It’s a tough time for the world’s richest man (WRM). He’s getting schooled left and right and the sharks smell naivety in the water.
First he buys the Washington Post because he can, blissfully unaware that bad actors might consider him responsible for what gets published.
Then came the Hollywooders, stroking his ego as head of the new streaming video service. “A far cry from pushing books!” he thinks.
Shortly after, like the cartoon character Pepé Le Pew, he grew hypnotized by Ms. S’s fake breasts. Who knew that Pepé was more documentary than cartoon? Not I, at least not I pre-puberty. Ms. S boasts to her brother, because reputation is the coin of the realm, “the world’s richest man is sexting me!” and brother thinks to himself, “man, that’s marketable shit” because that’s what you do where everything’s for sale. Sells it to the paper of record (the National Enquirer). WRM’s wife not pleased and asks for divorce and gets half WRM’s fortune.
Next WRM finds a BFF in a Saudi prince. Heady times! Wants to do business where few westerners have gone before: in the Kingdom. Why not? Not well-versed in slick Middle East operators, he’s still living off the Christian capital while the Prince is a rogue’s rogue. Later, Prince not happy about bad Washington Post press for trivial offense of getting political opponent murdered.
In April 2018 WRM meets with the Saudi and all is well. Big business plans, though Prince is deeply unhappy with WRM’s previous investments with competitor countries in region. Within two weeks though Saudi tells underlings: “stall this deal indefinitely”. And two weeks after that he hacks WRM’s phone...
Recall to mind those halcyon days of youth when WRM, then BEP (bright executive phenom), merely sold soap operas in paperbacks instead of living one.