head, shaking it hard, his eyes filled with pain.

“No, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“We delivered the cash as instructed, but they didn’t release you right away. Instead, they took the money and vanished without a trace, then sent your location to our home later.”

“When the police found you, it was already five days later.”

“You…you…”

Back then, Anson had been left like a stray dog in that basement, on the brink of death, his frail body seemingly about to break with just a gentle touch.

Lucas could never forgive himself. Ever.

He had almost lost Anson.

The little brother he had always cared for, always tried to protect with all his might.

But because of his foolishness and recklessness, he had nearly disappeared forever.

Even after surviving, Anson had endured such suffering and torment.

Unimaginable.

But Lucas had to constantly remind himself—

This wasn’t about him. His guilt and pain could never compare to the terror Anson had experienced. He should dedicate his life to protecting Anson.

“In the hospital, you were in a coma for three days.”

“When you woke up, you remembered nothing.”

Lucas had been holding back, trying to recount the events as lightly as possible, avoiding the painful and dark details. But in a few words, too many secrets had already been revealed, and the situation was far more than it seemed.

During the first two days, everything was shrouded in fog; their anxiety and distress.

In the following five days, they had done everything they could, yet still had no answers.

The last three days were spent in constant fear, like frightened birds awaiting bad news.

What was seen and unseen, what was left unsaid, was far more harrowing than imagined.

The cruelest part was that no one knew what Anson had gone through during those ten days.

Those ten short days stretched out like a century, with every moment being a torment. The Wood family could only imagine and guess, tearing themselves apart with guilt and self-blame.

Now, all the questions finally had answers.

Beneath the calm surface, scars lay hidden, deep wounds reaching to the bone.

Happiness was merely an illusion, a carefully constructed façade.

Lucas gathered his courage and looked at Anson again, only to find that Anson’s face remained calm, untroubled, showing no struggle, and instead gazed at him with concern, as if the one who had suffered all those years ago was him.

“Anson...do you really not remember?”

Lucas asked cautiously.

When Anson woke up, after the brief relief and joy, the Wood family found themselves torn. They weren’t sure if they should ask Anson about those ten days, or if doing so would cause him more harm.

But Anson remembered nothing, as if nothing had ever happened.

Anson even pestered Lucas to take him to the carnival in Brooklyn, only quieting down with disappointment when Lucas told him it had already left.

They consulted a psychologist and conducted a full brain examination on Anson.

But there were no results.

Those ten days seemed to have been erased from Anson’s mind.

Lucas always believed Anson was pretending, keeping silent to spare them, acting as if nothing had happened.

And he kept up the act for over ten years.

As time passed, Lucas began convincing himself that maybe Anson had truly forgotten, that perhaps they should all pretend nothing had happened, that it was the best way to move forward.

But late at night, Lucas couldn’t help but relive those memories, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

What if—just hypothetically—if Anson remembered everything and they had all pretended nothing had happened, wouldn’t that be cruel?

They had already hurt Anson once. Were they going to keep hurting him for over a decade?

This mere thought tormented Lucas over and over.

They kept telling themselves it was over, that the scars and memories had been left behind, that they should learn to live on. Yet, the effects of that event never faded and were deeply embedded in their souls, leaving them raw and bleeding.

And what about Anson?

Had he also been haunted by those nightmares, lurking in the dark, waiting for the right moment? Or had he never forgotten at all?

Lucas looked at Anson, his eyes filled with unease and fear.

*Chapter 1102: Facing It Calmly*

"Anson... Do you really not remember?"

Lucas asked.

His eyes were filled with too many emotions to name—fear, hesitation, anxiety, and sadness all intertwined, leaving him restless, as if he were tossing and turning in the flames of hell, never finding peace.

Anson met Lucas's gaze calmly and nodded firmly.

"Yeah. I don’t remember anything."

Lucas was stunned.

