While we were all beaming with joy, the quiet Pitzel suddenly spoke up: "Mr. Koline, Mr. Laemmle, I think you should also pay attention to His Excellency the Bishop. His influence is not to be underestimated."


    Laemmle nodded. "You''re absolutely right, but finding a religious figure with more clout than him would be quite difficult."


    Pitzel glanced at Laemmle and then at me, a mysterious smile playing on his lips.


    "Mr. Laemmle, Mr. Koline, it is indeed hard to find someone in the religious community with more authority than the Bishop. But what if he were to retract his statement himself?" Pitzel''s lips curled upward in smug satisfaction.


    "Retract it himself?!" Laemmle and I exclaimed in unison. How on earth could the Bishop possibly retract his own words?!


    "Exactly!" Pitzel lowered his voice. "The Bishop has been carrying on with a wealthy widow. If you could get some leverage on him, wouldn’t he have no choice but to change his tune?"


    Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!


    Laemmle and I were so thrilled we could have kissed Pitzel right then and there. This guy had just handed us a massive advantage.


    "Mr. Pitzel, you’ve done us an enormous favor. From now on, if there’s anything you need, just ask!" I said gratefully.


    Pitzel shook his head. "I have my own reasons for doing this. First, David is my closest friend—I couldn’t just stand by. Second, I’ve long been disgusted by the Bishop’s hypocrisy, pretending to be virtuous in public while indulging in filth behind the scenes. And third, he’s always meddling with our newspaper. Consider this my way of settling the score!"


    The four of us chatted for a while longer and didn’t leave the tavern until around seven or eight in the evening, bidding each other farewell.


    This outing had been extraordinarily fruitful.


    Laemmle and I continued discussing our next steps in his car, eventually dividing the tasks between us.


    I would handle the matter of the Bishop and the widow, while Laemmle would mobilize his contacts in newspapers and radio to frame this as a conspiracy orchestrated by multiple companies. The bigger the uproar, the better.


    After parting ways with Laemmle, I found Jack and instructed him to tail the Bishop, capturing his misdeeds on camera. Jack left with a wicked grin—this sort of thing was right up his alley.


    Back at the office, I gathered Fatty, Gance, and the others and filled them in on the latest developments. The whole crew was overjoyed.


    I drafted a statement, had them print multiple copies, and sent them to all the companies we had contracts with. The statement politely condemned their breach of contract and warned that if they continued to betray us, we would take legal action in the Los Angeles courts.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    After sending Gance and the others off, I lay down and enjoyed a good night’s sleep.


    By morning, Jack returned stealthily and handed me a stack of developed photos. The scenes depicted were downright scandalous. When I asked how he’d managed to capture such explicit shots, he proudly explained that he’d sneaked into the widow’s house and hidden in a wardrobe next to the bedroom, using a top-of-the-line camera without a flash to avoid detection.


    "Great work, Jack!" I clapped him on the shoulder, then penned a brilliantly worded letter to the Bishop. I selected the most incriminating photos, slipped them into the envelope, and in the letter, I lavished praise on his "majestic physique" before making it clear that if I didn’t see the retraction I wanted in the papers within a few days, these photos would be plastered across every newspaper in Los Angeles.


    "Jack, deliver your masterpiece to His Excellency the Bishop," I said, unable to suppress a laugh. Jack took the envelope and smirked. "Boss, this move of yours is pure genius. I doubt the Bishop will sleep well tonight."


    By that afternoon, Gance brought me a copy of The Christian Truth. When I opened the paper—which was nearly twice as thick as usual—my jaw dropped.


    Five full pages were dedicated to The Color of Sin, and the names attached left me in awe of Griffith’s influence.


    The first was Griffith himself, who devoted an entire page to lambasting Hollywood’s shortsightedness. From Fox and Aitken to the Bishop and Sennett, no one was spared his scathing critique. He then heaped praise on The Color of Sin in fiery, eloquent prose, his arguments so compelling they were nearly irrefutable—perfectly matching his passionate temperament.


    The second contributor was Maurice Tourneur, a wildly popular director in the 1910s who remained a beloved figure in Hollywood. His status was akin to Peter Jackson of The Lord of the Rings fame in later years—every film he made was a box office hit, making him a darling of the studios. His article was far gentler than Griffith’s, given that he was a director at Lightning Pictures and had to tread carefully around the major studios. Tourneur’s piece focused entirely on praising my film, arguing that Hollywood should welcome it rather than condemn it.


    The third contributor surprised me—it was none other than the comedy star Buster Keaton, a rival to Chaplin himself! But on second thought, it made sense. Though Keaton had been mentored by Sennett, Chaplin’s rise had eclipsed him, and Sennett had gradually sidelined him. Naturally, Keaton harbored resentment toward both Chaplin and Sennett. Combined with his close friendship with Griffith, it was no surprise he’d answered Griffith’s call to contribute. Keaton’s article was laced with his signature comedic wit as he mocked Sennett and hailed The Color of Sin as a "crystalline bloom unlike anything Hollywood had ever seen," urging the public to take action and prevent the industry’s toxicity from tarnishing it.


    The next three contributors were James Cruze, who had recently gained attention for The Covered Wagon; Josef von Sternberg, a rising director who would later become legendary; and King Vidor, a well-regarded director who had worked under Griffith since 1915.


    Compared to Griffith, Tourneur, and Keaton, these three were relative newcomers, but their perspectives were sharp and modern. They championed innovative filmmaking techniques and heaped praise on The Color of Sin’s groundbreaking significance.


    The final contributor left me both shocked and elated. I was stunned that Griffith had managed to recruit this titanic figure, and overjoyed that with his endorsement, not even Sennett—let alone Edison, the former monopoly of the film industry—could dare to challenge us. Sennett was a veteran in Hollywood, and Griffith was even more senior, but both paled in comparison to this man: Edwin S. Porter, the legendary director behind The Great Train Robbery and a founding father of American cinema!


    Barring any unforeseen circumstances, this edition of The Christian Truth would go down in history. Not just because of The Color of Sin, but because any one of these seven contributors was a master of the craft—and here they were, united in a manifesto of condemnation. I could only imagine the public’s shock upon reading it, or the sheer fury on the faces of Aitken, Fox, and Sennett when they saw it.


    The frustration of the past weeks had finally been swept away.


    When I called Laemmle with the newspaper in hand, the old man burst into laughter on the other end, gasping between chuckles that the best was yet to come.