Chapter 80 - 80: Behind Closed DoorsMiramax President''s Office

    Bob Weinstein tossed the newspaper onto the desk, his expression conflicted.

    "Although Shakespeare in Love is a historical film, it is, as its title suggests, primarily a love story—a conventional, slow-paced, old-fashioned one. Compared to the other nominees, it pales in almost every respect. Yet, it walked away with both Best Picture and Best Actress. This speaks less of merit and more of Harvey Weinstein''s unparalleled PR skills—and the Academy''s diminishing credibility."

    "This is one of the milder critiques," Bob said cautiously. "Harvey, don''t you think we may have pushed too far this time?"

    Harvey Weinstein, leaning back in his chair with a cigar between his fingers, exhaled a thick plume of smoke. His smirk was unbothered.

    "Too far? Nonsense. Every Oscar season is followed by media complaints. The old men at the Academy couldn''t care less, as long as their pockets are lined. Back in the day, The Shawshank Redemption lost to Forrest Gump, and people raged. Did the Academy budge then?"

    Bob wanted to retort that Forrest Gump''s quality wasn''t even in the same league as Shakespeare in Love, but the smug look on Harvey''s face stopped him.

    Harvey flicked ash into the tray, then leaned forward, his tone turning sharp. "When is Gwyneth coming in?"

    "She called earlier. Said she was busy and couldn''t make it today," Bob replied.

    Harvey''s expression darkened instantly. "That ungrateful b***h! Now that she''s got her Oscar, she thinks she can snub me?"

    He ground the cigar into the ashtray angrily but quickly composed himself, muttering, "No point causing drama with her. Spielberg''s her godfather, and her family connections run deep. Let her be. She won''t get another role from me, though."

    Shaking off his irritation, he asked, "What about Quentin? Is he making progress on that zombie-action script?"

    Bob chuckled. "He''s been holed up at home watching Hong Kong and Japanese films nonstop. Said he wants to craft an action movie unlike anything Hollywood''s seen."

    "Bring him in," Harvey said with a grin. "Kid''s brilliant, but he needs to get out and... inspired. Let''s take him to the club tonight."

    Half an hour later, Quentin Tarantino strolled into Harvey''s office, casual as ever in his usual jeans and sneakers.

    "Harvey, Bob, what''s up?" he greeted, flopping onto the sofa.

    Harvey tossed him a cigar. "We''re hitting the club tonight. You in?" Sёar?h the N?vel(F)ire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    "Always," Quentin replied, his face lighting up.

    "How''s the script coming along?"

    "Haven''t written a word yet," Quentin admitted. "But I''ve got a killer idea: A zombie revenge film. The protagonist is a woman who barely survives an assassination attempt on her wedding day..."

    Harvey and Bob leaned in, listening intently as Quentin animatedly detailed his concept.

    When Quentin finally paused, Harvey clapped his hands. "Brilliant. You''re onto something. I''ll have to introduce you to Martin sometime—he''s got a knack for crazy-good ideas, too."

    Quentin raised an eyebrow. "Martin Meyers? The kid who wrote The Sixth Sense? I heard he''s working on something new, and De Niro''s already pitched it to Fox."

    Harvey''s expression soured momentarily. He hated that Martin had bypassed Miramax for Fox, but he couldn''t afford to alienate him.

    "Maybe because we didn''t push Oscars for him," Bob suggested.

    Harvey waved it off. "I''ve been busy. Haven''t checked in with him in weeks. I''ll call him now."

    Elsewhere, at a Twentieth Century Fox charity dinner

    Martin Meyers hung up his phone, shaking his head.

    "Harvey?" asked Diana, seated beside him in an elegant white gown.

    Martin smiled. "Yeah. Just checking in. Let''s not waste time talking about him. Tell me what you''d like photographed tonight—I''ll make it happen."

    Diana laughed, her eyes sparkling.

    In the original timeline, Diana had tragically passed away in a car accident two years earlier. But thanks to Martin''s intervention, she was alive, thriving, and one of his closest allies. Her connections had helped Martin expand his influence into Europe.

    As they chatted, a man approached—a middle-aged figure with round glasses, a black turtleneck, jeans, and sneakers.

    "Excuse me," the man said, politely greeting Diana before turning to Martin. "Martin Meyers, correct? Could we have a word?"

    Martin glanced at him curiously. The uniform of the turtleneck and jeans made it obvious who the visitor was.

    It was none other than Steve Jobs.

    [?———?——?———?]

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