"The things you just described—I have no recollection of them. It’s like I’m listening to someone else’s story. Honestly, if I didn’t trust you, I might think you were making it up, because there isn’t a single memory in my mind to prove that any of those things happened to me."

Anson let out a soft sigh.

"Lucas, if anyone’s to blame, we should blame the ones who committed the crime. It’s all their fault. We shouldn’t carry their guilt and pain."

"Besides, from the start, it was my decision to go, and I was the one who ran away. You shouldn’t blame yourself."

"Back then, you were just a kid."

Lucas stared blankly at Anson, not moving, until tears wet his cheeks. Realizing how disheveled he looked, he quickly wiped his face with his hand, took a deep breath, and looked up at the sky.

"...It’s not your job to comfort me."

Anson said, "But Mom and Dad never comforted you either."

Lucas didn’t respond.

Although the Woods never blamed Lucas, he could never forgive himself.

Lucas rubbed the corner of his eye. "Sometimes, I wished they would scold me, but they never did. They just pretended it never happened."

And so, the wound remained there—

Festering. Infected. Never healing.

It wasn’t just Lucas; the Woods were the same. They worked hard to maintain their everyday lives, afraid to stop or examine the wound, fearing that if they let up even a little, their lives would fall apart.

That’s why they doted on Anson so fiercely, almost irrationally.

Anson was the key to keeping everything in balance.

As long as he was there, they were all there; but what if he wasn’t?

It was impossible to imagine what would have happened to the Wood family if Anson had truly closed his eyes forever in that bathroom stall.

Thinking of this made Anson feel a bit sad, and a little jealous too.

In his previous life, that was all he ever wanted. He didn’t care if they lost everything, didn’t mind hitting rock bottom. Even in endless darkness and despair, as long as his family was together, there would be hope.

But he never had that.

His father disappeared without a trace, and he never saw him again—didn’t even know if he was alive or dead.

He tried to convince himself that his father left to protect them, to keep them safe, but as time went on, he had no energy left to think about it.

His mother tried to help, wholeheartedly supporting him, but there was nothing she could do. She just hoped, day and night, that his father would come back.

And then... everything would magically get better.

Closing his eyes, memories of his past life came flooding back.

But Anson quickly regained control of himself.

He had promised himself not to dwell on the past and to focus on the present.

This time, he wanted to enjoy life.

"Lucas."

Lucas didn’t look up, but Anson didn’t give up. He waited patiently, letting the silence stretch on.

Finally, Lucas noticed something unusual, raised his head, and saw the smile in Anson’s eyes.

"It’s in the past."

Anson looked Lucas in the eye.

"You shouldn’t keep punishing yourself."

"Look, I don’t remember anything. There’s not a single memory in my mind. I’ve already moved on, but you’re all still stuck in the past."

Maybe it was time to let go.

Lucas remained frozen, his mind swirling with thoughts, unable to process it all.

If Anson truly had no memory of what happened and could continue living his life, that would be a good thing. Those memories could stay buried in the ashes of time.

But why couldn’t Lucas feel happy?

"No."

Lucas finally found his thoughts and grasped the core of the matter amidst the chaos.

"No, no, no, you’re lying."

"You just haven’t remembered yet, but deep down, those nightmares are still lurking, aren’t they?"

"That’s the real reason we’re talking about this today. You can’t ignore the signs, the unease."

"If you truly didn’t remember anything, you wouldn’t be asking about it."

Lucas stared hard at Anson, his deep eyes glowing faintly in the night, full of tension and unease, locking onto Anson like a predator, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of weakness.

The night couldn’t hide his gaze. Instead, the darkness made Anson feel the danger closing in, an overwhelming pressure pressing down on him.

Anson let out a small sigh, his lips curling in a faint, helpless smile.

"Ah, Lucas, you’re too smart. It’s hard to fool you."

Lucas felt a lump in his throat, lowering his voice in frustration, "Anson!"

