Chapter 172: Morality Equals Zero
As the birthplace of cinema, France's Gaumont and Pathé are cultural treasures. Yet ever since the Italian businessman Giancarlo Parre and executives at Crédit Lyonnais colluded to acquire Pathé through fraud, the studio had degenerated into little more than a money-laundering vehicle for Italian capital. This year, with Parre indicted and Jérôme Seydoux joining forces with the Chargeurs Group to buy back Pathé, the move won overwhelming public support.
"There's real potential for Dawnlight Pictures to collaborate with Pathé in the future," Aaron said as he shook hands with Jérôme Seydoux. After all, Pathé's European cinema chain remained formidable. Dawnlight had already established an international distribution arm in the UK; France, Germany, Italy, and Spain were next on Aaron's map.
That said, building distribution networks in non-English markets was never something that could be accomplished overnight.
"If Pathé wants a true revival, it will certainly welcome Hollywood films," Seydoux remarked.
Under Jérôme Seydoux's leadership, the Pathé Group was already working with MGM/UA as the French distributor of their titles.
Aaron wasn't particularly worried about the state of French domestic cinema. Without government subsidies and the backing of the pay-TV channel Canal+, survival would be far more difficult for most French films.
A short while later, Christiana Reali found Aaron again. Her expression was unsettled, clearly shaken.
Aaron frowned. "What's wrong? Did you run into someone like Jean-Jacques Annaud again?"
"It was Gérard Depardieu," Christiana said, not trying to hide anything. "I ran into him in the corridor. He said he could introduce me to a film role."
"Gérard Depardieu?" A flicker of anger rose in Aaron's chest—that French brute again. He'd heard long ago that when Depardieu worked with Sophie Marceau, he had a habit of groping and taking liberties.
"Introduce you to a role?" Aaron snorted. "His Hollywood co-production 1492: Conquest of Paradise was a disaster, and even the romantic drama Green Card barely made a ripple. The popularity he built up with Cyrano de Bergerac has pretty much been spent. From here on out, his career focus will stay firmly in France."
Aaron had little interest in figures like Depardieu.
"More importantly," he added, his tone turning serious, "he didn't do anything to you, did he? You know what this scene is like in France—rapists, child molesters, and filmmakers who prey on actresses are all too common."
Roman Polanski, Woody Allen—people like them were all cut from the same cloth.
In the art-house film circle, morality was practically nonexistent.
Aaron had never harbored illusions about the entertainment industry, and when it came to the European film world, his attitude was even more guarded.
Hearing this, Christiana Reali laughed outright.
"Nothing happened," she said lightly. "We just exchanged a few words in the hallway. He didn't even know who I was."
"Alright then. I'm going to the restroom," Aaron said casually.
He wasn't worried about Christiana at all. With him backing her now, who would dare touch her?
As for Gérard Depardieu—
He simply wasn't worth worrying about.
---
Aaron soon reached the restroom. After splashing some water on his face, he lit a cigarette—only to suddenly hear faint female cries mixed with a man's heavy breathing coming from one of the rear stalls.
His brow twitched.
The Gérard Depardieu Christiana had just mentioned…
Surely it couldn't be him in there?
Aaron understood enough French. It didn't take long before he clearly heard the woman inside calling out Gérard's name—
and Depardieu promising to arrange a role for her in his next comedy.
Aaron smiled faintly.
He turned around, shut the restroom door, glanced up—then switched off the lights.
"Ah—!"
As expected, the moment the lights went out, panicked shouts rang out from the stall.
---
Depardieu had just finished pulling up his trousers and opened the stall door when a powerful hand suddenly grabbed his hair and slammed him hard onto the floor.
Before the woman inside could react, Aaron shoved the stall door shut again—and casually snatched several pieces of clothing belonging to the pair.
"Shh. Don't make a sound,"
Aaron warned coldly in French.
In the pitch-black restroom, the woman was trembling violently, too terrified to utter a single word.
Depardieu tried to shout for help—but Aaron stuffed the stolen clothes over his head, muffling the sound.
Bang. Bang.
Muffled groans spilled out.
Aaron delivered several heavy kicks to the helpless body beneath him. Unable to cry out properly, Depardieu could only let out low, broken whimpers.
"Big nose, huh?"
Aaron thought coldly.
Without hesitation, he aimed several brutal kicks directly at Depardieu's nose.
At last, Depardieu couldn't take it anymore—
his body went limp.
Still unsatisfied, Aaron dragged him all the way to the restroom entrance before calmly walking away.
Clear-headed.
Refreshed.
Completely at ease.
---
Several minutes later, once she was sure the restroom was empty, the woman finally dared to come out screaming for help. Staff rushed in.
At the entrance lay Gérard Depardieu—
bloodied, disfigured, his already unattractive face reduced to a mess of flesh and gore. The clothes wrapped around his head were soaked red, and his once-iconic nose was utterly shattered.
---
That night, after leaving the Bristol Hotel banquet, Aaron brought Christiana Reali to the Hôtel Plaza Athénée.
Lying in bed, Christiana hugged the man above her and asked softly,
"Aaron… did something big happen at the Bristol tonight? There were suddenly so many reporters."
Aaron kissed her lightly and chuckled.
"Oh, nothing much," he said casually.
"Gérard Depardieu was caught fooling around with a young model in the restroom."
"Apparently her admirer—or maybe her boyfriend—found out and took revenge. Beat him badly. Even smashed that famous big nose of his."
He sighed theatrically.
"Truly tragic."
Christiana's eyes widened in shock.
Such a coincidence?
She never once suspected Aaron.
With his status and identity, it was simply impossible.
What puzzled her instead was a far more pressing question—
Without that nose…
Was Gérard Depardieu still Gérard Depardieu?
"This must be God's will,"
she said solemnly.
As she spoke, she flipped over and straddled Aaron, her long black hair cascading freely, radiating a wild, unmistakably Brazilian allure.
Aaron laughed softly, his hands settling at her waist.
"Yes," he agreed calmly.
"God's will indeed."