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How the hell does the chief of police rack up a $2400 tab at a local bar? Con wondered. Was he buying shots for every perky server in this place? Paying CIs in beer?

Con kept these thoughts to himself as he paid AAs bill. Unbelievably, the bartender wanted a tip, too.

Con gave him one: Get Art Abner to pay every time his tab exceeds a C-note.

Chris Hale had called him three more times while Con was meeting with AA and enjoying his beer in silence.

He was like the worst high school girlfriend, one who says, Yeah, you can go out with your guy friends, sure. Of course, honey. Guy time, I get it.

And then, when you weren’t yet done your first drink, she’s ringing you up.

“Watcha doin’?” she asks between bubble gum pops. “I miss you…”

Fuck.

Con ignored his partner’s calls and instead focused on the next name on the list: Thomas Ellsberg.

Up until six months ago, Thomas— May I call you Tom? —was employed by Imperial Productions. Again, Con turned to IMDb as his primary source of information. Unlike Adon Guerrero, Tom was part of the old guard, a producer for more than thirty years with more than sixty titles to his credit.

He’d worked for IP and before that, Sony and Paramount.

Most notably, Tom had recently started his own firm, aptly named Ellsberg Entertainment.

EE , Con thought. EE and AA. IP.

He doubted that Tom needed help paying his bar tab.

Thomas Ellsberg’s office was modest, and he shared the building with three other companies that Con didn’t recognize.

It was on the third floor of a building in a cheaper area of town compared to the monolith that IP occupied, and likely owned. Still, while not quite as impressive, it was nice, clean.

Con was buzzed in, and he took the elevator to the third floor. There, he was met by what he was beginning to think was common for the industry: all glass, all glitz.

Glamor.

The works.

The exterior of the building may have been nothing to write home about, but the floor that housed EE was anything but.

Behind a large desk sat a woman who reminded Con of Marissa, Adon Guerrero’s personal assistant.

“Welcome to Ellsberg Entertainment,” the woman said. Con recognized her voice as belonging to the person who had buzzed him in. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Thomas Ellsberg.”

“Mr. Ellsberg is in a meeting right now, but if you care to wait, it shouldn’t be too long.” She gestured towards a series of acrylic chairs.

“Thanks, I’ll wait.”

Con sat and picked up a magazine— Entertainment Weekly.

“Who may I say is wishing to see Mr. Ellsberg?”

“Special Agent Constantine Striker with the FBI.”

The woman blinked with eyes that were heavy with mascara.

“I’m sorry?”

I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry that I have to work this bullshit case when I could be searching for Valerie.

“Agent Striker with the FBI,” he repeated.

She was having a hard time telling if he was serious but rather than show his badge, Con just let her squirm. A little discomfort never hurt anyone.

Eventually, the secretary made a quick phone call and then hung up.

“Mr. Ellsberg will be with you shortly.”

“Thanks.”

Con turned his attention to the magazine.

He was unsurprised to discover that Thomas Ellsberg himself graced the cover. He was tall with a square jaw and a prominent nose. The light brown hair on top of his head was only slightly darker than his mustache.

Thomas stood in a typical power pose, half-profile, arms crossed over his chest. Not quite a smile on his face.

The fact that this had been the magazine on top of the pile was telling. Con suspected that part of the secretary’s job was to make sure that this was the case after someone disturbed the pile.

The article was simple enough. Thomas’ new venture, which was indeed abbreviated to EE and referred to in this way throughout the article, was going to ‘break the mold’, create original content.

Probably because they can’t afford to compete with the big guys buying up existing IP, Con thought.

He didn’t watch much TV or movies, but he’d seen enough ads for them. Everything nowadays was a remake or a reimagining, which, incidentally, Con was fairly certain that the industry had just made up to make do-overs sound sexier.

Con scanned the article, his interest quickly waning. For something written about a company that was supposed to ‘break the mold’, the article itself was bland, generic.

It wasn’t until he got bored, and his eyes drifted back to the title that Con finally noticed something intriguing: the byline.

Jesus, what are the odds?

It was written by none other than Dwight Dozier. The very same Dwight Dozier who had called The Sandman the Necro-Killer.

He supposed it could be another Dwight Dozier—the name itself did seem like it could be a pseudonym—but Con knew that Dwight also moonlighted as an entertainment reporter.

“Agent Striker? Mr. Ellsberg will see you now.”

Con replaced the magazine on top of the pile and followed the secretary to a large, frosted door.

The interior of Thomas Ellsberg’s office wasn’t as ostentatious, or as big, as Martin Yeo’s, but it shared several similarities. The desk looked expensive, as did the chair across from it. The bar cart was equally stocked.

“Agent Striker with the FBI, is that correct?” The man behind the desk asked. Thomas looked less touched up than he did in Dwight’s article, but the idea was the same.

Con nodded.

“And you must be Thomas Ellsberg?”

“Since the day I was born.” Despite Thomas’ jovial nature there was something icy about his tone. “What can I help you with?”

Con had little time to get a read on this man, but his experience in the waiting room was more than enough to get him started.

“I understand that you used to work at Imperial Productions? Made some really big blockbusters with them?”

Con was titillating the man’s ego, as he’d done with Adon, but Thomas’ reaction was guarded. Suspicious, even.

“I’m guessing that this is about the pirated films?”

