Tycoon Actor C536 (Patreon)

Lucas pondered which projects he should choose. He was tempted, if he was being honest, to take on a father role — he was a dad now, after all. It felt natural.

Though at the same time, it wouldn't bring him much of a challenge. He had played similar roles before. The Perks of Being a Wallflower. A Star is Born. The emotional terrain was already familiar ground.

"Out of all of these, probably the main character of The Brutalist is the only one I can genuinely learn something from," he muttered, eyes still on the page. "Architecture. Painting. That's not something I've touched before."

Through «Mind Workshop» — and the deep commitment the role would demand — he would be able to absorb those abilities. László Tóth's architecture and painting skills, made permanent.

'I do have painting from when I committed to Peeta in Hunger Games, but that's camouflage work — replication, surface-level. I even adapted it for disguise purposes. Completely different from what László has.' Lucas stroked his chin. 'Not really comparable.'

He looked over the project details once more. 'I guess I'll be stepping back into the indie scene with this one.'

He'd made his decision, but there was no rush to reach out to the team behind the project. These things took time. Roman — his agent, the one who had replaced Vincent — had already told him as much when he handed over the folder: most of these projects had been sitting on a shelf for years, stalled by funding issues.

"I guess it's not that difficult for me to fund something that catches my eye," Lucas said quietly to himself.

That was the other angle here. He wasn't just searching for his next role — he was also looking at these projects as investments. And The Brutalist checked both boxes at once.

"Honey —" Jennifer's voice crackled through the intercom from downstairs. "Are you free? I need a hand with something."

"Coming!" Lucas slid the folder back onto the shelf and headed out.

---

Days passed in the easy rhythm of a young family settling into itself — feeding schedules, early mornings, the small routines Lucas and Jennifer had quietly built around Seraphina. Normal life, for the most part.

By December 18th, the World Cup final had arrived.

Lucas hadn't followed the tournament closely after Qatar. But he was going to watch the final — he'd gotten too involved in that world to skip the last match entirely. He wanted to at least keep himself up to date.

So the two of them settled in the living room. Jennifer had snacks. Lucas had the remote.

Then the screen showed the two sides.

"Wait —" he straightened up. "Portugal made it to the final?"

Jennifer turned to him, visibly confused. "You didn't know that?"

"I've been a bit absent from the news lately."

"Ronaldo's been brilliant this tournament," she said. "But it's bigger than that — it's Ronaldo versus Messi. Portugal versus Argentina. The two best players in the world, meeting in the final. It's all anyone has been talking about on social media for days."

Lucas had been keeping his distance from social media. He'd barely glanced at it since they returned from Qatar.

He sat with it for a moment, though.

In his previous life, Portugal hadn't even come close to the final. He was certain of that. And yet here they were — facing off against Argentina, of all teams.

'Don't tell me that "break a leg" I said to Ronaldo actually worked,' he thought, a small, disbelieving smile crossing his face.

Though it probably wasn't that simple. He'd been heavily involved in this World Cup — the Opening Ceremony, the ceremonial kick, the joint interview with Ronaldo. Any one of those moments, or all of them together, could have set off a chain of reactions he hadn't anticipated. A shift in confidence, in atmosphere, in something he couldn't put a name to.

Which meant he had no idea how this final would end.

So he actually watched — properly, leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The match was tight from the first whistle. Argentina scored. Portugal answered. A penalty shout waved away that sent Ronaldo's hands to his head. Extra time.

By the end, Lucas had forgotten he was supposed to be a neutral observer.

Argentina won.

It was a close match — closer than the score suggested. But when the final whistle went, there was no question. Blue and white celebrations filled the pitch.

On the other side, Ronaldo had sunk to his knees, fist pressed into the grass. His teammates stood around him in silence, or walked in small aimless circles with the stunned look of people who had come close enough to believe it was theirs.

"What an intense competition," Jennifer said, watching the screen. She had been there in person for matches during their stay — she understood what the crowd around Ronaldo had felt like. "Close fight, too."

