Time passed, and the facts spoke for themselves—conclusive and deserving, upheld by discipline and certainty. Sitting at his desk, breathing, gave him a subtle reminder of the pencil between his fingers, and there, by sheer luck, he continued writing stories filled with content, non-stop, day and night. He would spend eight consecutive hours fully focused on his stories, which were reviewed by a team that probably worked sixteen hours a day. Their goal: to deliver five volumes every seven days—a full-on journey. In just thirty-three days, he completed thirty volumes of the Yu-Gi-Oh series and another thirty of Van Helsing. Two dedicated teams had been hired to ease the workload, and even so, he was making a lot of money while also advancing, on his own, the Naruto series.
–That movie feels more like an event than anything else,– said Anne, standing beside him, her shirt slightly loose, cheeks flushed, and a silly smile stretched across her face—she was utterly happy.
–It is. They spent 250 million dollars on production and marketing. They reduced my salary by 6.5% in royalties and a $500,000 base. Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? I won’t make a cent unless it breaks 500 million at the box office. But I’ll make a fortune, Anne,– Billy said, scanning the plans. Around that time, he was supposed to travel the world with the team, give light interviews, and attend screenings, all while greeting fans.
–So you’re leaving,– Anne murmured.
–I am...– Billy replied. He was scheduled for a promotional tour from June 4th to June 15th, and after the premiere, he would fly to Australia with one purpose: to film the entire Matrix trilogy. With help from the Wachowskis—and of course, adding his ideas as producer—things looked promising. He had bought the entire Matrix saga for 30 points, a true sci-fi masterpiece capable of shifting cinematic paradigms. Given how long the shoot would be, the salaries were generous, deadlines were extended, and a total of $210 million was allocated for the three films. Every expense, whether large or small, was fully covered.
The budget was divided equally among the three movies—seventy million each. Even with an expansive marketing campaign, the rising promotional costs inflated the overall budget, but it was still acceptable. The right balance of special effects and real-world footage made the result generous, aiming for perfection. Six months of filming.
Did he only draw for eight hours a day? No—he trained two hours in the morning and again in the afternoon. He was intense in every aspect of his work.
Anne didn’t try to avoid him, but something told her the time had come.
–A package arrived for you. I’m not entirely sure what it is… but it looks like a private document,– Anne said, straightening herself as she fixed her hair and brushed it gently.
–San Jose makes me want to put down roots,– Billy said, looking up at the sky. The light seemed to glow with a colorful essence. He loved the air, the way the city moved—driving with grace, unbothered by anything other than taking a deep breath and allowing himself the time to appreciate even the birdsong.
–See you later,– Anne said.
Billy opened the photos, and his body froze. The contents were simply too dark, too dangerous. Who could have them? And who would be capable of creating something so absurd, so unreal? He tried to stay calm, but it was utterly devastating to see how someone had acquired, with alarming precision, such direct and indiscreet content. Different photos, seemingly taken of him since 1995—or perhaps even earlier. No, maybe since 1993, when fame had started to become part of his life. Captured at whim, in so many moments, in such a stalker-like manner—even when he had security. It all suddenly felt like an illusion.
A small letter, maybe just a single page, contained a chilling phrase:
“Watch your enemies. You’ve been a pebble in the shoe of certain men. Be careful not to forget you live in a castle in the air.”
From your dear friend, W.D.R.
There were more words written, but he didn’t know what to do. He could only run his fingers through his hair and call his security team. Distrust was his first reaction. That letter proved that even security was an illusion when facing the true malice of people intent on harming.
Billy called his security team without showing them the photos and ordered everyone to assemble. Four people were responsible for his safety. He examined them closely—these were the people entrusted with his privacy and his life. He looked them in the eyes.
–Is the security system intact?– Billy asked.
The head of security, who had been with him for just over two years, stretched his body upward, raising his gaze toward the ceiling, as if he were choosing his words with intense thought.
–Everything’s in order. The perimeter is secure. No breaches. We check the guards every 24 hours at all properties and regularly sweep the company headquarters. We see familiar faces, but nothing irregular shows up in the logs,– said Erwin Kyle.
–You know the term “wiretapping”?– Billy asked.
Erwin nodded, standing straight, shoulders squared.
–I think we need to make sure all communication lines are clean—fiber optics, service providers, everything. Can you take care of that?– Billy asked. More than the photos, what he needed was a sense of control over his movements. Maybe the way to achieve that was by recalibrating how his phone was operated—and figuring out the most effective way to protect himself in these situations. Now, with his hands folded, he was strategizing how to defend his privacy.
–We can do something... but it won’t be easy. Maybe a line switch. It’s not very effective, though. Still, I’ll check with the agency,– Erwin replied.
–No problem. You may go. If we need to talk to the agency, then we’ll do what must be done,– Billy said.
–Then it will be done, sir,– Erwin replied, as firm as ever.
–Very good,– Billy said with a nod.
When they were dismissed, the air seemed to drain from them. His letters now seemed to drift toward an unknown corner of the ravenous world of business.