Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

Yes, Marvin has plans to buy Marvel, Star Wars, and Pixar. Just like with everything else he’s buying during the end of the dot-com crash, he’s going to print money from it creating billions most which will be gone into tech. And use reaming wealth to acquire multiple A-class studios like Lionsgate, combining them into one massive studio and eventually becoming one of the ”Big Seven.”

That’s how he’s going to attract older women as well. At that age, it’s all about money and power with physical relationships. On the other hand, he’s basically a low level demon, though I’m still unsure whether I want to explore the supernatural or alien side of the world after it’s Hollywood Fic.

On another note, should I add Dakota Johnson? After all, Marvin will write Fifty Shades of Grey, and it’s not like he cares whether his women have strong acting range. Just look at Kristen Stewart, Amber Heard, Sydney Sweeney, or Sophie Turner.

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*****

”You are impossible, Marvin!” she laughed, gently swatting his shoulder. ”Good luck finding a unicorn like me twice in one lifetime.”

”I am an excellent hunter,” Marvin smirked, reaching forward to cut himself another small slice of the lemon tart.

Outside, West Hollywood continued its chaotic, bustling evening in complete indifference to entirely unrepeatable quality of what was happening in the third-floor apartment. Cars moved blindly below the window. Someone’s hip-hop music drifted up from the street and then faded away. The amber light of the sprawling city pressed against the glass.

Inside, Amy Adams sat back in her plush chair. She sat with a torn, multi-million-dollar contract on the table, a masterpiece of a song echoing in her heart, and the overwhelming, radiant warmth of an evening that had started as an ordinary, disappointing Tuesday and had miraculously become something else entirely.

She did not attempt to categorize it anymore. She simply let the magic be exactly what it was.

Which was, by any available, earthly measure, enough.

She reached forward and picked up her dessert fork.

”Tell me about the studio, Marvin,” she said softly, her eyes shining with fierce excitement for the future. ”Tell me exactly what you’re planning. Tell me what my work looks like.”

Marvin settled back into the velvet cushions of the couch. He looked at her with the satisfied ease of an architect who has been waiting patiently to talk about his blueprint for a very long time, and is glad the exact right moment has finally arrived.

”Well, my lady,” Marvin began, his voice a low, intoxicating rumble as he gestured elegantly with his fork. ”It all begins with the physical space. I am currently looking at a massive, abandoned industrial lot in Burbank...”

And the evening opened out brilliantly ahead of them. It was warm, entirely unhurried, and completely full of absolutely everything the limitless future was still going to contain.

---

*August 24th — L’Ermitage Restaurant, Beverly Hills.*

The private dining room at the back of the exclusive, three-star restaurant was bathed in the warm, golden light of the California afternoon. The long, sprawling table was set with immaculate crystal, polished silver, and crisp linen napkins.

Sitting around the table were sixteen of the most brilliant educated, and ambitious Asian-American executives on the West Coast. Handpicked by Marvin from a pool of hundreds, they were a terrifying assembly of talent.

At the head of the table sat Marvin.

He wore a bespoke, dark navy suit perfectly tailored to his slight frame, his golden-brown hair falling effortlessly over his brow. He didn’t look like an eleven-year-old child; he looked like a young, impossibly handsome king holding court with his generals. The Incubus magic rolled off him in thick, invisible waves, saturating the room with an aura of command, unnatural safety, and magnetic charm.

The sixteen adults—many of whom held advanced degrees from Harvard, Stanford, and MIT—found themselves completely captivated. They didn’t feel the urge to patronize him. They only felt a urge to impress him.

To Marvin’s right sat the team destined for Tokyo, Japan.

Gregg Araki, a brilliant indie film director who Marvin had recruited to modernize the rigid Japanese media landscape, was leaning forward, hanging on Marvin’s every word. Beside him was Carrie Ann Inaba, a visionary choreographer and entertainment producer whose keen eye for talent would dominate the Japanese idol market. Across from them sat the financial architects for Scarlet Capital Japan: Norman Mineta, a man with deep political and corporate connections, and Irene Hirano, a master networker whose non-profit background masked an ability to manipulate corporate boards.

”The Japanese market is insular, Gregg,” Marvin said softly, locking his eyes with the director. ”You do not force American ideals onto their screens. You fund their homegrown brilliance and own the distribution. You become the patron they never knew they needed.”

”Understood, Boss,” Gregg nodded mesmerized.

