The richest actor in Hollywood.

In a small detached house in the Flushing neighborhood of Queens, New York, Phyllis Beretta, a dark-skinned woman, sat in an empty living room, putting down a copy of the *New York Post* with a sigh. The movie *I Am Legend* was set to premiere in New York in about ten days, but she couldn't attend. She glanced at the portraits of her parents on the wall, her eyes welling up again.

In the past few months, Phyllis Beretta felt like her life had been overwhelmed by unprecedented challenges.

First, her parents were severely injured in a car accident. After weeks of treatment in the hospital, they ultimately couldn't be saved, leaving her with not only grief but also a crushing debt.

After years of hard work, Phyllis Beretta's parents had managed to climb into the middle class. However, like many Americans, they were used to living beyond their means, burdened with significant debt and loans from credit cards, house mortgages, and car loans. The accident occurred during a weekend outing, and although they were primarily at fault, their companies only gave symbolic condolences before distancing themselves. The insurance payout and their inadequate medical insurance didn't even cover the hospital expenses for those weeks.

Phyllis Beretta sold valuable items like leather sofas and a piano to settle the hospital bills and handle her parents' funeral, but she couldn't keep up with the mortgage and car payments.

When her parents were alive, their colleagues occasionally visited, appearing friendly, but when it came to borrowing money... better left unsaid.

Even those few who were willing to lend money couldn't afford to do so. Most were living paycheck to paycheck, repaying loans and mortgages, and covering basic living expenses, often needing to use credit cards.

Phyllis looked around her now-empty living room, stripped of furniture to raise money, and thought about the house...

The doorbell rang suddenly. She stood up slowly from her chair, walked through the living room to the foyer, and peered through the peephole. Outside stood a middle-aged man in a suit.

She recognized him; he had called before and even visited the house—a bank representative.

The doorbell rang again. Phyllis opened the door, and the middle-aged man greeted her with a professional smile.

"Hello, Ms. Beretta," the man said, though his words were far from friendly. "I'm here to inform you that Mr. and Mrs. Beretta have defaulted on their mortgage payments for six months since May. The bank has formally filed a lawsuit and published a notice..."

He pulled a document from his briefcase and handed it to Phyllis. "This is the official notice."

Phyllis glanced through the document.

The man continued, "Ms. Beretta, you have one week to raise funds or vacate the property. If you can't repay the loan within a week, the bank has the right to auction the property without a reserve price to recover the principal and interest. Any surplus will be refunded to you promptly."

"Ms. Beretta," he said with a practiced smile, "I'll leave you to prepare."

With that, the middle-aged man turned and left.

Phyllis returned inside, staring blankly at her parents' portraits, feeling as if the world was collapsing around her.

After an indeterminate time, her phone rang.

Phyllis answered, seeing it was Kristin, a fan club friend. They had become close over the past few months.

"Hi, Phyllis," came the familiar voice, "How are things?"

"Not great," Phyllis replied honestly. "The bank rep just came again..."

She briefly explained her situation.

Meanwhile, Kristin, pacing in her room, was growing increasingly anxious as she listened, feeling powerless. She had just started working, her salary was low, and she often needed her parents' help to pay off credit card bills. Her parents were doing well, but they were unlikely to help a friend of hers unconditionally.

"Dear, don't worry. We'll figure something out. Everything will be okay!"

Kristin could only offer comforting words, unable to think of a solution.

After hanging up, she anxiously paced her room, muttering curses at the banks and the authorities in Washington. But none of this could alleviate Phyllis Beretta's predicament.

Kristin suddenly had an idea. Phyllis was a well-known front-line fan on Matthew's fan support website. What if she posted about Phyllis's situation on the site? Maybe it would garner a lot of attention?

Matthew had a huge fan base, and many hands make light work. Perhaps they could help Phyllis out.

Determined, Kristin quickly opened her computer, logged into Matthew's fan support website, and wrote a post about Phyllis, including pictures and text, before posting it.

She then waited patiently to see how others would respond.

The site had a large user base, and within minutes, Kristin refreshed the post to find over a hundred replies. Regular visitors to the site were familiar with Phyllis Beretta, a dedicated front-line fan.

Just then, her phone rang again. Thinking it was Phyllis, Kristin grabbed her phone, only to see an unfamiliar number.

She answered, "Hello, this is Kristin Johnson."

"Hello, Kristin," a man's voice replied. "I'm Brian Lister. Do you remember me?"

Kristin quickly responded, "Yes, I remember. Hello, Brian."

She had met Brian Lister a few times before; he was one of the key figures in Matthew's Los Angeles fan group, reportedly with direct contact with Matthew.

Brian continued, "I just saw your post. Is it true?"

"It's true!" Kristin, knowing Brian's influence in the fan group, assured, "I guarantee, it's all true!"

She recounted what she knew, concluding, "Phyllis's situation is probably worse than I described."

There was a pause on the other end before Brian said, "Kristin, I'll give you an email address. Send Phyllis Beretta's details and contact information to my email. I'll see if I can help her."

"Okay!" Kristin breathed a sigh of relief.

Ten minutes later, Brian Lister, who had been waiting at his computer, received the email. After reading it carefully, he contacted Phyllis Beretta and the bank, finding public notices of the default—there seemed to be no doubt about the situation's legitimacy. He knew that if he submitted this case, it would be thoroughly vetted to confirm its authenticity.

Earlier that year, Bella Anderson had instructed him that if any dedicated fans faced significant hardship, he should report it to her.

Brian Lister was no longer just a fan; as his father said, he had turned this into a career, professionalized, and had become a standout in the field, earning a substantial income.

He suspected Bella Anderson's reasons for this policy, so he never submitted false cases, as she had advised that they only offer urgent aid, not chronic support.

Brian understood this well, and Phyllis Beretta seemed like the perfect candidate for help.

He promptly sent all the information to Bella Anderson's email, then called her.

Outside the CBS studio in Burbank, Bella Anderson hung up and returned inside, where Matthew was recording an interview. She had time to check her email.

On camera, Ellen DeGeneres asked Matthew, "I've seen entertainment news mentioning you've recently changed girlfriends. Is that true?"

Matthew didn't reply, just nodded.

Ellen, being part of the industry, asked tactfully, though everyone knew what "girlfriend" really meant.

Turning back to the topic, she asked, "I'm curious, why do pretty girls like you?"

Everyone knew the real reason, but it wasn't something to say out loud, so Matthew humorously replied, "Women like me because I know how to make them laugh."

He shrugged, "Nobody believes me, but humor is more effective than money or looks. If you can make a girl laugh, you're a winner."

Bella Anderson, after reading the email, waited until Matthew finished his recording and headed to the dressing room but didn't follow him there due to poor soundproofing.

She waited until they left the studio together and then relayed the email's contents to him in the car.

After hearing her description, Matthew tapped his armrest thoughtfully. "So, a black female fan is facing a dire situation?"

"Yes," Bella confirmed, adding, "Earlier this year, you instructed me about this. If everything checks out, she seems like the perfect candidate."

Matthew pondered for a while, then said, "I remember Phyllis Beretta! Okay, Bella, have someone verify the details, and then you go to New York to meet her."

He then pulled out his phone and called Amanda, Helen Herman, and Elena Boyar, inviting them to Horner Manor for a discussion.

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