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Chapter - 114
🕑 Added 2025-04-24 14:03:29 +0000 UTC[Title : Zephyr Owlsworth]
….
[Location : MarvelD Comics - HQ]
….
The view outside the glass wall would be breathtaking if the atmosphere inside weren’t so frigid.
The skyline glows behind the glass walls, but the energy inside the room is anything but warm.
Gwendolyn, confident without being cocky, sits across the table from - Tolliver Lee - Stan Lee’s only son, and her Uncle in a way due to Stan and Jerry Siegel’s brotherhood
Coming back, Tolliver is a man in his late forties. He sips from a lukewarm espresso, eyes skimming a page he hasn’t turned in five minutes.
There is water on the table. Neither touches it.
“So, let’s hear it.” Tolliver began with animated hand gestures of money. “What kind of numbers are we talking about?”
Gwendolyn doesn't hesitate. She flips open the slim binder in front of her. “We are putting up $48 million. Split over three stages - $20 million up front, then the rest based on performance milestones over the next 24 months. Film development, licensing returns, and streaming integration.”
“That’s not a small change.” Tolliver leans back. He wasn’t expecting something that solid. He comments. “And what, you are just offering it... out of love for the brand?”
Gwendolyn corrected. “No. It’s a business proposal.”
Tolliver clicked his tongue. “Tsk, so you want a piece of the pie?”
When he said those words Tolliver himself felt a bit funny.
When Gwendolyn contacted him, he thought she wanted to provide some help, as he was clearly aware of EverLeaf Press recent success.
However - Piece of pie?
Is there any left at this point?
Gwendolyn unbothered, continued. “17.5% equity. Non-voting. But I want first-look rights on all studio-originated projects for the next five years. And access to internal creative planning.”
Tolliver gave a half-smirk. “You came prepared.”
17.5% share - that will be the height share anyone will own if EverLeaf buys, and would indirectly become the major shareholder, and decision maker.
Gwendolyn slides a folder across the table. Inside: projection charts, talent attachments, market forecasts. It’s clean, lean, and brutal in its clarity.
“We see the potential in Marvel. Even if you don’t. The IPs are there. Dormant, not dead. But they won’t survive another three years with this model. Licensing everything out, no original creative vision, zero long-term strategy…”
Tolliver’s face barely twitches, but it’s enough. “We have kept this place afloat.”
Gwendolyn didn't hesitate to launch a punch. “You have kept it for sale. That’s not the same thing.”
A moment of silence. The tension crackles, but Gwendolyn doesn’t flinch. Tolliver leans back, exhaling through his nose.
Tolliver studies her. It’s not the offer that bothers him - it’s who is making it.
Unable to hold it, he finally asked. “And this is just you? Or your father behind the curtain? Actually, where the hell is even Zephyr?”
Zephyr Owlsworth - Gwendolyn’s father.
That name sits heavy in the room.
Alas, Gwendolyn did not indulge in his rants. “It’s a consortium. My father’s got nothing to do with this so I am here on my own terms.”
Tolliver drums his fingers on the table, glances down at the numbers again. “You realize how risky this is, right? The last movie that two old men made tanked so hard we are still trying to scrub the reviews off Google.”
Gwendolyn nodded. “Yeah. I have read them. Doesn’t change what’s possible. You just need someone who knows what they are doing with this IP.”
He watches her. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t oversell. That bothers him too.
….
They talk for another fifteen minutes.
Legal phrasing. Schedule A breakdowns. Tentative exit clauses.
By the end, both know the deal is not signed - but it’s real. And real means dangerous.
Tolliver suggests expressing his disinterest. “Alright. I will take a closer look. Get back to you.”
“Take your time.” Gwendolyn didn't let that bother. She adds. “Just not too much.”
Immediately after that, she gathers her folder, exits the room, meet Maggie and just as the duo about to walk toward the elevator—
“Hey for real?” Tolliver asked, but there is no real concern in his tone. “How is Zephyr doing?”
Nonetheless, Gewndolyn pauses, turns her head just slightly.
She responds before turning again. “He is doing well. Recently.”
Nothing more. Nothing less. She exits.
