Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm Chapter 934 - 909: I Hate Star-Lord, I Like Nebula

"So, Toby won a lot of money from Bradley Ruderman? Maybe — even so, Toby wouldn’t have been directly involved in Bradley’s Ponzi sche, right?"

Martin was a little puzzled.

"No, it’s not just about winning money — it’s... ah, the calculations, I can’t explain it clearly here. Why don’t we get together soti and let Toby explain it to you himself?"

"Okay, but I’ve been in New York lately. If you want to et, co to New York."

"Got it. Toby and I will fly to New York tomorrow."

"Don’t forget to bring a gift for our little one."

......

The next day, Leonardo and Tobey Maguire arrived at the farm.

"This place isn’t bad. Maybe I could do sothing grand here," Leonardo said after surveying the grounds, clearly interested.

Tobey, however, had things on his mind and didn’t linger. "Let’s hurry."

The car stopped at the farmhouse gate.

Martin stood at the door to greet them.

"Long ti no see, boys." He spread his arms warmly and embraced them each in turn.

Leonardo said, "I didn’t co empty-handed — I brought him a limited-edition collectible. It took a lot of effort to get, and Blake wanted one too, but I didn’t pick one up for her."

"Thank you," Martin said.

Tobey looked a bit embarrassed. "Sorry, Martin. I shouldn’t bother you at a ti like this."

"Ha, don’t say that. We’re friends." Martin patted his back.

Tobey smiled. "Right — I’ll have the full set of Star Wars soundtracks sent over for your kid. It’s big, so it’ll be delivered by a specialist company. Maybe tomorrow or the day after."

"Ah, thanks. I appreciate it."

Martin led the two into the house.

Leonardo and Tobey peeked into the bedroom at Jennifer’s bed, glanced at the small cot beside it, then Martin ushered them into his study.

"Tell — how are you connected to Bradley Ruderman?" Martin poured them each a drink and leaned back against a shelf as he asked casually.

Tobey shifted, embarrassed. "It’s because of the gas. After Bradley was arrested, Molly Bloom was also taken by the FBI. That’s when we learned that those gas were tied up with Bradley’s Ponzi sche."

"Molly Bloom was involved with the gambling after the gas; Bradley had referred a few clients. I heard she was involved in money laundering as well."

"But what does this have to do with you?" Martin asked, still curious.

"Because the gas were organized by Curtis and . Bradley implicated us to reduce his sentence, claiming we were part of the Ponzi and the money laundering." Tobey’s tone carried so anger.

Martin looked at him. "So were you involved?"

Tobey hurried to answer, "No—absolutely not."

Martin nodded. Using a subtle read, he could tell Tobey wasn’t lying.

Martin then asked, "So you knew Bradley was using the gambling operators to launder money?"

Tobey hesitated a mont, then decided to be blunt. "Yes. He would intentionally lose to us and Curtis to make up for missing money."

"So you were indirectly participating?"

"Yes, that’s it." Tobey looked dejected.

Martin smiled. "It’s a minor problem—don’t worry."

"Really?!" Tobey looked up in surprise.

"Of course. There is one catch: any money you won from Bradley will have to be surrendered."

"That’s fine." Tobey finally gave a genuine, relieved laugh and stood.

"Good, problem solved. Let’s eat—I’m starving." Leonardo said.

By September, Martin had finished the rough cut of Gravity and flew back to Los Angeles to prepare for post-production work.

......

anwhile, another film project had also been greenlit.

A rented room sowhere in North Hollywood.

A white, chubby man and a muscular black man were roommates in a cramped two-bedroom rental.

The chubby white guy was Chris Pratt.

The muscular black man was Daniel, a bouncer-type.

Both harbored ambitions of stardom, so they rented the little place together in North Hollywood.

When work was slow they took any odd jobs they could: background roles, small parts, anything to make ends et. When idle, they perford at local open-mic nights or worked at food stalls—Chris as a bartender, Daniel as security.

One morning, while eating breakfast and reading the paper, Chris said, "Man, your pancakes taste amazing. Do you have a secret?"

Daniel shrugged. "Secret? Haha, it’s simple. For the batter, I use my family’s traditional soy marinade—my great-grandma brought it from Africa."

"...What the fuck? there aren’t any bugs or weird stuff in it, are there?" Chris frowned and put his fork down.

"Fuck you—don’t be racist. Apologize." Daniel scolded, standing upright.

"Okay, I’m sorry!" Chris said earnestly, then added, "So are there any weird ingredients?"

"Of course not. Damn it, just so African chile and a special salted at."

"Salted at? What kind of at?"

"Beef, rabbit, dog!"

"Ah, okay. Wait—what was that last one?"

"Dog at!"

"Ugh—gross! You actually use dog at?"

"Hahaha, you guessed it!"

"Fuck fuck fuck..."

"Alright, alright, I was kidding."

"You swear?"

"I swear."

"That’ll do."

Chris, being a bit of a lightweight, was about to shove a pancake into his mouth, then nervously asked, "There really isn’t dog at in it, right?"

"No, absolutely not. Relax and eat."

Chris finally put the pancake into his mouth.

He chewed and glanced at the paper. "Whoa—Marvel’s making Guardians of the Galaxy! I loved that raccoon character in the comic."

"Raccoon? Isn’t the main favorite Star-Lord?" Daniel said.

"I hate Star-Lord, you know. I don’t like his whole flashiness—he’s way too showy."

"Really? I thought he was fine. My favorite in that comic isn’t Star-Lord either—it’s... hehe, Nebula."

"Nebula? Damn, your taste is wild."

"What do you know! That tallic, badass vibe—only real n get it!"

"You’re such a pervert!"