A modern man in 1930’s Americas

Title: The Game of Power and Glamour

After a grueling round of continuous pestering, Greta finally managed to emerge, gasping for air. She glared at Charlie Lee, who sat smugly on a chair, shaking his legs with a rhythm that seemed intentionally provocative. "You beast, you pervert! Don't you have anything better to do with your time than tormenting me?" she spat venomously.

Charlie smirked, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. His eyes caught the faint trail of soy milk at the corner of Greta's mouth, which only fueled his amusement. "Salted fish flipping over," he murmured to himself, "what a spectacle."

After Greta composed herself, Charlie leaned back on the sofa lazily. "Louis has been looking for you lately, hasn't he?" he asked nonchalantly.

Greta's face darkened instantly. "Yes, he wants me to sign a long-term contract, but the terms are ridiculous." The mere thought of those clauses made her want to hurl the document back at Louis's smug face.

Charlie's curiosity piqued. "Ridiculous, huh? Let me see that contract." He motioned for her to hand it over.

Reluctantly, Greta passed the document to Charlie. "The terms are practically a trap," she said with a tone of disdain.

Charlie scanned through the pages. His expression grew colder with each clause he read. The contract was riddled with outrageous stipulations: the artist was prohibited from questioning any company-arranged activities, was forbidden from terminating the contract unilaterally, and would face a lifetime ban from the entertainment industry if they violated these conditions. On top of that, the confidentiality clauses barred them from revealing any work-related details, with a massive $5 million penalty looming over any breach.

Charlie laughed dryly. "Five million dollars in liquidated damages? Who does Louis think he is? The Supreme Court?" He shook his head. "This is absurd. Liquidated damages must be proportionate to actual losses. Courts rarely entertain penalties this extreme."

The terms only grew more tyrannical. Under the new contract, Greta's weekly salary would be capped at $2,000, with a meager 20% annual increment over a ten-year period. Charlie slammed the document on the table, disgusted. "This isn't a contract; it's a leash!"

Greta looked up at him, her expression unreadable. She had expected as much, but hearing Charlie confirm her concerns only solidified her resolve.

"Leave this to me," Charlie said with a gleam in his eye. "If I need to, I'll drag this to the Supreme Court. Let Louis stew in a public lawsuit about women's rights violations."

The room fell silent until Aimo, Charlie's sharp assistant, spoke up. "Boss, there are people at MGM who aren't happy with Louis's autocratic ways. Should I reach out to them?"

Charlie mulled it over but eventually waved the idea off. "No need. Once the old man is entangled in legal drama, the opportunists will crawl out on their own."

Charlie's thoughts shifted. He had received a call from Juliana, a connection he couldn't afford to ignore. Soon, he'd be meeting the legendary Morgan family in New York. If Morgan valued him, it would be for the Aegis Board, a venture Charlie had meticulously crafted with the help of his think tank.

The economic depression had caused widespread bankruptcies, flooding the Morgan Group's banks with collateralized assets. Charlie wasn't interested in money—he had his sights set on the Western railroads, minerals, and land tied to these failing loans. If he could convince little Morgan to grant him access, he could leapfrog years of effort and multiply his wealth overnight.

Before leaving Hollywood, Charlie made sure everything was in place. "Aimo," he said, handing her the contract, "spare no expense. Let's ensure Louis carries the burden of his misogynistic clauses."

Aimo's eyes sparkled. "It'll be my pleasure." She began drafting legal strategies with a predator's precision, eager to dismantle the oppressive contract.

When Greta finally broke free of Charlie's grip, she glared at him coldly. "What now?"

Charlie feigned innocence. "What? Lovers' quarrel?"

Rolling her eyes, Greta picked up the phone and called the restaurant. She needed to vent, but deep down, she found Charlie's domineering attitude strangely reassuring, as though it offered her a twisted sense of security.

Charlie, clueless about Greta's inner turmoil, shrugged off her anger. After all, he had bigger plans.

February had been indulgent for Charlie. He'd spent the month basking in Hollywood's luxuries, staying in the finest suites and enjoying the city's vibrant social scene. He kept himself entertained by meddling in business deals, attending star-studded galas, and polishing his ever-growing empire.

One of the highlights of his stay was attending the first-ever Star Awards, where Charlie Chaplin was honored. But even the glitz and glamour of Hollywood couldn't keep him from his greater ambitions. He booked a flight to New York, eager to meet little Morgan and discuss their potential partnership.

On his last day in Hollywood, Charlie decided to unwind. Greta, however, wasn't in the mood for his antics. "Get out, you pervert!" she yelled, clutching her sore back. "You're insufferable!"

Charlie backed away, hands raised defensively. "It was an accident! A genuine mistake!" he claimed, dodging a flying pillow as he retreated.

He called for Ava, his trusted aide. "Get a female doctor for Miss Garbo. She's not feeling well," he instructed, before slipping out to prepare for his trip.

By the time Charlie emerged from the bathroom, Greta was asleep, her face contorted in discomfort even in her dreams. Charlie's heart softened. He smoothed her brow, planted a gentle kiss on her temple, and whispered to Ava, "Take good care of her."

On his way to the airport, Charlie joined his bodyguard, the Monk, who had spent the past month exploring Hollywood's hidden pleasures.

"How was your break?" Charlie asked as the plane taxied.

The Monk grinned sheepishly. "Too comfortable. I'm not used to this kind of luxury."

Charlie smirked. He had given each of his men a generous allowance to enjoy themselves during their downtime. The Monk, though disciplined, had succumbed to Hollywood's temptations.

Still, their fun had limits. "Enjoy it while you can," Charlie said as the plane soared into the sky.

By the time they landed in New York, it was nearly evening. Juliana was waiting for Charlie at his hotel, her impatience evident.

"You're late," she said sharply.

Charlie glanced at his pocket watch. "I'm early by an hour," he replied smugly.

Juliana's eyes narrowed as she reached for the watch. "Where did you get that?" she demanded.

Charlie raised it high above her reach, amused by her frustration. "West gave it to me. Why?"

Juliana's face twisted in disbelief. "That's his prized possession! Why would he give it to you?"

Charlie shrugged nonchalantly. "Believe what you want," he said, striding past her into the restaurant.

Tonight, his focus was on little Morgan. The meeting wasn't just about business; it was about seizing a rare opportunity.