….
As Tolliver watches Gwendolyn leave the building from above, he pulls out his phone. Dials quickly.
===
[Carrow Seagal]
===
Carrow lifts the phone. [“Yeah?”]
Tolliver reports. “She came. Made the same offer as last time. $48M, phased.”
Carrow Seagal - a man early fifties hears Tolliver. He leans back, imagining the picture of his younger brother's daughter.
He questions. “So, she is serious.”
Tolliver didn't hide anything. “Dead serious. I could tell the pitch wasn't fake. It is clean and planned for a long time, though I thought it kinda smelled like her dad’s influence.”
Carrow laughs. “Heh. Still trying to save this place, huh?”
“Looks like it.” Tolliver sounded like he didn't care. He adds further pleased. “Your little brother didn’t let go completely. Not surprising. Nostalgia’s a stubborn disease… and I was certainly not expecting his daughter would be walking down the same path…”
Carrow comments. “Let her keep dreaming and waste their money. If they’re dumb enough to put cash into this mess, we are smart enough to take it. Sentiment is not gonna save this place.”
Tolliver responded mimicking the same flare in his tone. “Ture. Milk them. Let them think they are buying back hope. We take their investment, buy ourselves some breathing room, then move before they realize it’s a corpse dressed in a cape.”
Carrow asked, clearly understanding. “And if it sinks?”
Tolliver. “Then we leave with cash in hand. Better than pennies on the dollar in a bankruptcy auction.”
Carrow takes a sip of his coffee, kicks his feet up on the desk. “Just don’t sign anything without running it by me.”
Tolliver reposes coolly. “Relax. I am not in a hurry here too…”
They hang up.
….
[Gwendolyn’s Side]
Gwendolyn watches the numbers tick down. Her expression is unreadable, but her grip on the folder tightens just a little.
She knows exactly what kind of men she just sat across from.
She also knows they have no idea what’s coming.
….
[Regal’s Side]
The sunlight in L.A. always hits differently this time of year - sharp, reflective, bouncing off the chrome of expensive cars and glass buildings like the city was trying to show off.
But Regal didn’t care.
He had just finished what could either be a game-changing conversation or a waste of gas and time - with Zach Galifianakis, no less.
He stepped out of the quiet comedy club, a half-hidden place near La Brea.
His black Chevrolet Impala sat parked across the street, a little dusty from the wind last night.
Regal crossed over, glancing once - habitually - at the rearview mirrors of a nearby car. Nothing felt off at first.
But as he drove off, something scratched at the back of his mind.
Three minutes in, he took a left. Nothing weird. The same gray sedan behind him took the same turn.
Okay.
Another block, he slowed slightly and took a casual right. Sedan still behind him.
He exhaled, trying not to overthink it - but then he made a third, random left. Then a right. Loop complete.
The same gray sedan. Still there.
Regal was almost annoyed at himself. “Nope. That ain’t coincidence.”
To confirm it fully, he made one last random right, bringing himself back toward a part of town with an old cafe he vaguely remembered.
Not a chain, not busy. Quiet. Off-radar.
He pulled into the faded lot and parked directly in front of the place.
The paint on the cafe sign was flaking, one of the letters was missing.
He got out slowly, eyes scanning the sedan as it pulled up behind him and parked a little awkwardly, tires slightly over the line.
The driver didn’t get out. He just sat there.
But now, from this close, Regal could see him clearly through the windshield. Stocky guy. Thick build. Late 30s, maybe 40s. Short, messy hair. Beard trying to grow back in. Looked vaguely familiar.
Regal muttered. “Where do I know this guy from...?”
Still watching, Regal turned and entered the cafe.
A tiny brass bell above the door gave a tired jingle. The cafe was dead silent inside. Only one other customer sat in the far corner, face buried in a laptop.
Regal walked to the counter, since his focus was elsewhere he didn't even clearly see the face of the barista - just efficient, silent service.
He ordered a black coffee, grabbed one of those neon-colored hangover recovery drinks from the fridge, and walked over to a booth by the window.
He set the extra drink across from him on the table.
A minute passed.
Then the bell jingled again.