'So even getting to the final wasn't enough,' Lucas thought to himself, watching Ronaldo's shoulders drop.

'They still lost in the end.'

---

The next day, Lucas decided to test out his painting — the ability he'd carried over from Peeta. He had the equipment for it: paper, quality paints, a decent workspace.

He had Jennifer pose for him while she breastfed Sera. It took a while. When he finally set the brush down, Jennifer came around immediately to look, still cradling the baby.

"It looks so good — you really captured everything here!" She grabbed a fistful of his hair. "Seriously, what is going on in this brain of yours?"

Lucas laughed softly. "You liked it?"

"Of course I do. Let's hang it in our room."

He could feel she meant it. But even as she said it, his eyes were still on the canvas — and the more he looked, the more the flaws nagged at him. He picked up the brush again. "I want to redo it, actually. The way I framed you feels off. You're supposed to read as a mother here. It came out too… sexual."

Jennifer frowned at the painting. "I don't see anything wrong with it."

It was hard for a non-artist to catch. But Lucas had been living in Peeta's ability long enough now that his eye had sharpened well past where it had started — and that same sharpened eye was the thing making him dissatisfied.

It was also, he thought, exactly why László was the right call.

After talking with Jennifer, he picked up his phone.

"Roman. Contact the team behind The Brutalist — I'm playing László. Get the details sorted and find out where I need to go for the audition."

A beat of silence. "You plan to go to the audition yourself, sir? You're a high-profile actor — I can speak directly with the director and have you offered the role."

"Just contact them. Whether I audition in person, get offered the part outright, or need to prove myself some other way — I don't mind. Handle it."

Roman was still calibrating to the way Lucas operated. "Understood. And the fee — shall I tell them your rate?"

"No fee." Lucas said. "If they're interested, I'll invest in the project instead. My payment is the return on that investment."

A longer pause this time. "...Alright, sir."

They wrapped up and ended the call.

---

In a modest office across the city, Brady Corbet sat across from an executive, folder open on the table between them.

He walked through the pitch — The Brutalist, the two major studios already backing it, the need for co-production partners to close the gap. The executive listened, expression politely neutral throughout.

When Brady finished, the man leaned back. "The story is solid — drawn from real life, that comes through. But a three-hour indie film is a significant risk. I'm afraid I have to pass."

Brady exhaled slowly. "I understand."

"I can pass your contact to a friend of mine, though. He may have more appetite for it." The executive slid a card across the table.

"Thank you." Brady pocketed it, shook the man's hand, and left.

Outside, he stood on the pavement for a moment and looked up at the overcast sky.

'Four years. Four years of this, and the project still hasn't entered production.' The original cast had long since moved on, their commitments drifting toward other projects while The Brutalist sat in a drawer somewhere. 'I need more companies willing to come on board. This can't keep going the same way.'

He walked home without quite registering the route.

At the refrigerator he grabbed a beer, dropped onto the sofa, and sat in the quiet for a while. Then he pulled the project files onto his lap and started going through them — not for any particular reason, just the habit of it. Looking for anything he could sharpen.

The doorbell rang.

He opened it to find Mona Fastvold on the other side — his former spouse, and the person who had co-written the screenplay with him. He stepped aside to let her in without a word.

They settled in the living room. Mona glanced at the files spread across the cushions, then at him.

"How did the meeting go?"

"Another rejection."

She didn't look surprised. "It's the climate. After the 2018 pandemic, with streaming eating into theatrical returns — studios are cautious even with strong commercial projects, let alone a three-hour indie. The math just doesn't work for a lot of them anymore."

"No doubt." Brady took a sip. "Though there is some good news — we're making progress on casting. Felicity Jones seems genuinely interested in the role."

Mona considered that. As an actress herself, she knew the name well. "That's something. Having her attached might make a few more companies willing to take the risk."

"It helps," Brady agreed. "But it won't be enough on its own."