Anson waved his hand. "Come on, give me some credit for trying to cheer you up."

Lucas didn’t take his eyes off him.

Anson surrendered, muttering, "No sense of humor at all."

Before Lucas could protest, Anson quickly changed the subject.

"I really don’t have any memories. That’s the truth."

"The nightmares lurking? Also true."

"I don’t know how to describe it. Even after you’ve said so much, I still don’t feel anything. It’s like none of it happened to me—those ten days are still a complete blank."

"It’s just..."

"Sometimes, I feel this sudden panic, or unease, as if something unknown is chasing me in a dream."

"I can ignore it because it doesn’t affect my daily life."

"But... I don’t want to."

Anson paused, thought carefully, then nodded.

"Yeah, I don’t want to."

In his previous life, he went through everything he should have and shouldn’t have. He had struggled in the whirlpool of emotions and the waves of suffering for far too long.

This time, he didn’t want to just take the hits, and he certainly didn’t want to surrender.

Now, he was living in his dream life. He had family, friends, success, wealth, and most importantly, time. He refused to let nightmares and suffering consume him again. If he didn’t fully enjoy life and make the most of his time, it would be a waste of his second chance.

So, he would rather waste time daydreaming than lose himself in the tangle of nightmares and pain.

Anson looked at Lucas, his expression still calm, but his eyes had changed.

They were deep and blue, like the ocean—clear yet unfathomable. Within those layers of light shone a steely determination, as if it could ignite the darkness.

The night stretched on endlessly, and in the fire of Anson’s gaze, Lucas thought he saw a beast dancing—graceful and fierce.

*Chapter 1103: Self-Punishment*

“Hm. I don’t want to.”

So light, yet so certain.

So simple, yet so resolute.

It was just a single sentence, but under Anson’s gaze, Lucas’s thoughts gathered, and a resilient strength surged from deep within his soul.

Then, Anson smiled.

“So, I need your help, Luca. You owe me this.”

A small tease, with a hint of playfulness.

But Lucas was reminded of a younger Anson—stubborn, unreasonable, always finding a way to break through whenever their parents refused his requests. With those big, pleading eyes, he’d stand there acting helpless until Lucas caved in.

Suddenly, Lucas felt a lump in his throat.

But this time, instead of giving in, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Alright.”

Anson clenched his fist and celebrated quietly, “Oh yeah!”

A low chuckle rumbled from deep in Lucas’s throat.

Anson’s face turned serious. “I’m being real.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next—when or how those nightmares lurking in the dark might break through. But at least I’m prepared now. I know the truth behind that secret.”

“So, if I need help, I’ll call for it.”

“And…”

He let out a long breath.

“Luca, I think you need to talk to Mom and Dad.”

Lucas looked confused and pointed to himself. “Shouldn’t that be you?”

Anson shrugged slightly. “What am I supposed to say? I still don’t remember anything. Should I tell them, ‘Hey, I know this happened, but I don’t really know the details, so don’t worry’? Do you think they’d be reassured?”

There was some sense to that.

“Luca, this is a secret between the three of you, but you’ve never talked about it.”

“I know I’m the victim, but we can’t forget that the victim’s family is also traumatized. You all were victims too.”

“After everything happened, you never talked. That’s not normal.”

“From what happened at the hospital that day, just because you don’t talk doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten. Quite the opposite—those wounds are still there.”

“You should tell Mom and Dad that I’ve been acting strange lately, that I seem to have sensed something. You should discuss a plan so that the three of you can sit down and face it head-on, instead of pretending nothing ever happened. Even if you argue, at least it means you’re willing to confront the wounds.”

Lucas: “… You’re asking me to lie.”

Anson: “Yes. Isn’t that what you do every day?”

Lucas felt exasperated.

Anson laughed loudly. He could almost see the vein bulging on Lucas’s forehead. Quickly backtracking, he said, “Only after you all solve the issue can you help me when it comes time to face it. Otherwise, when the problem surfaces, you’ll be arguing among yourselves first.”