A large, broad-shouldered man stepped in.
His build screams ex-something - cop, military, maybe bouncer.
Regal doesn’t need to wave again. The guy’s eyes find the drink, then him, then the empty chair. He walks in.
Regal grabbing his cup. “Hey. Over here.”
The man approached and sat down across from him. The booth creaked a little under his weight. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked down at the drink, then at Regal, like he was waiting for something.
Regal tilted his head. “So... want to explain the part where you followed me halfway across town? I already called the cops, by the way. Hope you are not on parole.”
The man gave no reaction. He just blinked once, slow. “Thanks.”
Regal. “...Huh?”
There was a brief pause. The man glanced out the window, as if checking the sky, then looked back.
“From the other night. On the road. I have had too much... whatever it was. You and that Madam. You helped me out.
…you and Madam?
Regal could see the difference in his tone when he said those words.
He stared at him. “Wait. You’re that guy?”
The face finally clicked.
The same guy Gwen had nearly gotten out of the car to drag off the sidewalk.
A mess that night - sweating, mumbling, couldn’t even walk straight. Now cleaned up, but still rugged. Not quite sober-looking, but better.
Regal. “Damn, you cleaned up well.”
He sipped his coffee.
Regal. “Well... good on you. Next time just write a thank-you note instead of following me like a psycho. Are we good now?”
He started to rise from the booth.
The man said. “Wait. The thanks wasn’t for you.”
Regal froze mid-motion and sat back down. “Alright. Then who?”
He replied. “The one with you. I know I was drunk, but I remember clearly. The Lady. She is the one who insisted. You were... just following her orders. So I figured you are her subordinate.”
Regal stares at him. For a second he wonders if the guy is joking. But his face is dead serious.
Regal mouth twitched. “You think I work for Gwen?”
The man didn’t answer.
Regal added. “Subor—? I mean... technically, I guess. I write for her. She manages my deals, production... whatever. It’s a partnership, not servitude.”
That doesn't seem to have any effect on him though. “She helped me. She insisted. I owe her. That’s all.”
Regal added. “Then go thank her.”
The next thing the man said was to throw Regal in a loop. “It’s... inappropriate. To follow a woman like that.”
Regal blinked.
Who said anything about following around?
But at least it's good to know that he won't be doing that…
Regal said with an irritated tone. “But following a grown-ass man across four blocks is cool?”
The man nodded, dead serious again.
Regal stared at him. And for a second, he couldn't tell if the guy was just old-school or flat-out weird.
Probably both.
Regal sighed. “Fine. I will pass it along. ‘Mysterious bulky man says' thank you’, I am sure she will be touched.”
The man picks up the can, studies it like he is not sure if it’s poison, then takes a small sip. His face didn’t change.
Regal stood up again.
The man didn’t move.
Regal said. “...Why aren’t you leaving?”
He replied. “You said the police were coming. If I leave now, they might miss me.’
Regal let out the slowest exhale of his life. “You really believed that?”
The man sipped again, looking almost proud.
Regal blinks, then rubs his temples. “Okay. Enjoy your drink. Don’t follow me next time. Also, just a tip, if you are trying to show gratitude, maybe... a card or a fruit basket next time?
The man actually considers that.
He nodded. “A fruit basket. That could work.”
Regal didn’t respond. He just shook his head and turned to leave.
Muttering under his breath. “This city’s full of lunatics…”
But just as he reached the door—
He paused.
Someone had caught his eye.
That guy?
He glanced back, then slowly returned to his seat.
The same one.
The man who had followed him earlier looked up from his drink. “You’re not leaving?”
Regal sat down again. “Well, since I was the one who called the cops, I figure it’s only right I stay here until they catch you.”
The man squinted at him for a moment, mild suspicion in his eyes, then shrugged.
“True.”
Regal let out a quiet laugh.
Man… this guy…
But his gaze drifted past the man - toward the counter.
And landed on the real reason he had turned back.
The barista.
Regal lips curved…
This detour… might not have been a waste of time after all.
He may have just found his second Hangover guy.
.
….
[To be continued…]
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PRANAV AGGARWAL
There is no chapter 115
