Chapter 101: Strike Before They Do
The morning air over Santa Monica Beach was crisp and clean. Spring sunlight danced on the waves, and the Pacific breeze rustled through the palm leaves, filling the air with a soft, rhythmic whisper.
Inside a seaside resort villa, Jennifer Connelly emerged from the sheets, resting her head on Aaron's chest as she caught her breath.
"You just told me to keep an eye on… Steve Jobs?"
"Not him exactly," Aaron chuckled, running his hand down her back. "His animation company—Pixar. He bought it from George Lucas a few years ago."
Years earlier, Steve Jobs had spent $5 million to purchase Lucasfilm's computer animation division, then invested another $5 million to rebuild it into Pixar Animation Studios, holding a 70% stake.
Right now, Pixar was a niche studio focused on computer animation, doing commercial work—ads, logos, and special effects—while also producing a few acclaimed short films: Luxo Jr., Red's Dream, Tin Toy, and Knick Knack.
Aaron knew what was coming. It wouldn't be long before Disney recognized Pixar's technical potential and moved to collaborate with them. He wanted to get there first. After all, Jeffrey Katzenberg had a sharp eye for animation, and hesitation meant losing ground.
"Pixar's based in the Bay Area, right?" Jennifer asked.
"Yeah," Aaron replied. "It used to share a campus with Lucasfilm, but now it's in Richmond, over in Alameda County—between Berkeley and Oakland."
After witnessing the staggering profits of Disney's animated features, Aaron had already made up his mind—Pixar had to become his. The company was bleeding money, and Jobs was preoccupied with NeXT Computer, meaning the timing was perfect.
Jennifer nodded thoughtfully. Since she was still at Stanford, it would be easy for her to keep tabs on Pixar's activity.
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By the time April Fool's Day arrived, Boyz n the Hood had surpassed $30 million at the box office, while Sin City of Vice—released a week earlier—stood at $27.8 million.
That evening, at Rainbow Bar & Grill in West Hollywood—
Aaron found Jack Wells leaning against the counter.
"You called me out here. What's going on?"
Jack grinned and gestured toward a private booth in the back.
"Warren Beatty's in there tonight—with a few girls. All arranged by Heidi Fleiss herself."
Aaron snorted. "That old bastard never changes. Still can't stay out of trouble, huh?"
Jack shrugged. "He's got no projects out right now, so it's not much of a media draw—unless it's another one of those scandals."
Taking a sip of his drink, Jack's grin faded. "Still… seems a waste not to use the opportunity."
Aaron raised a brow. "And what were you thinking of doing?"
"I was going to leak it to the press, but… I doubt anyone would care."
Aaron waved him off. "Forget it. Sit down and have a drink. He's not worth the effort."
Jack gave a half-smile. "Fine. But maybe I'll send someone to pay him a little visit—just to remind him where he stands."
Then he pointed toward the other end of the bar.
"Hey, isn't that Brad Pitt? You mentioned he's got potential."
Aaron looked over. Sure enough, it was him.
"Yeah, don't underestimate that kid. He's got something. Heard during Thelma & Louise, he got really close with Geena Davis. And before that? Messing around with Robin Givens, right in Mike Tyson's bed."
Aaron smirked, shaking his head. "Now that's a man playing with fire."
Jack Wells' eyes widened in disbelief.
"Wait—you're serious? He actually messed with Tyson's wife?"
Aaron smirked. "Yeah. The guy's got guts, I'll give him that. Anyway, call him over later—we'll have a drink. Thelma & Louise drops next month, and he's got a supporting role in it."
"This one's going to do well," Aaron added. "Should boost his name quite a bit. I wouldn't be surprised if we end up working with him someday."
Brad Pitt really did have something. His looks were undeniable, his screen presence natural—he was built for stardom. Up to now, he'd mostly been doing small-budget projects, but Thelma & Louise, with a top-tier director and a killer script, was the kind of break that changed everything.
Since Brad already knew Aaron, it didn't take long before they were sharing drinks, laughter, and the easy charm of rising Hollywood nights.
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As the release date for The Silence of the Lambs approached, Aaron's attention was drawn to the morning papers.
In the Hollywood Reporter, a bold headline caught his eye:
"Brentwood Home of Actor Warren Beatty Burglarized!"
"Losses estimated near one million dollars in cash, watches, jewelry, and collectibles."
Aaron rubbed his eyes, half-amused. Jack had mentioned something only days ago—could it really have happened that fast?
He grabbed his jacket and left the office, driving straight to the Angel Theatre.
Inside Jack's office, he didn't bother with pleasantries.
"Jack," Aaron said flatly, "was that your work?"
Jack chuckled. "What, me? No way. His place has cameras all over. It was three black guys—masked up, quick job. Even if there's footage, cops won't get much from it."
Aaron leaned back in his chair. "Beatty's claiming huge losses. Think the insurance company will cover it?"
Jack waved a dismissive hand. "Not even close. I checked—more like five, six hundred grand tops. Half those 'collectibles' aren't even verifiable. But here's the fun part: while the cops were processing the scene, they found a bunch of drugs in his house."
A slow grin spread across his face. "He's going to have a real bad week."
Aaron eyed him carefully. "Next time, you could save everyone the trouble—just have your guys plant the stuff."
Jack grimaced. "Yeah, right. Those guys are broke. If they had that kind of product, they'd use it themselves before planting anything."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "And for the record, we scouted that place for days. Without my prep work, those idiots wouldn't have made it through the gate."
Aaron rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You've got quite the network—cleaners, private eyes, now burglars. What's next? You bringing in ex–CIA or FBI agents for side gigs?"
Jack snorted. "Why not? Half the private investigators around here have Bureau contacts anyway. CIA though? Nah, that's international work—too much heat. But slipping into a mansion with light security? That's child's play."
He smirked, lighting a cigarette. "All I did was gather the intel and pass it along. If they got caught, well—no skin off my back."
Aaron gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Remind me never to piss you off, Jack."
Jack just grinned. "You'd have to try pretty damn hard."
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