Lucas looked at Anson with hesitation and confusion. “Why are you so comfortable calling yourself a victim and telling us how to handle things?”

Something felt off.

Anson shrugged lightly. “I told you, I don’t have any memories.”

Lucas studied Anson’s face closely and, at last, believed him.

Finally, Lucas looked away, picked up his glass, and took a big gulp. “So, are you scared? I mean, subconsciously…”

“No.” Anson shook his head. “Why should I be tied down by things that happened in the past? I’m not a victim. I mean, I was, but I don’t want to stay that way.”

“And besides…”

Anson hesitated briefly but eventually spoke up.

“I know you’ve always been there.”

This was the real source of Anson’s confidence.

From the initial distance and wariness he felt when he first arrived in this world, to slowly lowering his guard—along the way, many things had changed.

“And I silently pray that you always will be, unlike most parents who say, ‘Hey, you’re eighteen, you’re twenty-one, I’m done with you. Go live your life, we need to enjoy ours.’ Jesus Christ, I’ve been praying for that.”

Clearly, this was a rant.

Lucas shot Anson a sidelong glance, “Ha. Ha.”

The dry laugh, however, made Anson burst into cheerful laughter, lifting his spirits and making Lucas’s heavy heart feel a bit lighter.

Tonight wasn’t easy for Lucas. His back was drenched in sweat, and his muscles, tense to the extreme, were now aching. But the storm seemed to have passed, and his mind was regaining its calm.

Once, he had been terrified that those memories would resurface, that the nightmares would hurt Anson again.

But the worst hadn’t happened.

Perhaps Anson was right—they needed to face the demons hidden in their memories. Otherwise, they’d never be able to truly move forward.

“Anson, what are you going to do about Sony Columbia?”

Now calm, Lucas regained his composure and subtly dropped a bomb.

To be precise, this was the real reason Lucas had come to Columbus, though he hadn’t expected Anson’s ambush.

Anson didn’t hide his surprise. “Sony Columbia? What else can I do? Either make a killing by demanding a huge payout for ‘Spider-Man 3,’ or flat-out reject their offer and mess with them. What else?”

“You’re not planning to take them head-on, are you? That’s not like you.”

Lucas: “What’s my style?”

Anson: “Calm. Objective. Rational. You look at things through numbers.”

Lucas: “Exactly. And that also means fairness. Whatever we’ve lost, we need to get back. You don’t think I’d let them treat you like a toy, do you?”

This time, Anson was genuinely surprised. “Luca, that’s Sony Columbia, one of the top companies in Hollywood. What are you planning to do?”

Lucas: “When you see it as a giant, you have to look up, and it’s hard to find an angle. But if you see it as a structure, you realize it’s just a bunch of numbers.”

“If Sony Columbia stops making money, do you think the board would hesitate to sell it? If the company keeps making bad decisions, do you think the CEO will keep his job?”

“Sony Columbia may be a giant, but giants can fall too, and there’s more than one way to make that happen.”

These were matters Anson wasn’t particularly skilled at, but he could still piece together a grand plan from Lucas’s words.

Anson couldn’t help but marvel, “But Luca, is it worth it?”

Lucas: “No one should ever treat you that way.”

In his casual words, there was a hint of menace.

Lucas turned to Anson, “Or are you going soft? Do you think we should just let things slide?”

Anson’s mouth pulled into a smirk. “I just think there’s no need to take down an entire company because of one issue. But you’re right. We shouldn’t see the company as a whole. Once it’s broken down, things will get clearer.”

“So, what are you planning to do?”

Chapter 1104: Self-Sufficiency

"Starting a film company?"

Anson looked at Lucas in surprise, his expression betraying his disbelief.