Further down the table sat the South Korean vanguard.

Jim Lee, a comic book artist and master of storyboarding, was tapped to oversee *Meyers Korea Studios*, ready to ignite the early sparks of the global Korean wave. Next to him was Margaret Cho, a boundary-pushing comedian and media producer who would handle local talent and K-Pop Idol groups acquisition. The financial operations of Scarlet Capital Korea rested in the capable, cold hands of Jay Kim, a corporate lawyer, and K.W. Lee, a veteran journalist whose mastery of media relations would ensure their stock acquisitions remained entirely out of the hostile press.

”Seoul will be the cultural engine of the East within a decade,” Marvin projected, raising his glass of sparkling water toward Jim and Margaret. ”Build the infrastructure now. When the cultural explosion happens, I want our studios to own the blast radius.”

Across the table, the Chinese division listened with rapt attention.

Vera Wang, a visionary in fashion, branding, and high-society aesthetics, had been lured away from her bridal empire to architect the luxury branding of *Meyers Media China*. Beside her sat Michael Woo, a genius in urban planning and government relations, essential for navigating the complex, bureaucratic labyrinth of mainland China. Scarlet Capital China was spearheaded by Jerry Yang, a brilliant tech visionary who Marvin had scooped up before the internet boom fully materialized, paired with Lily Chang, a calculating master of corporate finance.

”Mainland China requires patience, Michael, Vera,” Marvin purred, his voice dropping into a register of intimate promise. ”Do not push. Integrate. Build the luxury, build the necessity. Let them believe they invited us in.”

Finally, at the far end of the table, sat the quietest, most intense group: the Taiwanese semiconductor strike force.

With no entertainment division to manage, Scarlet Capital Taiwan was purely a technological and financial mercenary unit.

Tony Hsieh, a brilliant operations and tech pioneer, sat next to Do Won Chang, a relentless master of retail and expansion. They were supported by S.B. Woo, a physicist with deep political ties, and Lance Ito, a brilliant legal mind who would ensure their equity purchases in TSMC and other fabrication plants remained perfectly compliant and entirely untraceable.

”Silicon is the new oil, Tony,” Marvin said, locking eyes with the tech pioneer. ”Buy the foundries. Buy the supply chains. We do not just want a seat at the table; we want to own the table itself.”

Despite the heavy, world-altering assignments these sixteen people carried, the actual lunch was surprisingly relaxing.

For over an hour and a half, Marvin rarely talked business.

Marvin didn’t interrogate them on their quarterly projections. He didn’t demand to see their spread sheets. Instead, he utilized his potent Incubus charm to be the perfect host. He asked Kiana Tom about her family. He shared a brilliant timed joke with Margaret Cho that had the entire table roaring with genuine laughter.

He listened intently to Do Won Chang’s stories of early struggles, his eyes projecting a profound empathy that made the grown men and women feel completely understood.

He was actively making them feel at home. He was showing them, through every gesture and warm smile, that he didn’t just view them as employees; he viewed them as his chosen family, his noble elite vanguard.

As the dessert plates were cleared and the time for their flights drew near, the underlying tension of leaving the country began to creep back into the executives’ minds. Starting independent foreign shell companies from scratch was an agonizing process. They were preparing themselves for months of begging the home office in Los Angeles for operational budgets, fighting for every penny of corporate approval.

Marvin stood up. The room fell instantly silent.

”My friends,” Marvin began, his voice echoing with absolute, unshakeable sovereignty. ”In exactly four hours, you will board your respective flights. You are leaving the safety of the United States to build my business in foreign soil. It is a monumental task.”

He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a sleek, silver envelope, handing it to Amy, who began to pass thick, embossed folders to the four team leaders.

”I know how the corporate world usually operates,” Marvin continued, pacing slowly behind the chairs. ”Most CEOs would send you abroad with a tight leash, a microscopic budget, and a demand for daily expense reports. They would micromanage your every breath from thousands of miles away.”

Marvin stopped, his gaze sweeping over the sixteen faces looking up at him in awe.

”I am not most CEOs,” Marvin purred, the dark, magnetic power of the Incubus flaring brilliantly. ”I do not hire the best minds in the world only to tie their hands behind their backs. I operate on trust. And I expect victory and loyalty in return.”

Gregg Araki opened his folder, his eyes scanning the banking documents. He let out a sharp, audible gasp.

