Free Web NovelChapter 216: Chapter 191: The Reckoning (Part 3)
He said, "You’ll have to pay more."
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「Royal City. The Drama Guild.」
Sir Turt stood on his office balcony, gazing smugly at the Sutton King’s Theatre across the way.
’This risky move was the right one.’
The same tactic that worked with the newspapers would also work with the film and television databases and on social media.
The play was now drowning in a flood of bad reviews online; you could barely find a single positive comment.
Those bad reviews had even duped plenty of passersby into joining the chorus of curses against the New Drama Guild.
He suspected most of them had never even seen the play they were vilifying. They were just looking for a chance to feel special and different.
Still, it was a big help.
’The masses truly are foolish. It’s only right that I should be one of their betters.’
The only fly in the ointment was that the play’s box office numbers were still quite good.
From here, he could see bustling crowds still filing through the theater’s main entrance.
But the numbers had dwindled compared to the peak a few weeks ago, and even the scalpers were lowering their prices.
’Perhaps many people who’d already bought tickets were just going so they wouldn’t waste their money.’
’I’m sure that before long, no one will want to see it at all.’
’When the New Drama Guild finally goes under, maybe I’ll hire my old mentor as a janitor. The look on his face would be priceless.’
"Is today’s data summary ready?" Sir Turt asked out of habit.
But there was no reply from his secretary.
’Oh, right. The secretary took the day off. I’m not used to this.’
Normally, he never took a day off and was always on call.
Yesterday, he’d suddenly complained of severe stomach pain and said he needed to see a doctor.
Sir Turt had granted him a rare day off, mainly because he was in a good mood. The secretary had, after all, put in a lot of effort coordinating with all the critics these past few days.
Sir Turt returned to his office. For today, he would have to browse the data himself.
As soon as he logged into the account, the red notification dot showed 999+.
’Did we start trending for something again?’
He clicked on the messages, full of anticipation.
"Cancer of the drama industry!"
’What’s going on? Why am I being cursed out?’ He checked the other messages; they were all similar.
"Here’s One Copper Coin. Will you give yourself a bad review?"
"Go die!"
"If I hadn’t gone to see it myself, I would’ve actually been fooled by you lot! You can’t write a good script so you slander others instead. If I ever contribute another ticket’s worth of money to the Drama Guild, may I be carried off by a goblin!"
"’Professional review’ just means ’paid-for review,’ doesn’t it?"
"Guess what? I’m not going to see a single play you recommend. I’m only going to see the ones you insult."
While he was still confused, the office door was thrown open by the Vice Chairman.
"Our campaign to flood them with bad reviews has been exposed."
"Impossible," Sir Turt said calmly. "Even if people are suspicious, they have no proof. We just have to play dumb."
"There is proof. The bad review templates have been posted, along with many of your chat logs."
"What?"
Before he could even wonder how it had been leaked, the Vice Chairman delivered even worse news.
"A huge number of audience members are boycotting the Guild. All the troupes with shows running right now are facing mass ticket refunds."
"How many?"
"Almost all of them."
Sir Turt started to panic. If the Guild’s new business model failed, they would still have to rely on the troupes’ live performances to make money.
"Appease those troupes. Have them halt their performances for now. The Guild will cover their expenses during this period. They can resume once the storm blows over."
"I’m afraid it’s too late," the Vice Chairman said, his voice laced with despair.
"If it’s almost too late, then hurry up!"
"Those troupes have already withdrawn from the Guild. And now, almost all of our member troupes are lining up to do the same."
"How is that possible? Where did they get the money for the withdrawal fees?"
It was easy to join but difficult to leave. Withdrawing from the Drama Guild required paying a hefty sum, like buying one’s freedom.
"The Zog Group. It’s the Zog Group. He’s providing interest-free loans to all the troupes that want to withdraw."
Sir Turt suddenly felt his chest tighten, his breath catching in his throat. It took him a long moment to recover.
As a shrewd businessman and Chairman, he knew that when a situation was beyond saving, the best one could do was cut their losses.
"Find a way to raise the withdrawal fees," he said.
The amount required to leave the Guild was determined by a complex formula, which left plenty of room for manipulation. The gap between the minimum and maximum was huge.
’Since the Drama Guild is falling apart anyway, and Zog is being so generous, I might as well squeeze what I can out of this. If I’m going down, Zog is going to bleed for it.’
"Er," the Vice Chairman said hesitantly, "actually, because so many members have applied to withdraw, the Guild Administration Department has already declared the Drama Guild to be in a state of dissolution. Our internal rules have been deemed void."
Sir Turt stared at the Vice Chairman in disbelief.
’Since when was the Guild Administration Department so efficient?’
"So, you’re saying... not even One Copper Coin?"
"Not even One Copper Coin."
"What’s more, the New Drama Guild has changed its name. They are now the Drama Guild."
A loud ringing filled Sir Turt’s ears. He didn’t even notice when the Vice Chairman left.
He just sat there on the floor in a daze, watching as people came in and carried away the valuable items from his office.
The Guild members had the same idea as their Chairman: if it’s beyond saving, cut your losses.
At first, they were hesitant, but when they saw the former Chairman had no reaction, they began looting the place with the energy of a demolition crew.
By evening, the Drama Guild headquarters had been stripped bare, looking like an unfinished building. If the building itself weren’t being repossessed by the administration, they probably would have taken the bricks, too.
Sir Turt stared at the empty room, feeling lost for the first time in his life.
After living this way for Sixty years, his empire had crumbled in a single day.
Of course, he had no one to blame but himself for the collapse of his empire.
He walked out onto the balcony. Sometimes, when a person stands in a high place, they feel an urge to jump.
Right now, he felt that urge, and it was incredibly strong.
Although his personal fortune was enough for him to live extravagantly until the end of his days, what he truly couldn’t accept was the sudden, drastic fall from grace.
Just as he was about to give in to gravity, a voice came from behind him.
"Do you wish to attain salvation?"
Sir Turt turned to see a person whose face was almost entirely covered in hypertrophic scars from old burns.
"The great Mammon will grant salvation to the lost."
