The Wolf of Los Angeles

[Chapter 217: Preparations for the Deal]

In the reception room on the fourth floor of Twitter, Emma Batson and her assistant sat on the sofa, looking at Hawke and Edward across from them.

She instructed her assistant to hand over the drafted proposal to Hawke, saying, "We invited a third-party professional firm to evaluate Twitter, and the valuation came out to $1.2 billion."

Hawke didn't look at the proposal; he replied directly, "That's too low."

Emma cut to the chase: "Twitter has a large number of active users, but it has only been around for six months and hasn't found a stable revenue stream. It will operate at a loss for several years to come."

Hawke countered, "Users represent all the possibilities for the future."

"But we can't calculate it that way for the investors; we also need to assess investment returns." The proposal she held was drafted by BlackRock's San Francisco office, and she was only acting as a communication bridge. "Hawke, could you at least listen to the offer first?"

Hawke nodded slightly, "Alright."

Emma continued, "BlackRock's San Francisco office is willing to acquire half of your Twitter shares for $500 million, and you would remain the CEO of Twitter, with no interference in day-to-day operations."

"I'll say it again, that's still too low." Hawke had another point to make: "No interference in daily operations includes the direction of Twitter's public opinion, right?"

That was a topic that couldn't be avoided and would also be reflected in the contracts. Emma couldn't send the wrong signals here, so she said, "Of course, for significant public opinions, Twitter must maintain consistency with BlackRock's position."

Hawke expressed plainly, "I can't accept that because it would diminish Twitter's independence."

Emma pointed out, "But Twitter would receive full support from BlackRock and all its associated platforms."

Hawke shook his head, "Independence is key; I won't give that up."

Since they couldn't agree on that crucial point, Emma increased the offer: "BlackRock can go up to $600 million."

Hawke remained steadfast, "This isn't about the money; it's a matter of principle."

"Please at least take a look at the proposal," Emma suggested as she prepared to leave. "I'll communicate further with the San Francisco office."

Hawke stood up and shook her hand. Emma and her assistant hurried out.

...

Once downstairs and in the car, Emma's assistant said, "It's going to be tough going through the usual channels."

Emma agreed, "It's hard to deal with fundamental differences."

The assistant suggested, "Should we try something else...?"

Although Emma was very confident about her looks, she wouldn't be blind: "In a deal worth hundreds of millions, how much impact could I have even if I personally got involved?" She chuckled, "Don't joke. Hundreds of millions; people like me could be found in dozens."

The assistant said no more.

Emma added, "You also overlooked one thing: this is Los Angeles, not San Francisco. This isn't our turf; it's Twitter's turf. Some strategies that work in San Francisco won't work here. If something goes wrong, not many will come to help us."

The assistant replied, "I understand."

Emma instructed the driver, "Let's head back and continue discussions with the San Francisco office to see what they specifically want to do."

...

Upstairs, Hawke returned to his office and opened the documents, carefully reviewing them to ensure there were no discrepancies before examining the investment proposal inside.

The contents matched exactly what Emma Batson had stated, but as for the promised platform and resource support, in light of Twitter losing its independence, it was meaningless.

Hawke quickly deduced that the other party wanted to use hundreds of millions of dollars as a bait to manage him, a naive hick from Wyoming, to take control of Twitter.

At the very least, they wanted Twitter's public opinion aligned with the blue party.

Hawke picked up the phone and called Mary Ferguson, briefly explaining his meeting with Emma and faxing the proposal over. He wouldn't hesitate when it came to aligning with significant players.

One of the reasons for involving the Ferguson family in the investment was precisely for these kinds of troublesome matters. Now that Twitter had become a major asset, the Ferguson family certainly wouldn't let just anyone take their piece.

...

Long Beach, the highway leading to San Diego.

Tim, having rushed over from 20th Street in Santa Monica, arrived under a highway bridge with private investigator Coulson accompanying him.

Two Mexican men were already waiting there.

As they spotted an unfamiliar car approaching, they instinctively reached for their guns beneath their clothing.

Coulson made a phone call, and when it started ringing, he stepped out of the car, raising his phone and calling out, "It's me, sent over by Chrissy, codename Rattlesnake."

The bald Mexican shouted, "Everyone get out of the car! Hurry, everyone out!"

Tim followed suit and got out.

The two men walked toward the Mexicans.

Tim held up a black plastic bag. "This is the money."

The bald one shouted, "Open it."

Tim untied the bag, revealing stacks of cash.

The bald man looked satisfied. "Come here."

