Eve was in an excellent mood.
The moment she'd been waiting for had finally arrived. There was no need for Eve to personally reach out to familiar media outlets to make noise; everything fell into place naturally, with no trace of manipulation or planning.
And to top it off, the attention came from The New York Times, which carried an amplification effect of its own. It was the best platform Eve could have dreamed of.
Initially, she thought that if American Weekly had been the first to catch the scoop, that would have been the best-case scenario. But to her surprise, The New York Times had unleashed a comprehensive and indiscriminate strike.
The impact far exceeded Eve's expectations.
Now, everything was in place. With the right timing, Eve could pull the trigger whenever she wanted, fully in control of the situation.
This meant Eve was 90% sure they could dominate the narrative. The only reason she wasn't 100% confident was due to the inherent caution of PR professionals.
So, even though her two assistants seemed a bit slow to respond, it didn't dampen Eve's mood.
"The signal is just starting to come through. The timing? Far from perfect."
"First, all the focus is on this. No other news can compare, so we can't maximize the effect yet."
"Second, the public, like you, is still in shock and disbelief. They haven't had time to process it. No matter how shocking the news is, reactions are slow right now. It won't have the effect we want."
"Third, and most importantly, we need people to get angry. Whether it's sympathy, rage, or another emotion, we need to lay the groundwork for our next move. We're like Dementors feeding on fear. Right now, we need that energy."
"Patience. Stay patient. After all, the ones who should be terrified and on edge right now aren't us."
Assistant #1: …
Assistant #2: …
Eventually, one of them asked, "But who?"
This time, Eve didn't answer directly. She hopped off the desk, pulled a cigarette from her purse, lit it, and took a drag. "Some big shots."
Eve exhaled a puff of smoke.
...
Michael Lynton was also smoking.
He slowly blew out a long stream of smoke, his expression becoming blurry in the swirling haze. But the weight of the situation couldn't be hidden.
Everything was going as expected.
In the blink of an eye, the news had spread far and wide, and public opinion was unanimously rallying behind Anson, standing firmly by his side.
People began to demand justice for Anson, one question after another—
People needed someone to blame, but the vague term "paparazzi" wasn't enough to contain their anger.
So, others became collateral damage.
NYPD—why hadn't they made any progress in the investigation? How could a case with such high public interest drag on with no arrest? If even this was delayed, what about everyday citizens?
The Spider-Man 2 film crew—how could the paparazzi infiltrate the set and take such damaging photos, escaping without consequences? Has the crew still not figured this out?
Mount Sinai Hospital—how was the hospital ensuring the safety of VIP patients? If VIPs were at risk, what about ordinary patients?
It didn't stop there. Even Sam Raimi and Kirsten Dunst were caught in the crossfire, with netizens going wild.
Naturally, Sony-Columbia Pictures wasn't spared either.
So far, public criticism focused on Sony-Columbia's inaction—
"Sony-Columbia, have you forgotten? When the Spider-Man costume was stolen, you offered a $25,000 reward, showing strength. Now, not only has your Spider-Man been injured, but the new costume has been exposed. And you're just going to sit quietly? How is that okay?"
Everyone was united, all defending Anson.
Imagine, at such a critical moment, if the public found out that Sony-Columbia was auditioning for Anson's replacement. They wouldn't care about the studio's economic concerns; public outrage alone could bury Sony-Columbia.
Thankfully, Michael acted quickly, halting the auditions in time.
Crisis averted.
Logically, Michael should have been relieved, but instead, his temples were throbbing.
Unease.
An unshakable sense of unease crept in.
One beat, then another, pulling at his nerves. His scalp tingled, and his heart raced with uncertainty and anxiety.
Michael had a nagging feeling that this wasn't the peak of the storm.
But how could that be?
The current wave of public opinion had already reached unprecedented heights. People were even comparing Anson to Princess Diana.
Six years ago, they hadn't been able to protect the beloved Princess Diana, and all they could do was lay flowers outside Buckingham Palace.
Six years later, they refused to let history repeat itself.
"Protect Anson."
Gradually, people began to chant this slogan. Although it hadn't gained much support yet—after all, Anson wasn't Princess Diana, just… Spider-Man—you could still feel the rising tide of public sentiment.
To say that the public's outcry against "entertainment to death" had reached historic levels would be no exaggeration. It had even crossed into hatred.
So how could things escalate further?
Michael understood this logic. He analyzed the situation, but the unease remained.
His temples continued to pound, his nerves stretched to their limits, as though they might snap at any moment.
But Michael stayed calm and focused, knowing it was the only way out of this crisis.
No, he couldn't just sit back and wait for disaster.
Michael still couldn't quite figure out what would happen next, and the source of his unease eluded him.
But Michael wasn't the type to sit idly by. Even though he couldn't see the storm brewing, it didn't mean he couldn't strike back.
The best defense is a good offense.
And Michael hadn't given up on replacing Anson.
It wasn't personal; it wasn't about Anson. It was about Amy. Whoever played Spider-Man didn't matter. If Amy had chosen them, then that person was Michael's enemy, and they had to be replaced.
This was the fastest way for Michael to gain control of Spider-Man 2, secure his position at Sony-Columbia, and win the upper hand.
Michael's brain began working rapidly.
This plan needed to be carried out carefully, not too hastily. But waiting too long wasn't an option either—better sooner than later, quicker rather than slower.
So, the first step—
Michael took a deep drag from his cigarette, then slowly exhaled. A calm smile appeared on his otherwise refined face.
His anxiety slowly subsided because he was back in control. No longer would he passively wait or take hits without responding.
That was the good news. Once he made a move, his opponent would have to react, and the game would shift with each move.
Now, since the public needed someone to blame, a ruthless criminal, a villain embodying "entertainment to death," then…
He would give them one.
It was that simple.
After all, the public—they were always foolish, easily manipulated, deceived, and used. If the mastermind could stir up people's emotions, Michael could just as easily redirect their anger.