"…Lake Shore Pictures' board has green-lit the Underworld rewrite. They're okay with shooting the whole trilogy back-to-back, but they're only willing to put up eighty million and they want seventy percent of the backend. You take the ten-million salary and roll it into twenty percent equity. We're still short twenty-five million. You want to start a financing round?"
"Universal, Fox, Disney… none of them bit?"
Raphael frowned slightly. This wasn't quite the response he'd expected.
"They're interested," Ari said carefully, "but the terms are… pretty brutal."
"Let me guess—small check, huge slice?"
"Exactly."
Raphael gave a cold chuckle. "Bunch of greedy vampires. Hell, this movie might as well have been made for them."
"Rafe, if you want to raise the money, I'd suggest going with the second-tier studios—New Line, DreamWorks, MGM."
Ari sounded dead serious.
"Tsk… MGM's already dropped to second-tier? Life really is unpredictable."
Raphael sighed, then waved it off.
"Forget it. It's only twenty-five million… My company hasn't done anything flashy yet anyway. I'll just cover it myself."
"Through R.L. Productions? Then I need to talk to Philip. Not sure he'll love giving up thirty percent when you count your salary. He might push back hard."
"That's his problem. Let Philip go battle it out with Lake Shore."
Raphael stretched lazily. These little details weren't worth his time.
Then he remembered something and quickly added,
"What about the writer?"
"Found exactly what you asked for—a woman in her thirties who's published romance novels and written a few romance scripts. Decent reputation. She read your outline and said she's very interested."
Raphael grunted in approval.
"One more thing."
Ari looked like he was fighting a grin. "Charlize Theron's place has been crawling with paparazzi the last few days. Word is she broke up with that freeloader boyfriend of hers."
Raphael had been half-dozing but suddenly sat up straight.
"They broke up?"
"Yeah."
Ari glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. "Ever since you kissed her on set that day… Stuart Townsend apparently started having… issues."
Raphael's interest sharpened.
"What kind of issues?"
Ari shrugged.
"No one knows for sure. Something physical. He's been to the hospital. The paparazzi bribed a nurse and a doctor, but none of that has anything to do with you."
Raphael smiled to himself. Oh, it has everything to do with me.
The car rolled into Malibu and stopped in front of Jessica's villa.
Raphael stepped out and stood at the door.
Ari leaned out the window.
"Call if you need anything."
Raphael nodded.
He pushed open the villa door.
The house was quiet. Jessica wasn't home.
A note sat on the coffee table.
[Back next week. Food in the fridge — J]
Raphael picked it up, and a soft smile spread across his face.
This was exactly why he chose to live with Jessica long-term instead of any of the others—her warm, easygoing vibe was impossible to resist.
He folded the note, then headed straight for the shower.
Hot water poured over him while he stretched hard, working the knots out of four straight months of filming. His body was fine; it was his mind that felt drained.
After the shower he collapsed into bed and was out cold in minutes.
The next morning sunlight slipped through the curtains at 9:17 a.m.
Raphael woke up feeling refreshed after more than ten hours of sleep.
He checked his phone. Several unread texts.
Jessica sent a selfie from set with the caption "Miss you."
Kate sent a single question mark.
Lima, Ambrosio, and Jennifer had all texted too.
Obviously they all knew he was back in L.A.
He replied to each one, then dialed Philip.
"You finally awake?" Philip answered.
"Yeah. You at the office?"
"Come over. Got stuff to go over."
"On my way."
Raphael washed up, grabbed a quick bite, and drove to the company.
The moment he walked into Philip's office he saw his brother staring at the computer screen, coffee in hand, brow slightly furrowed.
"Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge."
Raphael grabbed an ice-cold Coke, chugged half of it, let out a satisfied burp, and flopped onto the sofa.
Philip walked over with a stack of files.
"Since you're here, let's run through the books."
Raphael stayed sprawled out.
"You talk. I'll listen."
Philip rolled his eyes but continued, opening the first file.
"Company account still has seven hundred seventeen million nine hundred twenty thousand. You already knew that."
"Mmhmm."
"That was last month. Right now…"
Philip opened another file.
