Chapter Thirteen: Torn Between Two Choices

The Hunter family quickly lost their composure. They hoped for a swift and decisive resolution, to cut through the tangled mess while William hesitated, and settle the matter before he could change his mind.

Being the second largest shareholder is entirely different from being the controlling shareholder. To easily seize control of White Oil now was pure fantasy. Other shareholders might not sell him their stocks, either.

The reasoning was simple: these shares had become precious commodities. If White Oil’s stock was transferred by agreement, whoever acquired them would instantly become a major shareholder. The Hunters might not even be able to outbid their rivals.

Even if they did manage to snatch the shares, it wouldn’t mean much anymore. What they needed now was a large influx of cash.

And there was an even bigger problem: time. The groundwork in the futures market had already been laid. If any complications cropped up at this stage, their grand scheme could suffer unexpected setbacks.

With oil prices at record highs, plenty of companies were interested. The Hunters were formidable, but compared to other oil giants, they were hardly worth mentioning.

Even if they eventually triumphed, it would be a classic case of winning the battle but losing the war—a near-sighted folly bordering on idiocy.

The performance had reached its climax; William White saw no reason to continue. It was clear that the damned banks would never grant him a loan.

William departed, leaving behind a mountain of affairs at home. There was no need to indulge the Hunter family’s madness, and he was certain the old man would not stir things up any further.

Both oil fields owned by White Oil were in Texas, with extraction costs relatively low. Naturally, they attracted considerable attention.

The Hunters’ conduct was widely condemned. The two families were connected, and relations had once been cordial. Now, bullying a child seemed utterly pointless.

The capital markets were indeed indifferent to tears, but even there, basic notions of right and wrong persisted.

Such aristocratic squabbles always piqued the interest of tabloids. Once these reporters acquired information and incentives, their coverage was predictable.

Dozens of banks were swept up in the controversy, suffering collateral damage. Conspiracy theories abounded, as everyone was keen to dig deeper.

Even if it was just tabloid gossip, it was enough to disgust anyone.

The Hunter family had never enjoyed a sterling reputation, and now, targeted so deliberately, their name was utterly sullied.

The old patriarch’s liver trembled with rage. He had been stood up, yet now he was portrayed as the villain. Worst of all, he had no way to go out and explain himself.

William White’s displays of hardship earned widespread sympathy.

Then, attentive readers noticed that William White shared a name with the author of a novel. When they discovered that their beloved book was indeed written by this very man—not merely a namesake—they were astonished.

Simultaneously, Scholar Press launched a vigorous publicity campaign. In just a few days, hundreds of thousands of copies were snapped up.

The Hunter family’s predicament was clear: as many people loved the book as hated them.

This stage drew attention not only from tabloids but from mainstream media, which began extensive coverage.

They were all writers themselves and understood the novel’s quality better than anyone. The slant of their reporting hardly needed explanation.

The principals had yet to comment, and the situation had already escalated. If things continued, the Hunter family would be universally recognized as the most shameless clan.

The old patriarch was now trembling all over, not just his liver. For capitalists, reputation might seem trivial; for a family, it could be more precious than money.

Reconciliation? The two families had completely torn off the mask; there was no turning back, only a fight to the finish.

Riding this wave, Forrest Gump became known to more and more people. A previously overlooked book sparked a nationwide discussion.

The publisher had no scruples and naturally capitalized on the momentum. With their relentless promotion, the book soared onto the bestseller list.

In another era, this book might not have caused much of a stir, but in today’s society it contained all the essential elements.

As an American, there was no reason not to love it. Though it contained satire, it was, on the whole, deeply inspirational.

The book was quintessentially American: anti-war and uplifting, describing the darker side of life but with a fundamentally positive theme.

Of course, there were detractors. If mailing razor blades were in fashion, he could have opened a general store.

The reason was simple: he was far too cruel to the heroine—making her fall into a life of hardship and ultimately killing her off.

William White wanted to protest: the original was even more outrageous. He’d already toned it down.

It was meant to be a tearjerker; if written as a comedy, it would lose its essence.

Hollywood moguls were vexed. They knew exactly how valuable this book was commercially.

Unfortunately, despite his current troubles, he was still a bona fide billionaire. Even after suffering severe blows, he remained a billionaire.

They hoped to secure the film adaptation rights, willing to pay a premium. Regrettably, he gently refused, not even interested in hearing their offers.

William White would have to be mad to sell now. What could these people offer—at most, a few hundred thousand dollars? The movie’s box office would easily exceed tens of millions, perhaps hundreds. The peripheral value was incalculable. How could he possibly sell at this stage?

It really was only a few hundred thousand, and that was thanks to his status. Hollywood hadn’t been doing well these past two years; profits were scarce, and survival itself was a blessing.

Given the current circumstances, the Hunter family dared not act rashly.

In fact, they were deeply regretful. They were mere nouveau riche, while bestselling authors held high status.

He was still the sole heir to a billion-dollar fortune. In high society, he would be far more popular than they were.

Intellectuals were always in demand, wherever they went. No parvenu family could ever hope to keep up.

"William, when did you start writing books? And so well, too," Jason asked.

"Jason, I’m a genius, all right? I just put some of my feelings into words. Is that so strange?"

"Strange? Boss, are you kidding? The reporters are going insane, and there are tons of them at the school. You’re in trouble—lots of girls are discussing your, uh, attributes."

William White’s face darkened instantly, inwardly grumbling.

"Jason, those girls didn’t say anything crazy, did they?"

"Boss, you’re doomed. They know all the details."

"Oh God, what kind of people are these?"

After chatting for a while, they hung up. Now it was William’s turn to worry. He was anything but a model student at school.

In fact, he was overthinking it. William White’s wild antics were far more authentic. The aloof, academic overachiever was the least popular type; reporters weren’t interested, nor were the public.

He wasn’t even nineteen yet, brimming with energy. Expressing his hormones freely was only natural. Words like “elegant” and “aloof” weren’t compliments for a teenager.

To many young female admirers, William White was dazzling—a flawless diamond bachelor. If they had a chance to get close, they certainly wouldn’t let it slip away.