Chapter 42 – José Makes His Move
As the crew applauded, Nicole looked momentarily dazed.
Most assumed she was still immersed in the role and didn't think much of it.
Only she knew the truth.
She hadn't been acting at all.
During the entire scene, her mind had replayed everything—how she met William, how they grew closer, every private moment they had shared.
But she quickly recovered, switching to a bright, professional smile and exchanging polite words with the crew.
Soon enough, the set quieted down again as everyone prepared for the next shot.
---
In the lounge area nearby, Nicole sat motionless, staring blankly at the crew adjusting the lighting. It was as if her soul had drifted elsewhere.
William walked over and sat beside her.
"What's wrong? You seem distracted."
The others hadn't noticed—but as her scene partner, he had.
"Just something on my mind," she replied softly. "I'll adjust."
William raised an eyebrow but didn't press further.
---
Filming continued smoothly.
The investment company and talent agency registrations proceeded without issue.
The Nikkei Index climbed even higher that month.
By July, Before I Go to Sleep had wrapped principal photography. Now came post-production.
William needed to submit a rough cut before the Sundance deadline next year, along with finalizing music, sound design, and other post-production details.
Compared to directing and starring simultaneously, this phase was relatively easier.
In terms of business, everything was going perfectly.
But for Ramirez, things were very different.
---
At that very moment, Ramirez was kneeling in the middle of a desolate stretch of desert.
"Ramirez! I'm your cousin! And this is how you repay me?"
José stood over him, eyes cold and venomous. A revolver pressed against Ramirez's temple.
"I didn't! I swear I didn't! Cousin—please don't kill me!"
Tears streamed down Ramirez's face. He had even wet himself.
José glanced down at the puddle by Ramirez's knees with visible disgust.
"You didn't? Then explain this to me. The tape's been sitting in video stores for a week—and only three copies sold. Three!"
He kicked a VHS case toward Ramirez.
"My Latin Lover?" José sneered. "What kind of garbage is this?"
He grabbed the VHS and flung it at Ramirez's chest.
"I sent you to shadow William to learn how that bastard makes money from adult films! And this is what you bring back?"
"It's not my fault!" Ramirez sobbed. "People just don't know how to appreciate art! I followed William's model exactly!"
José's patience had run dry.
"Do you even know how much money this trash cost me?"
His voice suddenly became frighteningly calm.
Ramirez trembled and shook his head.
"Forget it. No point explaining to a dead man. Don't worry—Maria and Daniela will work off your debt in the club."
Maria and Daniela—his mother and younger sister.
The only real family he had.
"No! Please! They're innocent! This has nothing to do with them!"
"Innocent?" José snapped. "Who's going to cover my losses? You?"
Ramirez opened his mouth—but no words came.
"Go to hell."
José pressed the revolver firmly against Ramirez's temple and pulled the trigger.
Bang.
The gunshot echoed across the empty desert.
Blood splattered across José's face.
He handed the revolver to Anthony, who passed him a towel. José calmly wiped the blood away.
"Anthony. Dispose of the body."
---
Several hours later.
William's office.
William sat behind his desk, looking calmly at José—who stood across from him with several men at his back.
Sergei stood nearby, flanked by a few former Soviet soldiers who had recently arrived to join him.
The air in the room was thick with tension.
The standoff had begun.
Even before William spoke, he caught the faint scent of blood in the air.
Sergei and the others—professionals to the core—had smelled it too.
Every one of them was on edge.
---
"So," William said calmly, leaning back in his chair, a fountain pen twirling between his fingers, "should I interpret this as a threat?"
"No, no, no," José replied with a grin, flashing his gold teeth. "How could you see it that way? I'm not refusing to pay."
He spread his hands theatrically.
"I'm offering you two hundred thousand dollars for fifty percent of your studio. Sounds like a fair deal, doesn't it?"
Two hundred thousand dollars—for half the company.
Given Umbrella's current output and revenue, that wasn't a deal.
That was robbery.
But William had anticipated something like this the moment he decided to work with gang-connected suppliers.
If he hadn't used José, he would've had to manage the actresses himself.
By working with José, he only had to deal with one man.
He sighed lightly and shook his head.
"That's not happening, José. If there's nothing else, you can leave."
Bang!
José suddenly slammed his palm down on the desk.
Instantly, every man in the room—including Sergei—rested a hand on the grip of his weapon.
José leaned forward, eyes blazing.
"Don't forget—one word from me, and not a single girl in the entire Valley will dare shoot for you again."
He stared at William like a predator sizing up prey.
William didn't even blink.
"Oh? Really? I'm terrified." He turned his head slightly. "Sergei. Show our guest out."
José faltered.
That wasn't the reaction he'd expected.
In his mind, controlling the Valley's talent pool meant controlling William's lifeline.
So why wasn't he rattled?
What José didn't understand was simple:
Yes, Valley girls were convenient.
But they weren't the only ones willing to shoot adult films.
William had already considered alternatives long ago.
"William Blake," José said slowly, trying to regain ground, "are you sure you want to make an enemy of me?"
William leaned back, expression cool.
"José, let me give you some advice. This is America. Our America. Not Mexico's."
It was a calculated jab.
José's jaw tightened.
The insult burned.
But he wasn't stupid.
He could see Sergei and the others were fully armed and ready. This wasn't a soft target.
Starting something here would be suicide.
So he swallowed his anger.
For now.