Grizz stood by a window overlooking the glittering sprawl of downtown Los Angeles, the scanned pages of the Aegis contract displayed on his secure tablet. The sky outside was a deep twilight blue, punctuated by the first scatter of city lights. He took a deep breath, then dialed a number from his burner phone.
The line rang only once before a low, calm voice answered. “Cross.”
Damian Cross. The name alone carried a weight of quiet menace in the Hollywood underworld. Head of the Aegis Group. He never wasted words.
“Damian,” Grizz began, his voice devoid of any warmth. “This is Marcus Bennett.”
“I know,” Cross replied. “You have something for me?”
“Yes,” Grizz confirmed. “Regarding the ‘Titan Flames’ non-disclosure from 2008. File reference A-117. And the whistleblower, Helena Holloway.”
There was a slight pause on Cross’s end, a beat of absolute stillness. “Go on.”
“Sabrina Holloway, of Holloway Productions, has launched a highly public, multi-platform media campaign against Helena Holloway,” Grizz reported, relaying the details methodically. “It includes public accusations of fraud, theft, and gross misconduct, directly referencing Helena Holloway’s financial status and presence within the Holloway family.”
He paused, letting the implications sink in. “This campaign has gained significant media attention. Four million viewers on a recent podcast, articles in major tabloids, accusations of an $85,000 theft. It violates your organization’s strict non-interference clause regarding public exposure of Aegis-protected individuals.”
Another silence, longer this time. I could almost hear Cross’s cold, procedural mind processing the breach.
“The contract terms clearly state that any public character assassination by studio representatives against the designated whistleblower, after the non-disclosure period expires, triggers an immediate transfer of all studio voting stock and intellectual property to said whistleblower,” Grizz continued, quoting Section 14-B from the scanned document. “The non-disclosure period expired yesterday, November 10th. Sabrina Holloway’s campaign started two days prior and has escalated significantly since.”
“So,” Cross’s voice was now even colder, “she broadcasted our private business to the world, assuming our contract was still active, only to find it expired, making her liable.”
“Precisely,” Grizz confirmed. “Massive media attention. Aegis is now directly implicated in a public family feud. Your non-interference pact has been irrevocably breached by Sabrina Holloway.”
The response was swift and chilling. “Where is Sabrina Holloway now?”
“She’s hosting her ‘CEO Inauguration’ charity gala at the Beverly Hills Hotel tonight,” Grizz informed him. “A $1,000-a-plate event. Full of Hollywood executives, politicians, the whole nine yards.”
“Understood,” Cross said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. “A public breach requires a public resolution. And a lesson.”
“Aegis will enforce the contract terms personally this evening,” Cross concluded. “At the Beverly Hills Charity Gala. Expect us.”
The line went dead.
Grizz put the burner phone down, his face a grim mask. He glanced at the tablet screen, the contract clause glowing in the dim light. The Aegis Group was coming. And when they enforced a contract, it wasn’t a matter of negotiations or appeals. It was a matter of absolute, terrifying finality. Tonight, Sabrina’s world would burn.
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