Chapter 114: Where Is the Promised Red Sofa?

The real-life comedy had drawn to a close. William White had enjoyed himself, but the others were left nursing their wounds.

Damn it, this was a critical moment for the election, and they didn't need any more chaos. According to the latest polls, the "Big Boss" was losing so badly it was setting a historical record. Warner was a behemoth and, by all rights, should have held the upper hand; they simply hadn't expected their opponent to be so utterly shameless. God as his witness, they had only poached a few editors and screenwriters—certainly not the cleaning ladies.

The gloves were off, and the bridges were burned. This time, however, Warner remained silent; if they dared to retaliate, their opponent would surely play the victim to great effect. As for the high-priced hires, the old man at Warner didn't even know what to say. He needed complete scripts, but all these people could do was fill in the blanks—what good was that?

Hire actors? Don't be ridiculous. No one wanted to be cannon fodder. Did they expect Eddie Murphy to play Superman? It was the intellectual property that attracted A-list stars; without a suitable script, no matter how good the connections were, no one would sign on. Money wasn't the most important factor.

Of course, the losses weren't catastrophic; after all, it was just a game, and it would pass. A frantic Steve Ross was busy playing firefighter. The anger of shareholders wasn't easily quelled; Atari was making good money, so why on earth had they gone and created a rival for themselves?

Poaching? You think only you can play that game? What does a fifty-percent salary increase actually mean? And the fact that they were specifically targeting Atari employees—that was truly hateful.

Faced with a chaotic Atari, heavy-handed suppression was impossible, and empty promises of promotions were just as ineffective. Even so, many employees were leaving. The target was clear: the planning and programming departments. If this continued, their new product development would be dead in the water, and the entire R&D department might end up belonging to William White.

The bad news didn't stop there. Through various channels, it was learned that someone was looking for ways to short their stock. Even though it hadn't been put into action yet, they had to be careful; who knew when the hammer would fall?

The lead for *Johnny English* had been cast, but an important supporting actress remained undecided. The British girls were too pretentious and simply couldn't pull off the allure he required. His casting director was certain that while the boss was young, he wouldn't engage in "that" in the office; there was no need for the boss to be watching solo auditions.

"Is there anyone else?"
"One more, a backup."

"Bring her in."

The casting director’s heart sank. Today was going to be a disaster; the boss was clearly dissatisfied. William White wanted the kind of allure associated with Black Widow, not the kind of "foul" physique—damn it, hadn't he asked for a Marilyn Monroe type? Why did it keep turning into Kim Kardashian? Well, perhaps some of these girls hadn't even been born yet.

American aesthetic standards were truly bizarre. If they admitted that Hepburn and Monroe were beautiful, why couldn't they develop a few more like that? What was the point of two giant volleyballs?

Wait, it was her?

"Hmm, this one is passable," William White mused to himself.

"Send her to change, and tell her what she needs to do."

The casting director was curious. This was only the second person granted a costume test today. The others were complete failures, including one he had held in high regard. What was it about this slightly rustic girl that worked?

In this era, Sharon Stone was certainly a figure of note, even if William White didn't personally care for her. But what did that matter? He was just looking for an actress; as long as she could attract an audience, it was fine. After changing into the costume, she looked much prettier; with a little makeup, she would be just fine.

"Hmm, do you have an agent?"
"Yes, I do."
"Have him come to the company tomorrow; there are some details to go over."

With that, William White walked out first, leaving the girl stunned. She couldn't understand it—didn't she need to perform? Where was that damned red couch? Where was she supposed to sleep?

Even as she left the company, Sharon Stone remained dazed. Too much had happened today, and she couldn't process it alone. And that damned agent—she was definitely going to fire him. For an audition of this caliber, her agent hadn't even shown up, which showed just how awkward her position was. It wasn't that no one was backing her—Woody Allen had just written and directed a film where she played a vase—but it was what it was.

Though the old bastard was a scoundrel, his eye for women was decent. Unfortunately, he was still a weakling at this stage and hadn't reached his peak, so trying to touch such a beauty was unrealistic. Although he was an excellent director, William White had no intention of grooming him; the old man was just too disgusting. His son’s sister becoming his stepmother—how pathetic that guy’s son must have felt. It was truly bizarre. Even if she wasn't biological, it was still messed up; she was an adopted daughter, not some "god-daughter." Even if there were no laws against it, it was still inappropriate.

The saga of the father and son's falling out was full of conflicting stories; whether it was truly a clash between father and son was unknown.

At this moment, Sharon Stone was a total ingenue. The "red couch" of Hollywood had long vanished, and they were playing "high art" now, like going to a hotel to study *Shakespeare in Love*. Doing "that" openly in the office would have led to a bankruptcy lawsuit long ago. These kinds of incidents between superiors and subordinates were sure to lead to a fall. Unless you had signed a special agreement, there was no way out; you couldn't win those lawsuits, and at most, you’d just embarrass the other party without gaining any real benefit.

Atari was worried that Legend World’s games would enter the console market; they couldn't compete. Development on their new system wasn't going well, and with a bunch of people poached, the timeline was now pushed into the indefinite future.

At this moment, Steve Ross felt some regret. He had clearly misjudged the situation; he thought he was dealing with bronze, but it turned out to be a challenger.

Arbitrarily raising salary levels wasn't good for the industry. Whoever did this out of the blue would surely become the target of everyone’s scorn. But the situation was awkward; this was clearly a personal vendetta, and it was best for everyone else to keep their mouths shut, unless they wanted to follow in Atari's footsteps.

If this was how he treated the industry leader, the others really didn't stand a chance. They just hoped the storm would pass quickly, though their own employees were starting to get restless. A ten-percent raise was one thing, but fifty percent was a huge problem.

Most importantly, Legend World really wasn't afraid. They were essentially operating on a lean model; their main revenue came from licensing, and rather than a company, they were more like a studio. Ambitious people naturally had their own ideas; if they had a good concept, they could just gather a few friends and do it themselves. As long as the product was solid, someone would buy it.

Although some cursed William White, more people directed their anger at Atari. The industry had already concluded that Atari had tried to pull a power play, only to anger that bastard kid, failing in their attempt and having their R&D team ruined in the process.

Steve Ross was so angry his liver trembled. Although he had thought about it, he hadn't even implemented it yet! This news was naturally spread by those with ulterior motives, solely to smear his reputation. And he didn't even have the guts to come out and deny it, since the rumors were a mix of truth and fiction—and some of the content was indeed true.