On a Saturday off, Claire sat in his study, eyes glued to the stock market fluctuations on his computer. He'd even splurged on a pricey Bloomberg terminal for home use. Maggie Q, lounging in a silk nightgown on the study's bed with a book, noticed Claire hadn't budged since yesterday. Curiosity got the better of her.
When she peeked at his screen and saw $19 million in his securities account, her jaw dropped. "Oh my God, you've got nineteen million in your stock account?"
Claire glanced at the balance, unfazed. "If Goldman Sachs' fees weren't so steep, I'd have cleared over twenty million."
Maggie slid into his lap, and Claire didn't resist. "You've only been in the game a year and you're already loaded," she said, pouting. "Not like me. All I've got are two investment properties, and I'm still not exactly swimming in cash."
Claire raised an eyebrow, half-amused. "If you can, sell those properties now. Keep holding, and I bet your assets will shrink by half."
"No way!" Maggie scoffed. "I've got a million bucks in a fund with a 15% annual return."
Claire's face turned serious at the mention of "15%." He lifted her off his lap. "Is it backed by Fannie Mae?"
Maggie nodded eagerly. "Yeah! I knew my broker wasn't lying. You in on it too?"
"Call your broker now and dump that fund," Claire urged. "Trust me, give me your money, and I'll handle your investments. Don't be the one counting cash for some scammer."
Maggie hesitated, but Claire knew her too well. He got her to not only pull her money but also warn her friends. Still flushed, Maggie nestled against his chest, tracing circles on his face. "I've handed you my entire fortune. If I go broke, you're taking care of me, okay? My broker was whining about it."
Her sultry tone was tempting, but Claire's eyes were locked on the Bloomberg terminal. "Don't worry. Something big's about to go down in the next couple of days. You'll thank me—and so will your friends."
Maggie pouted. "I listened to you, but my friends? They'll do what they want. Not my problem."
Claire could tell she'd hit a wall with her friends. Being a celebrity looked glamorous, but the reality was brutal. Huge expenses—teams, upkeep, lifestyle—paired with unstable income meant stars like Maggie needed steady cash flow. Claire didn't know her exact costs, but his own fitness team alone ran him $970,000 a year, plus $30,000 monthly for personal expenses. That didn't even include payments to his agent, Costa Mayor, or his management team.
This cash crunch pushed stars to "financial advisors," often fund managers or private equity types. These advisors were slick, sometimes even dabbling in film or TV investments. If a project hit big, they'd rake in celebrity investments. Claire knew these types had fleeced plenty of stars—even Mike Tyson got burned. Others, like Michael Jackson, Aaron Kwok, Jackie Chan, or Nicolas Cage, distrusted banks and funds, splurging on tourism, real estate, or even private islands. Maggie played it smart, diversifying, but her investments' ties to real estate were a red flag.
As they chatted, the Bloomberg terminal pinged. Claire shot up, rushing to check it. The screen flashed: February 14, 2007, 3:00 PM—HSBC announces massive losses in North American mortgage lending, writing down $10.8 billion in assets.
Within four minutes, the stock dashboard turned red. Maggie, no financial genius, knew what had just happened. An hour and a half ago, she'd sold her fund—backed by Fannie Mae through HSBC. A little later, and her million dollars could've vanished. "You saw this coming?" she asked.
"Yeah," Claire said, scrolling through fund reports. "But Wall Street's too drunk on itself to admit mistakes. Those advisors and brokers will just cover it up." As predicted, funds were already announcing new investments to gloss over the losses.
The string of financial blowups didn't dent America's spend-now mentality. Even Claire got swept up in the pre-crash frenzy. Thanks to Costa Mayor, he landed an endorsement with a Ford brand, though the process was… complicated.
Ford's headquarters sat in Dearborn, a Detroit suburb where over 60,000 people worked on Ford-related jobs. Their joint marketing department was based there. When Claire arrived, he spotted Chris Silberman and Costa Mayor together. Before he could say hi, Chris, with an exaggerated flourish, waved. "Hey, long time no see! That song of yours is blowing up."
The comment carried a jab, but Claire played dumb. "Haha, thanks. Where's Megan?"
Chris rolled his eyes. "She just bought three houses in L.A. on a loan, but rising rates are killing her. Bank called, and she's dealing with it."
Claire didn't press, drifting over to Costa, who avoided his gaze. Chris, ever smooth, chimed in. "This endorsement's tied to Transformers. You and Megan's drama makes you hot topics, so you snagged Jaguar's deal. Being a British star helped, too."
Claire nodded, remembering Ford still owned luxury brands like Volvo, Jaguar, and Land Rover back then, plus Ford Financial was a major U.S. player.
As he zoned out, Megan Fox approached, looking drained. Claire started to ask if she was okay, but she forced a smile. "You're here."
Her soft tone tugged at him. "You holding up?"
"I've got some savings," she said. "But before the next Transformers, I might need to take another gig."
"Don't rush into anything," Claire blurted. "If you need cash, I can spot you."
Megan's lips tightened, and she shook her head. Seeing Claire again stirred mixed feelings. Her marriage was over, but rebuilding with Claire would take time. His offer was out of old friendship, not romance. Accepting it might close that door forever. As for that model? Megan didn't see her as a threat. She was a top-tier star, with bigger backers than Du Juan's British Royal Foundation if she wanted them.
As a crowd gathered, Ford ushered Claire and Megan into Jaguar's R&D workshop. It wasn't huge, but the cutting-edge tech blew Claire away. At the marketing center, with its 500 workstations, Megan sighed, "If I'd invested in cosmetics like Charlize Theron, maybe I wouldn't be in this mess."
Claire smirked. Charlize's ventures—beauty, furs, luxury—grew big but cost her endorsements. Post-crisis, she realized her investments earned less than her Lancôme and Chanel deals. She sold them off cheap.
"Don't touch cosmetics or fashion," Claire warned. "It'll tank your endorsements."
"Oh!" Megan laughed, playfully nudging him. "I was just thinking about starting a streetwear brand—everyone's doing it."
Seeing her joke around eased Claire's worry. "Hold off on any moves till next year. Sell those houses if you can, and don't take random film roles—it'll hurt your image. I'm serious about the loan. Pay me back when you're flush."
From a distance, Chris Silberman, negotiating with Ford's marketing head, nodded approvingly at Claire and Megan's chemistry. Costa, following his gaze, shook his head. Claire was great—except for his hopeless flirtations.