The crowd watched in silence as I smiled at him. The mocking whistles and jeers had vanished, replaced by quiet reverence. No one dared ridicule the elderly man anymore. Instead, they formed an orderly line, stepping forward with newfound respect as they approached the two tables.

  "Boss, if you keep this up, our company is going to turn into a charity organization," Gance muttered, shaking his head.

  "Since when did you become so cold-hearted?" I shot him an irritated glare. "Besides, I’m not doing this purely out of kindness. There’s a role in the script for a doorman, isn’t there?"

  Gance flipped through the list of available roles, searching for the supposed doorman character. Of course, he found no such role—I had made it up on the spot. Still, seeing the miserable state of some of the applicants, he chose not to argue.

  By nightfall, we had selected thirty actors, though none for the major roles. We still hadn’t found our Dietrich, the Southern Army’s General Planck, the Northern Army’s superior officer Clark, Dietrich’s friend Maria, or Bush’s old enemy in the Northern Army, Hankton.

  At seven o’clock, the yard was shrouded in darkness. Gance dismissed the remaining hopefuls, instructing them to return the next day. Meanwhile, Berg and Gist shut the gates.

  That evening, Berg took charge of cooking. He managed to put together a decent meal, though the effort left him drenched in sweat. He grumbled that the company should hire a proper chef, as a group of men simply couldn’t manage on their own.

  "Fatty, just bear with it for now. Our budget is tight. Once we strike it rich, I promise we’ll hire a top-tier chef," I reassured him while chewing on a strange-tasting sandwich.

  "Where’s Gist?" I looked around and noticed he was missing.

  "I think he’s at the gatehouse," Berg replied, gesturing toward the entrance.

  "Go get him. He’s been working all day—he hasn’t eaten yet."

  Grumbling, the stout man wiped his mouth and trudged downstairs. Soon, he returned with Gist in tow.

  "Mr. Corleone, did you need something?" Gist asked respectfully, standing at the door.

  "Nothing urgent. Come in and eat with us," I beckoned him over.

  The old man hesitated, licking his dry lips. "Mr. Corleone, I’ve already eaten."

  I frowned. There was no way he had eaten—aside from this third-floor space, the rest of the building was practically barren. Where could he have found food?

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  I strode over, pulled him inside, and pressed him into a chair. Placing a sandwich, some ham, and a cup of coffee in front of him, I said casually, "Gist, you’re our elder by age and now a part of DreamWorks. From now on, no more of this unnecessary politeness. Remember, here, there’s no hierarchy—only different responsibilities. That’s the DreamWorks way."

  Gist stared at me in stunned silence, his lips trembling.

  I shoved another piece of ham into his hands. Tears welled up in his eyes as he finally started eating, devouring the food in large, hungry bites.

  Only then did we feel comfortable enough to eat ourselves. Leaving an old man hungry while we feasted would have made every bite hard to swallow.

  "Boss, we still have ten key roles left to fill. What’s the plan?" Gance asked between bites.

  I rolled my eyes. "What else? We continue auditions tomorrow. But I have one concern."

  "What concern?" James asked, immediately catching on to my tone.

  "Most of the roles will eventually be filled, but Dietrich…" I shook my head. "She’s the leading lady—the soul of the entire film. She has to be stunning, yet she also needs that wild, untamed essence. Strong, determined, yet capable of tender affection. A woman like that isn’t easy to find."

  The success of this film hinged on Dietrich. There was no room for error.

  "Boss is right. Did you see the women who showed up today?" Fatty chimed in. "Either they looked like they could wrestle a bear, or they had so much makeup on they could scare one away. Forget you—even I, as the cinematographer, didn’t see a single one worth filming. And even if such a woman existed, the big studios would have snatched her up long ago. No way she'd still be available to us!"

  Gance and James frowned, realizing the dilemma.

  "Mr. Corleone, are you saying that as long as a woman fits all these qualities, she’d be suitable?" Gist, who had been quiet until now, suddenly spoke up.

  All four of us turned to stare at him.

  "Yes," I nodded.

  A slow smile spread across Gist’s face. "I know a girl who fits your description. Actually, she’s just a young woman—barely twenty. She recently moved here from San Francisco. Her name is Julie. She works at a small bakery right here on Harvey Street."

  "No way!" my three companions shouted in unison, their voices a chorus of disbelief.

  Gist nodded firmly. "She’s just around the corner. I’ve gone there often to beg for food. She’s kind-hearted, fiery in personality, and… she’s gorgeous."

  "Gist, my dear friend, you’re a treasure! Here, have some more ham!" Fatty beamed as he piled more food onto Gist’s plate, while Gance and James busied themselves refilling his cup.

  Poor Gist looked utterly overwhelmed by the sudden attention.

  After dinner, we followed Gist through the streets to investigate. The bakery wasn’t far—after a short walk and a few turns, he pointed to a tiny, shabby storefront.

  Calling it a bakery was generous; it was more of a makeshift wooden stall. A small glass display held a handful of freshly baked, slightly charred loaves. Under the dim glow of the shop’s lantern, a group of young men in their twenties crowded outside, laughing and jeering.

  "Hey, boss! We wanna buy some bread!"

  "Yeah, give us the biggest, softest ones you’ve got!"

  "Where’s Julie? We want her to serve us!"

  "Is she taking a bath in there? Want me to scrub her back?" one of them hollered.

  The group erupted into raucous laughter.

  "Mr. Corleone, ever since Julie’s family moved here, these guys have been harassing her every night," Gist whispered.

  "Why?" Fatty asked, perplexed.

  "Idiot! Because she’s beautiful!" Gance smacked the back of his head.

  I narrowed my eyes, watching the scene unfold. If Julie was really as stunning as Gist claimed, then tomorrow, DreamWorks might just find its leading lady.