"You haven't had any major spending lately. Pirates salary went straight to your personal account—three million lump sum. Dior perfume also hit your personal account—five million. Underworld hasn't closed yet, so company funds barely moved."
He paused.
"You asked me to find endorsement deals for those two Brazilian models. That cost about fifty thousand—already deducted."
Raphael grunted. Pocket change.
"What about the foundation?"
Philip switched files.
"Amazon stock in the charitable foundation has climbed to—"
He double-checked the number.
"—eighty-six million!"
Raphael whistled.
"Eighty-six million?"
Philip gave his "stock god" little brother a long look.
"Amazon's at $1.10 right now. The fifteen million you bought in September 2001 plus the twenty million in February 2002 add up to that."
Raphael whistled again.
"Not bad."
"Not bad?" Philip stared. "You know the S&P only went up less than ten percent in the same period? You nearly doubled your money."
Raphael shrugged—the gesture that perfectly captured his mood lately.
"Luck was on my side."
Philip gave up arguing and opened the next file.
"Those three stocks Goldman bought for you last September—Monster Beverage, Apple, Nvidia—are now worth a combined thirty-one point six million. Still sitting under the company name."
Raphael nodded.
"What about Marvel?"
"Same as before. Thanks to the Mexican crew I hired, the renovations are done. I went to New York three times last month. You should go check it out when you have time."
Philip closed the file. "Speaking of Marvel, the delisting is almost finished."
Raphael immediately perked up.
"That fast?"
"You already owned over ninety percent when you bought it."
Philip opened another document. "Stan Lee and the other founders hold less than five percent. The public float is only about three point eight percent."
He paused.
"At current valuation, Marvel is worth roughly three hundred fifty million. Buying back that three point eight percent will only cost about thirteen million."
Raphael nodded.
"Make it quick. I can't announce my big plan until it's done."
"Should be wrapped within a week. After that, Marvel becomes your personal playground."
Philip put the files away and tapped a few numbers into his calculator.
"So right now your total net worth—not counting the nine point two seven million in your personal spending account—is roughly: seven hundred seventeen million in company cash, eighty-six million in foundation stock, thirty-one point six million in company stocks, four hundred eighty million in Marvel equity. Grand total: one point three one six billion."
Raphael leaned back on the sofa, already daydreaming about the Marvel empire, but he quickly snapped back.
There was one more important thing he hadn't asked.
"What about the house search?"
Philip opened yet another file—he'd gone through more paperwork today than the entire last month.
"I found three properties that match what you wanted: big, private, under fifty million."
Raphael sat up, suddenly interested.
"Hit me."
Philip handed him the folder.
"First one in Beverly Hills. Nothing special. Two acres, three-story main house, seven bedrooms, ten bathrooms, pool, tennis court, home theater. Asking forty-eight million."
Raphael flipped through the photos.
"Passable. Next?"
"Second one in Malibu, three miles north of Jessica's place. Cliffside with direct ocean view. Three acres, two-story house, five bedrooms, eight bathrooms, infinity pool, private beach access, and a helipad. Asking fifty-three million."
Raphael studied the pictures and felt a spark.
This one could be turned into a perfect replica of Tony Stark's cliffside mansion with just a few tweaks.
"This one's nice."
Philip nodded.
"I like it too. Super private. Only one road in or out. Paparazzi can't get close."
Raphael kept flipping.
"And the third?"
"Third one's in Santa Monica. Biggest lot—five acres. Spanish colonial style, eight bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, private stables and forest. Asking fifty million."
Raphael thought for a second.
"Keep all three. I'll go see them in person."
"Fine. I'll set up times with the brokers."
Philip closed the files, then got serious again.
"One last thing."
"What?"
Philip smiled.
"You got another endorsement offer."
Raphael looked confused. High-end luxury brands rarely used Hollywood stars for watches.
"What brand?"
"TAG Heuer."
Philip explained, "Swiss luxury watch brand. Global ambassador deal. One point five million a year for two years, plus a five hundred thousand signing bonus."
Raphael felt a quiet rush of satisfaction but didn't show it—bragging to Philip never felt good.
Still, he was curious.
"TAG Heuer? I don't think we've ever dealt with them before."