"No," Mona said plainly. "Felicity's well-regarded — especially since working with Lucas Knight. But she's not Lucas. That's a different conversation entirely."

Brady was quiet for a moment. "If we had Lucas for the lead, the funding question probably solves itself inside a week." He'd watched Lucas work. He knew exactly what that name did to a project. "But he's been in a different world for a while now."

Mona laughed softly. "Lucas is unreachable. His fee alone — for a single commercial project — is enough to live on for a lifetime. The indie scene was a long time ago for him. Not that anyone can blame him for it."

Brady turned the beer bottle in his hands.

It really was a pity.

Just as they were talking, the doorbell rang again.

Brady opened it to find a man on his doorstep, panting, visibly sweating through his shirt.

"Benjie?" Brady blinked. His talent agent from CAA. "What are you doing here?"

Benjie would normally just call. He never showed up in person.

"Brady." Benjie held up a hand, still catching his breath. "You are not going to believe what I'm about to tell you. I had to come here myself."

"What is it?" Brady stepped aside to let him in. Even Mona had straightened up from the sofa, sensing something was coming.

Benjie looked at him directly. "Lucas Knight wants the role of László."

Silence.

Brady and Mona stared at him. They had been talking about the man not five minutes ago.

"Are you serious?" Brady said.

"His agent from IAA just contacted me. Dead serious."

Brady shook his head slowly. "Lucas Knight. Wanting to lead my project."

"It's true. And if you still don't believe me, we can call his manager directly. Neil. Right now."

Brady looked at Mona. Mona looked at Brady. There wasn't much room left to doubt it.

Mona was the one who asked the obvious question. "Even if it's true — he won't come cheap."

Benjie's expression shifted into something almost gleeful. "About that. Lucas has no interest in a fee." He paused for effect. "He's willing to invest in the project himself. His return comes from the backend."

"He's willing to invest?" Brady said.

Even Mona's composure slipped slightly.

Benjie accepted the glass of water Mona quietly handed him and drank half of it in one go. "So. What's it going to be? Because if I were sitting where you are, I wouldn't think twice. This kind of thing doesn't happen."

Brady was quiet for a moment — composed, but only just. "Lucas is a genuinely talented actor. Versatile, committed, knows what he's doing. Of course I want him." He paused. "But if he's expecting any creative control over this project, I'll decline. Regardless of who he is."

"You don't need to worry about that," Benjie said. "Lucas has a clean reputation with filmmakers — he doesn't step on toes. And his agent specifically mentioned that he's open to auditioning in person if you want, or simply being offered the role. He doesn't care either way. It's your call."

Brady went quiet again.

'He's willing to audition. Lucas Knight, willing to walk into an audition room for an indie film.'

"Seriously..." he murmured. "He'd really go that far."

Mona said nothing, but the look on her face said plenty. She was calm on the surface — and underneath it, floored. They had just been sitting here talking about Lucas as a hypothetical, a pipe dream, the kind of name you mention knowing it'll never happen.

And here was Benjie, telling them it had.

---

Neil met with Brady's manager the following week. The agreement was straightforward: Lucas would invest five million dollars into The Brutalist, with backend returns tied to the film's performance. No creative conditions attached. No fee on top.

Clean, simple, done.

And then, before anyone had quite noticed the time passing, it was New Year's.

2023.

The world turned the page, and Lucas felt it the way you feel a year in retrospect — all at once, like it had compressed into something smaller than it actually was. A daughter born. A World Cup. A film handed over. A decision made at a desk with a folder of indie projects.

A flash.

But 2023 wasn't going to ease him in gently.

Geoffrey Eckstein had filed lawsuits against both Netflix and HBO Max.

The filings cited reputational damage caused by the documentaries both platforms had released — one after another, each one surfacing new victims, new testimony, new details that the previous one hadn't covered. Geoffrey's legal team argued defamation. Coordinated targeting. A deliberate campaign.