”Inside those folders,” Marvin announced smoothly, ”you will find the routing numbers and corporate seals for your newly established local bank accounts in Tokyo, Seoul, Beijing, and Taipei. My father, Grant Meyers, utilized his senior executive leverage at JP Morgan to bypass the standard international waiting periods. The accounts are fully active.”

Marvin offered a slow smile that made the very air in the room feel electrically charged.

”I have already wired exactly two million dollars into each of those four corporate accounts,” Marvin revealed, watching the unadulterated shock ripple across the table. ”That is eight million dollars of liquid, untethered operational capital. It is sitting there, waiting for you to use the moment your planes touch down.”

Jerry Yang stared at the bank statements speechless. Lance Ito adjusted his glasses, blinking rapidly to ensure he wasn’t hallucinating the zeros.

It was an unheard-of display of financial trust. Two million dollars in 1997 was a big fortune. For an eleven-year-old boss to hand them that kind of capital with no oversight, no bureaucratic red tape, and no micromanagement was a psychological masterstroke.

It completely shattered their anxieties. They realized, in that exact moment, that their boss was not a paranoid person clinging tightly to his purse strings. He was a visionary who implicitly trusted the people he had hired.

By giving them the freedom, Marvin had effectively forged the chain. Their loyalty to Marvin was instantly cemented into something higher. Of course, what they didn’t realize was the extent of his vigilance; he kept a close watch on those numbers at all times. After all, Zenith Trust held ownership over the accounts, which granted him a unique position of power. With the influence of his Incubus magic and charisma, those involved would undoubtedly think twice—perhaps even thrice—before ever contemplating the idea of betraying him. The allure of his charm combined with the authority of Zenith Trust created a potent deterrent, ensuring that any thoughts of treachery would be met with an instinctive sense of doubt and caution. It was a calculated layer of protection that only he could wield, weaving a web of trust and fear around him that kept potential adversaries in check.

”You have your initial capital. You have your targets. You have my faith,” Marvin commanded softly, raising a crystal glass of sparkling water. ”Now, go to the East, my friends. And do not return until you have conquered it.”

The sixteen executives stood up in perfect, unified synchronization. They raised their glasses, their eyes burning with hunger to the boy standing at the head of the table.

”To the empire,” Jim Lee whispered, the sentiment echoing around the room.

Marvin simply smiled, his soul purring with satisfaction as he watched his pieces move across the global chessboard.

---

The sprawling international terminal of Los Angeles International Airport hummed with the frantic, chaotic energy of thousands of travelers, but the VIP departure lounge remained a sanctuary of hushed, insulated luxury.

Marvin stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, his hands casually slipped into the pockets of his trousers. He watched the fuselage of the commercial airliner taxi toward the runway, carrying his executives toward the East. The Asian vanguard had officially been deployed.

He turned away from the glass, his eyes locking onto his executive assistant.

”The board is set in the Pacific, Amy,” Marvin murmured, his voice smooth. ”Now, let us pivot to the Atlantic. Tell me about the flight arrangements for the United Kingdom.”

Yes, Marvin was heading to England.

He had manufactured a cover story for his parents. He told Grant and Linda that, in order to properly capture the ancient, gothic atmosphere required for the second installment of the *Harry Potter* series, he desperately needed to walk the cobblestone streets of London and breathe the air of the British countryside. After Linda had eagerly read the first hundred Chapters of his new manuscript—completely spellbound by the magical world he was architecting—she had instantly granted him permission to travel.

”Everything is perfectly in order, Marvin,” Amy confirmed, flipping open her leather planner. ”Your private charter is booked for tomorrow morning, wheels up at exactly 10:30 AM. As per your security protocols, you will not be traveling light.”

Marvin offered an approving nod. He was taking an armed highly vetted security detail with him. Four elite private security contractors would flank him at all times, commanded by Gordon—his personal bodyguard, driver, and the bedrock of his physical security. Gordon, an Ex-marine, was a towering, silent wall of muscle who handled all the gritty, real-world realities of Marvin’s business that Amy’s corporate finesse didn’t cover.

”You will remain here in Los Angeles, Amy,” Marvin instructed softly, his Incubus charm radiating a warm, comforting wave of appreciation that made her heart flutter. ”You are the handler of my business here while I am abroad.”

”I won’t let you down, Marvin,” Amy promised, her eyes shining with confidence. Recently, her workload had significantly decreased, leaving her with more free time, similar to Marvin, who appeared free on the surface but was occupied with matters in Asia.

*****

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