Lucas gave a slight nod. "This is just the first step. It has nothing to do with Sony-Columbia; it's about securing more autonomy for yourself and taking control of your own destiny."

"However, we must not repeat the mistakes of DreamWorks. We need to seize the initiative right from the start."

Anson sighed deeply.

Although he'd lived two lives, in his past life, he had always been a pitiful corporate worker. Particularly after what happened with his father, he developed a psychological aversion to entrepreneurship and business ventures. The idea of starting a company and bearing the responsibility for others' livelihoods and futures felt almost unimaginable.

"Are you sure about this?" Anson hesitated.

Lucas, however, remained calm and confident, exuding an air of quiet dominance. "I thought you liked adventures, just like when you were a kid."

Anson froze, then unexpectedly found himself smiling as the corners of his mouth lifted. "Alright, let’s embark on another adventure. You pave the way, and I’ll be the brains? Wait, no—that’s wrong. You’re the brains, and the muscle too. I’m just hitching a ride, aren’t I?"

He burst out laughing at his own joke.

Lucas shook his head. "No, you’re the brains."

Anson grinned even more brightly. "Right, I am."

The expression on his face made it clear he didn’t believe Lucas. But Lucas was serious. "When it comes to films, I know very little. I can pull together a billion dollars from Wall Street, but I wouldn’t know which film projects to invest in."

"This is where your confidence comes in, right?"

Anson realized Lucas wasn’t joking.

"Up to now, every single one of your projects has been 100% successful. I mean, profitable. Do you know how rare that is for a company? For every project to be profitable?"

"In business, some projects are about building reputation; others are about maintaining connections. Not every project can make money. Sometimes, companies even take on losses to prepare for the long term. Look at DreamWorks; they’re a classic case of idealists."

"But so far, every single one of your projects has been profitable. That’s the foundation of our confidence."

"We just need to wait for The Butterfly Effect’s box office results, and then I’ll go to Wall Street to secure the investments."

"This is your first project as a producer, and there’s nothing more convincing than that."

It was clear Lucas had already planned everything out.

The Butterfly Effect was set to release at the end of the year.

Anson grew curious. "What if The Butterfly Effect fails? I mean, what if it doesn’t turn a profit or falls short of expectations?"

Lucas shrugged nonchalantly. "Then I’ll tell those hyenas on Wall Street it was just a fluke. We can wait and see the final results of your Elephant."

Anson laughed outright. "So, you’re planning to fool them?"

Lucas replied, "Everyone assumes that Wall Street elites are the epitome of intelligence, or that Silicon Valley venture capitalists are all geniuses. But that’s just a stereotype. They’re simply better at playing the numbers game, relying on data and models to analyze. That’s it."

"Convincing them to invest is a game in itself, and in the end, it’s about who can make their case more persuasively."

"Otherwise, how do you explain all the terrible blockbuster flops in the market? It’s because the studio executives were sweet-talked by producers into greenlighting those projects."

"The same goes for companies. We only see the success stories, but behind them are countless failures, a graveyard of dashed dreams."

"That’s what investment is."

"Right now, you’re our star player. I’m confident I can secure funding and use other people’s money to make us money. If you can convince other directors or actors to join our projects, even better—say, someone like Tom Hanks."

"Of course, that’s just an example. I know Hanks has his own production company and often works with DreamWorks. My point is, if you can leverage your network to enhance our company’s image, we’ll get off to a flying start."

Four months ago, when Brad Pitt came knocking and John Quinn tried to seize the opportunity, they were aiming for something similar.

Now, Lucas had stepped in to stand by Anson’s side and show what he could do.

Things were progressing faster than expected.

Anson seemed a bit confused. "But where do we even start looking for projects?"

Putting everything else aside, take Anson himself as an example. So far, only The Butterfly Effect and Walk the Line had come his way—and even then, the people involved were partially banking on Anson’s ability to sway the studios into investing.

In other words, Anson was being used as a tool, a pretty face for the posters.