Con raised an eyebrow, encouraging the man to expound.

“Martin called me. He’s worried that Shadowstrike is going to be pirated.”

“He is,” Con confirmed.

Thomas shook his head.

“Martin is a bit of a worry wart. Movies get pirated all the time. Part of the business.”

“Martin told me that they lost millions of dollars of revenue with three of his—of your —new releases last year.”

Thomas showed Con his palms.

“Maybe. Like I said, it happens all the time. Not much we can do about it. I think… I think maybe those movies didn’t net as much revenue because—this is just between us, of course—they simply weren’t that good.”

This struck Con as an unusually honest and open comment.

“But you were the producer of these films, weren’t you?”

Thomas’ lips became a thin line.

“I was the EP, but that doesn’t mean I had a say in the creative.”

It took Con a moment to realize that EP meant executive producer.

These guys and their damn acronyms.

“Look, Agent Striker, you want to know a secret to how these movies really work in Hollywood?”

Not really, but go right ahead.

Con nodded.

“It’s all about tax loopholes. These production companies have massive budgets. We’re talking in the hundreds of millions. But until recently, almost all of these movies take a loss… on paper, at least.”

Despite his earlier thought, Con was surprised to find that he was actually interested.

“I thought places like IP basically printed money?”

He was picturing Martin Yeo and the gaudy IP building.

“Well, they don’t. Like I said, until these most recent blockbusters that pull in a billion or more, the production houses write off their losses, roll these earnings over to films that don’t do as well. But the key, the real key, is that almost half of the budget for these movies goes into marketing. And do you want to guess who owns a considerable stake in these marketing firms?”

“The production companies,” Con said simply.

Now, Thomas smiled.

“That’s right.”

“Sounds illegal to me,” Con stated with mild disinterest. His focus was on pirated films, not money laundering.

“It’s not. At least not according to the IRS. These firms use their leverage to buy more and more intellectual property and then they package everything up and sell it to a massive entertainment conglomerate for a hefty profit. Then they start all over again, rinse and repeat.”

“So, Martin is concerned that these pirated films are jeopardizing their intellectual property?” Con offered.

Thomas shrugged.

“Not really. A few films get released on the black market ahead of time… so what? It’s not like these pirates can sell the property.”

“Martin said they lost hundreds of millions.”

Thomas scoffed.

“Hundreds of millions? Yeah, right. I doubt we lost seven figures. Martin… well, let’s just say that Martin is a little overprotective, for lack of a better word.”

What you mean to say is controlling. Which , Con surmised, is probably, in part, the reason why you decided to go out on your own.

“So overprotective that he called in the FBI?” Con said, parroting the man’s words back at him. “If it’s not such a big deal, why is he so concerned?”

Con recalled Martin’s story about the man who spoiled The Sixth Sense to those waiting in line to see the movie.

“That is something you’re going to have to ask him about.”

“Any idea how the movies might have leaked?”

Con was struggling to come up with a viable suspect in this case. Martin had to be worth millions, Thomas, too. And Adon had the most to lose by releasing the films early.

“Nope. No clue.”

Thomas was clearly trying to end the conversation, but Con didn’t want to let him off the hook just yet.

“Where were these films released? YouTube? Torrents?”

Con had forgotten to look up what the hell that meant. He just hoped he was using the word correctly and Thomas’ reply suggested he was.

“Not YouTube—they have fairly robust anti-copyright software. Mostly torrents.”

“How do you get them taken down?” Con asked, remembering that Agent Hale had told him that he was unable to find copies of the three pirated films online. And Chris struck him as a guy who would know how to navigate this world, what with his considerable interest in films and the whole culture surrounding them.

“If it’s a reputable site, a simple report is usually sufficient. If not, a stock cease and desist order does the trick. It’s a little more complicated with torrents.”

Con encouraged Thomas to continue and after a moment, he did.

“These sites often fall victim to their own success. If someone uploads a legit copy of a movie, a quality copy, others will do the same. Only, they’ll upload cam versions they’ve recorded from theaters, complete with people munching popcorn in the background. Shaky hands, that sort of thing. Others upload movies under the right name, but when you download it, it’s something completely different.”

“Why?”

Again, Thomas showed his palms.

“Why do people upload photos of themselves to Instagram or shitty videos on TikTok?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“To be part of something. To feel important. Sometimes just to stick it to the man.”

Con huffed. This was a bizarre world, one he didn’t understand and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Well, thank you for your time, Thomas, and good luck with your new venture.”

“Thank you.”

Con rose and started to leave before stopping as something else occurred to him.

“One more thing: how do these torrent sites make money?”

“They don’t,” Thomas said simply. “Not generally. Some ad revenue, maybe, but the big production companies have since moved into the digital ad space and are buying up more and more of these slots. Obviously, they don’t advertise on sites that illegally host their own movies.”

Con locked this tidbit away.

Someone high up in IP was stealing movies and releasing them onto sites that made no money. High risk, zero reward.

“Thanks again.”

On the way out of the waiting area, Con picked up a copy of Entertainment Weekly featuring Thomas Ellsberg.

He showed it to the secretary.

“Mind if I take a copy? I’ll bring it back,” Con lied.

The woman smiled.

“No problem.”

Con didn’t expect so. Based on even his limited experience with Thomas, he was fairly certain that the man had an entire storeroom full of them.