Coulson and Tim approached, placing the money bag on the car's hood.

The bald man signaled to his accomplice.

Another tattooed guy went to the car and brought out another bag, handing it over. "You guys check it out."

Coulson took the bag.

While the bald man counted the cash, Coulson examined the goods concurrently.

Tim glanced inside, seeing that the bag was filled with high-quality plastic explosives. Once connected to a detonator, they'd be ready-made bombs.

This stuff was incredibly powerful, perfect for sending targets to the sky.

Coulson inspected everything and nodded at Tim, indicating, "The goods are fine."

The bald man quickly finished counting the money, grinning, "If you need anything, don't hesitate to reach out."

Coulson replied, "I'll call if we need anything."

They shook hands and parted ways.

...

Tim followed Coulson back to the car, safely storing the explosives before returning to Los Angeles.

Coulson asked, "Are you really going to use these things?"

"Why worry? It's not like we haven't used them before," Tim downplayed, "You won't have to lift a finger."

Coulson thought of Miller Collins behind the Ackerman Charity Shelter. He inquired, "Hawke Osment is different; once a person is dead..."

Tim shook his head, "No, it's people alive that are trouble. Once a person is dead, the forces behind them aren't thinking of revenge; they're only considering what benefits they can gain. As long as the gains are substantial, toss a killer their way, and everything will eventually settle down."

Coulson smiled, "Your squabbles are too complicated; I just want to make money."

Since he and Coulson had a long-standing relationship, Tim said deliberately, "Right now, the higher-ups haven't confirmed to move yet. If it happens, once it's successful, you can take a vacation overseas and come back in a few months."

"I've actually wanted a break," Coulson understood the meaning behind the words, "When I return from overseas, I'll be ready to retire."

Tim pointed to where the explosives were hidden, "You'll need to modify these."

Coulson snapped his fingers, "No problem."

...

When they reached Culver City near Sony Pictures, Tim switched cars and drove back to Santa Monica alone.

On the way, he received a call from his boss, Douglas. "What's the situation on your end?"

"I've taken care of all the necessary preparations," Tim said as succinctly as possible, "Ready to go at a moment's notice."

Douglas advised, "Don't act rashly; follow my instructions."

Tim replied, "Understood."

The call ended soon after.

...

As night fell, Tim's car turned onto 20th Street, coming close to home just as Jett Brown's Volvo rolled up.

Jett honked, parked by the roadside, and lowered the window to greet him, "Tim, haven't seen you in a few days; been busy with work?"

Tim lowered his window, smiling, "Just got back from a trip out of town."

Jett, whose work involved directly calling people, invited him, "Got time tonight? Let's grab a drink. I will bring Hawke along; we can have a guy's night out."

Tim declined, "I've been away for several days, just busy with work and I'm exhausted. I really need some rest; how about I treat you next time?"

Jett didn't press him, "Alright then, call me next time."

Tim nodded at him, using his electronic key to open the garage door and drove inside.

...

Jett backed his car into his own garage.

He entered his home, went upstairs to change, and noticed Hawke's Mercedes and Erica's G-Wagon pulling into the neighboring garage one after the other.

Erica came over; surely, Hawke was busy.

Having been neighbors for a few months, Jett noticed that this couple had a remarkable amount of energy, often involved in multiple sessions in one night.

Thinking of his own shortcomings, he sighed; the disparities between people were vast.

...

Next door, Erica suggested making dinner for Hawke with ingredients she just bought from the supermarket.

Hawke leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching and asked, "Can you handle it? Do you want me to help?"

Erica turned around and smiled, "Don't underestimate me; I took cooking classes. This isn't your crappy American cooking class."

Hawke pretended to be horrified, "It's not one of those British cooking classes, is it? Darling, meals like that can be lethal."

"Of course not the British food," Erica seemed to understand the implications of British cuisine, "I learned Italian and Spanish cooking; I may not be an expert, but making simple grilled meat and pasta is no problem."

She pointed outside, "You can go watch TV in the living room. Please be patient."

Not wanting to disturb her further, Hawke returned to the living room, turned on the TV, and watched the news, specifically switching to the entertainment channel.

Coincidentally, the entertainment channel was airing news about Tom Cruise and his association with Scientology.

Dressed in high-ranking Scientology attire, Tom Cruise stood on a podium, calling for more people to embrace the Church of Scientology.

This wasn't recent footage; it must have been years prior, as Tom Cruise looked younger than he did now.

Hawke sighed inwardly, noting that this guy was perpetually in the negative spotlight.

*****

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