Realistically, it wasn’t surprising. People rarely expect a decorative vase to serve any practical purpose. That’s the harsh reality.

This was why Edgar had been pushing for Anson to transition into something more substantial, just like Matthew McConaughey, Adam Sandler, Sandra Bullock, Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, and Leonardo DiCaprio had done.

Lucas remained calm.

"In Hollywood, there’s no shortage of projects. Every year, Hollywood produces about 400 films, but there are over 3,000 projects waiting to be made."

"They’re all waiting for opportunities, all looking for funding."

"As soon as word gets out that we’re funding, they’ll come flocking to us. No need to worry."

"Plus, for an ordinary production company, there might be concerns about scams. But with you at the helm, it’s much simpler."

Anson raised an eyebrow. "Aren’t you worried about being scammed?"

Lucas looked over.

Anson clarified, "What I mean is, you’re going to Wall Street to convince them to invest, but then here in Hollywood, the producers will be trying to convince you to invest."

"Sure, Hollywood is full of projects, but 99% of them are worthless junk."

Lucas nodded. "I know. That’s why we see so many terrible films on the big screen every year."

Anson: ???

Lucas looked him in the eye. "That’s why we need you."

After a roundabout explanation, the focus returned to Anson.

Honestly, Anson wasn’t worried. Even though The Butterfly Effect had already started to ripple, this was still a parallel universe. With his memories of the previous world, selecting a few standout projects wouldn’t be difficult. The truly valuable thing was Lucas’s trust—an unwavering, unconditional trust.

That weight, both light and heavy, pressed on his heart.

Anson blinked, finally reacting, and smiled wryly. "So all the pressure is on me?"

Lucas remained expressionless. "I told you, we’re in this adventure together."

Anson shook his head, the motion comically exaggerated. "In the end, dealing with Sony-Columbia still falls on me, doesn’t it?"

Lucas smirked. "Revenge is sweeter when delivered personally."

Anson laughed. "Was that a joke? I never thought you had it in you, Lucas. But, honestly, I don’t think comedy is your strong suit."

Lucas: "…Shut up."

"Don’t be like that. Lucas-style humor has its charm, you know."

"…"

"Haha, hahaha."

(Chapter End)  

*Chapter 1105: Backstabbed*

"…I heard you're negotiating with Anson Wood to play Johnny Cash?"

Michael McCusker pushed open the conference room door, casually making conversation as though it were small talk.

James Mangold's eyes lit up, a smile spreading across his face. "Yes. He's truly an outstanding actor, isn't he? We all believe he’s perfect to play Johnny—"

Before he could finish, McCusker interrupted. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."

Mangold's smile froze. He turned to Kitcher, who was standing beside him. The two were about to sit but now hesitated, caught off guard.

Was this why Sony-Columbia had summoned them to this meeting today?

Mangold’s smile stiffened but didn’t falter. "To be honest, that’s what we initially thought too. Could that Spider-Man kid really take on such a heavy role?"

Mangold tried to diffuse the tension with a joke, reminding McCusker that Anson was currently collaborating with Sony-Columbia on Spider-Man. He also planned to pivot the conversation back on track.

But he never got the chance. McCusker interrupted again.

"I preferred your original idea. Stick with it."

The atmosphere grew heavy.

Both Mangold and Kitcher quickly realized that McCusker wasn’t joking.

But why? Could the rumors be true? Was there internal resistance against Anson within Sony-Columbia?

McCusker cursed silently.

When corporate "whales" fought, it was the "small fry" like him who had to clean up the mess. Now, he was forced to play the bad guy, delivering a rejection that wasn’t even his decision—offending Anson in the process.

Dammit!

Everyone had seen how the power struggle between Sony-Columbia and Anson had turned out. Even a shrewd veteran like Michael Lynton had suffered a quiet defeat, let alone someone like McCusker, stuck in the middle.

But what choice did he have?

