PDLP Chapter 29 Successful Negotiation
Chapter 29 Successful Negotiation
When Craig wiped the sweat from his forehead with a tissue and pushed open the Ernst house door, the scene before him almost made him think he had stumbled into the set of a pornographic film.
For three days, Ernst was isolated from the world, while Jessica suffered from severe dehydration.
"Are you getting revenge on her? Trying to dehydrate her to death?"
"Ernst, I must remind you that although this method will not break any laws, it will not be good for your reputation."
Craig's face was full of curiosity, but he still tried to dissuade him.
Ernst, his brow furrowed so deeply it could trap a fly, retorted irritably, "What's in your head? I really want to pry it open and see how your brain works."
Craig pursed his lips, thinking that Ernst was right, and that his denial was just a way of not wanting to leave any evidence.
He saw Jessica when she left; she had heavy eye bags, listless eyes, unsteady steps, and a scattered mind.
Craig had only ever seen this state of affairs on 567th Street in downtown Los Angeles.
It's the heart of Los Angeles, but also the most dangerous and thrilling battleground in the entire city.
Gang members clashed in the streets, criminals roamed freely, homeless people shivered in corners wrapped in tattered blankets, mental patients would occasionally pull down their pants for impromptu performance art, and those overly excited gentlemen wandered around with vacant eyes.
If some unlucky outsider were to wander in there at night and only suffer minor injuries and have some things stolen from him, he could kneel down and thank Jesus for coming.
Losing an arm or a leg is nothing news there; human life is like roadside weeds, gone in an instant.
The criminals there are masters of exploiting human value. They first steal your valuables, and then, regardless of whether you are male or female, they drag you away to sell yourself.
Once you've been squeezed dry of even your worth as a prostitute, then it'll be your blood and organs that will be used.
Last year, the number of homicides in Los Angeles was 638, but anyone with common sense knows that if the number of homicides on 567th Street were included, it would be at least three times higher.
Craig pointed in the direction Jessica had left and said exaggeratedly, "Didn't you notice her condition? She's no different from a streetwalker who's been played with all night on 567th Street."
Ernst's lips curled slightly; he knew, of course, that this was something he had done on purpose.
On the one hand, the fact that he was taken to the police station right at the start of the game made him feel very uncomfortable.
Secondly, it's important to let the entire Hollywood know that Ernst, the once-minor writer, has completely evolved into a powerful Hollywood tycoon, and anyone who dares to offend him will pay a heavy price.
Because of the immense popularity of "The Hunger Games," the media's cameras and microphones were once again swarming to his doorstep.
Craig saw Jessica's condition, and so did a large number of reporters outside.
Ernst could already imagine what the headlines would be in tomorrow's news.
"A newcomer to the entertainment industry challenges a Hollywood mogul and suffers a 'lower-dimensional attack'."
Of course, there are also physiological reasons; he really loves this water shadow.
So the people in the workshop kept working, and those props finally came in handy. The bed sheets in the master bedroom looked as if they had been salvaged from the sea.
Pointing towards the doorway, Ernst suddenly remembered something.
"Can we get rid of these sycophants? These paparazzi are so annoying."
Montecito is an open, affluent neighborhood, so it's impossible to avoid paparazzi staking out the area.
Ernst was fed up with them; even if you drew the curtains and turned off the lights, they would still shine a bright flashlight on you.
Craig was taken aback and touched his sparse hair, which wasn't very thick.
He couldn't understand it; shouldn't this be a normal thing?
Ernst is a celebrity; his image as a young, wealthy playboy is a surefire way to gain attention. It would be abnormal if he weren't photographed without his consent, right? This is simply a problem that every celebrity must accept and adapt to.
Ernst had already gone through this before, and he never complained.
"This is their livelihood; how can we expect them to give up secretly filming?"
Western journalists are different from those in the East. Eastern journalists are basically all employees of a radio station, newspaper, or media company, and they are organized and have established positions.
Western journalists, however, are more like stray dogs, rushing to wherever there is news.
They operate on a highest bidder-wins basis, especially for valuable exclusive news.
And don't assume that the TV station or newspaper that gets the news will publish it immediately.
These news reports are sent to the parties involved, and then it becomes legal extortion.
Don't believe any nonsense about no negatives or no records. Every large media organization has its own secret database.
When needed, they'll make money off you first, and then become a scapegoat for some big shots to attract public attention.
Los Angeles has a population of just over three million, but more than 100,000 freelance journalists. No wonder some people say that Los Angeles is just a giant stage, a city where only photographers and those being photographed exist.
"never mind".
Ernst waved his hand helplessly, giving up on the idea.
The main reason is that he used to be just an ordinary person, and he was not used to this kind of life of being surrounded and blocked.
But even the president gets his face photographed without his consent; how could he possibly interfere with these uncrowned kings?
"Let's talk about the publishing house. How did the talks go?"
Upon hearing this, Craig immediately perked up and launched into a self-praise session: "Hey! You should be secretly happy. Discovering me when I was unknown was probably the best decision you ever made."
"Of course, we complement each other. We are both gold hidden in the dust. As long as we are given a little sunshine, we can shine so brightly that we can dazzle others."
"You have no idea how great I am, much more magnificent than Garcia's mother's pair of rugby balls..."
Craig talked on and on, from his own brilliance and bravery to his new lover's stunning figure, and then to his driving skills, including many details about his woman's pleasure. Ernst listened for a long time but didn't hear a single useful piece of information.
Isn't it said that Black people have very strong genes? Why didn't you dye this guy's skin black?
This rhythm is exactly the same as the way Hollywood guys talk; no wonder I can get along with them so well.
I guess those people mistook him for a tadpole with a chromosomal mutation?
"Enough!" Ernst could no longer bear it and interrupted the other person, who had already stood up in agitation.
"If you keep talking nonsense, I guarantee your butt is going to suffer."
Craig jumped back a large step in fright, putting distance between himself and Ernst, glancing towards the door. "Have you changed your sexual orientation?"
"Go to hell."
He reached out and grabbed the mineral water bottle from the table, without holding back any effort.
Ernst's accuracy was not the problem, but he forgot that the effect of force is relative.
The other person's enormous belly was like armor with a built-in bounce function; the water bottle hit it and bounced back, almost hitting him, making for a very comical scene.
Seeing Ernst's unpleasant expression, Craig quickly took out a document from his briefcase and handed it over. "Okay, this is the publishing contract. You can take a look at it first."
"Please note that the person standing in front of you may be the greatest agent in America's future..."
Under Ernst's murderous gaze, Craig's puffed-out chest deflated instantly, and he wisely shut his mouth.
For the past three days, Ernst has remained indoors, but he has not been completely detached from worldly affairs.
He knew about McHale's situation, but he didn't open the door for him.
As for the publishing rights, they were entirely entrusted to that fat Craig.
After quickly glancing at the contract, Ernst's smile grew wider, and he couldn't help but praise, "Not bad."
The document had many pages, but he only looked at a few key numbers.
First, the royalty rate was set at 28%, which was 3 percentage points higher than what I had requested.
Furthermore, the profit sharing also increased by 2 percentage points, reaching 17%.
For Ernst, these were all small amounts of money; what he valued most was the soaring advance payment.
He originally thought it would be around $1000 million, but the prepayment in this contract was as high as $2500 million.
With this extra $1500 million, Ernst can do a lot of things.