And in a live interview that aired within days of the filings, Geoffrey looked directly into the camera and said it plainly: that a figure he referred to only as "L.K." had conspired with the major platforms he influenced to systematically destroy his image.

Geoffrey had apparently decided that was the moment to fight back.

The clip that had finally broken him was simple in the way the most devastating things often are. The fifth documentary had interviewed Daciana directly — asking her questions, eventually showing her a photograph of Geoffrey.

The moment she saw his face, she trembled. Visibly, unmistakably. A six-year-old girl, on camera — her face blurred by the documentary crew — unable to hold herself still at the sight of him. She spoke in halting words about her sister and the night she disappeared, and none of it needed any further explanation.

Geoffrey had tolerated the first documentary. The second. The third and fourth as well — each one adding new victims, new testimony, steadily building a picture he couldn't control but had apparently decided to weather. The fifth, with that clip of Daciana, was where he stopped tolerating.

GEOFFREY ECKSTEIN SUES NETFLIX AND HBO MAX — CLAIMS COORDINATED SMEAR CAMPAIGN

"L.K. USED HIS PLATFORM CONNECTIONS TO TARGET ME" — ECKSTEIN SPEAKS OUT IN LIVE INTERVIEW

DACIANA CLIP GOES VIRAL: SIX-YEAR-OLD WITNESS IDENTIFIES ECKSTEIN IN DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE

ECKSTEIN LAWSUIT: WHO IS "L.K."? THE INTERNET ALREADY KNOWS

Nobody needed the initials spelled out. Lucas Knight. Stakeholder in Netflix. Stakeholder in HBO Max. A man with a well-documented history of using his influence quietly and then letting the results speak for themselves.

The internet had opinions.

"You cannot convince me Lucas Knight is not Batman. Two Hollywood predators already put behind bars, and now he's quietly been building a case against this one the whole time."

"2023 literally just started and Lucas is already in another war. I don't even need to know the details. I'm on his side."

"Just finished watching all five documentaries back to back. I need a moment. What kind of person is Geoffrey Eckstein actually."

"That clip of the little girl is what got me. She saw his photo and just — froze. A child. I don't want to hear a single word in this man's defense."

"L.K. influenced the platforms he said. L.K. We all know who L.K. is Geoffrey."

The conversation pulled up old footage almost immediately — the Harvey trial, the courtroom moment that had become its own kind of legend online. People were drawing the line directly from there to here. Same pattern. Different name.

It seemed Geoffrey Eckstein was auditioning for the same role Harvey had played.

---

Lucas watched the interview from the living room, Geoffrey's face filling the television screen. Measured, indignant, the practiced composure of a man who had spent decades presenting himself as untouchable.

When it ended, Jennifer uncrossed her arms.

"So you've been making moves against someone again," she said. "Without telling me."

Lucas said nothing immediately.

"And that girl — Daciana. You brought her into the foundation knowing she had a connection to Geoffrey's organisation?"

"You were pregnant," Lucas said. "I didn't want to put that on you."

Jennifer's expression didn't soften, but she didn't push harder either. "I can understand that. But Lucas — you've made an enemy of a powerful man. Again. We have a daughter now."

"I know." He met her eyes. "But you know me. I can't stand by when someone is reaching out. If I have the means to help — I help. All I did was give those victims a platform to say what happened to them."

She looked at him for a long moment. The kind of look that meant she understood him completely and found it both admirable and exhausting.

"I'm not stopping you," she said finally. "I'll support you. But you should have told me about Daciana." She glanced back at the screen. "I watched the documentary. A six-year-old witnessing her sister being taken — that's not something a child that age should be carrying around."

"That's exactly why I made sure she's being looked after properly at the foundation. She's getting care and attention."

"Her parents?" Jennifer asked quietly.

Lucas shook his head. "Nothing so far. Either they're not looking, or they're not around to look. It's not a good picture either way."

Jennifer was quiet for a moment, something shifting behind her eyes.

"What if we adopt her?"

Lucas turned to look at her. "You want to adopt her?"