Taking a deep breath, McCusker forced a pleasant smile.

"Believe me, I know how talented Anson is. We still believe he’s the perfect choice for Peter Parker and that he’s doing a fantastic job. We’re all eagerly awaiting the movie’s release."

"But even great actors have their limits."

"We don’t think someone as significant as Johnny Cash should be played by him. Maybe he can strike a pose and make girls swoon with his sparkling blue eyes, but conveying the hardship and pain Johnny endured? That’s another matter."

"Don’t you think?"

McCusker turned to Kitcher, completely ignoring Mangold.

Kitcher hesitated, almost nodding before catching himself.

"We initially thought the same," Kitcher managed, "but after meeting with Anson, we changed our minds."

McCusker raised an eyebrow, surprised by Kitcher’s response.

"Besides…" Kitcher added, "Anson was Johnny’s personal choice for the role before he passed."

McCusker silently cursed again but kept his expression neutral. "Johnny had his perspective, sure. But what he saw and what the audience wants might not align."

"At Sony-Columbia, our stance is clear: you need someone who embodies the audience’s vision of Johnny Cash—older, with more gravitas and proven acting chops. After all, this film is aiming for awards season."

"Otherwise, we may need to reconsider our investment."

"Take some time to think about it."

The subtext couldn’t be clearer:

No Anson.

Every word was a deliberate strike against Anson.

From start to finish, Mangold and Kitcher were barely given room to argue. It wasn’t so much a meeting as it was a one-sided announcement.

Damn it! Damn, damn, damn!

Mangold wanted to argue, but what could he say?

For ten years, Walk the Line had struggled through countless setbacks. Even with Mangold on board, two years had passed without progress. Convincing Sony-Columbia to back the project had felt like a breakthrough, and choosing Anson seemed like a strategic move to win favor.

But now it had backfired spectacularly.

What could they do now?

Mangold wanted to stand his ground and insist on Anson. If Sony-Columbia refused, they could walk away and find another partner.

But the harsh reality crushed his resolve.

---

After leaving the meeting, Mangold and Kitcher sat silently in their car in the parking lot, chain-smoking.

The weight of it all pressed down on them.

Mangold sighed heavily. "Looks like the rumors are true. The power struggle at Sony-Columbia is real, and the faction opposing Anson has the upper hand. It’s affecting Spider-Man and now us too."

"Maybe we should just drop Anson?"

Before Mangold could finish, Kitcher shook his head. "No."

Mangold was surprised. He hadn’t thought Kitcher was that invested in Anson.

Taking a deep breath, Kitcher explained, "Since Johnny passed, we’ve been completely at the mercy of others. Aside from the adaptation rights, we have nothing."

"If we cave today and replace the lead actor, what’s next? Tomorrow they’ll demand script changes. The day after, they’ll replace the producers, maybe even the director. We’ll be sidelined completely."

"You know how Hollywood works, don’t you?"

Mangold was at a loss for words.

"But what can we do?" he asked.

Kitcher had no answer either.

After ten years of struggle, they were still stuck in the same place.

The overwhelming sense of powerlessness threatened to consume them.

They sat there in the car, letting the cigarette smoke envelop them, until a phone call broke the silence.

Mangold checked the caller ID: "Anson’s agent."

Kitcher buried his face in his hands, scrubbing at it in frustration. At this moment, he fully understood why ostriches buried their heads in the sand—sometimes, avoidance didn’t seem so bad.

But Mangold couldn’t dodge this. Taking a deep breath, he answered the call.

"Hey, Edgar."

"Good morning, director!" Edgar’s voice was cheerful, oblivious to Sony-Columbia’s dagger.

"Good news: Anson’s read the script and is thrilled. He’s honored to play Johnny Cash and can’t wait to join the team."

"So, when can we meet to finalize the contract?"

Mangold felt the weight in his chest grow heavier.

(End of Chapter)