Talented Maestro

Chapter 36: I Want $30 Million

Wayne stared at Harvey, weighing the possibility of handing his new project over to Miramax.

What Harvey said wasn't wrong—any project submitted to a major studio would have to undergo countless layers of approval. No movie studio would casually gamble with tens or hundreds of millions of dollars. In the future, when mainstream blockbuster budgets balloon past $100 million, even the smallest misstep could deal a major blow to any company.

Still, those procedures were part of the process. Commercial films had long since developed a complete production framework. Even someone like Spielberg or the consistently successful Jerry Bruckheimer couldn't bypass that process—at most, their fame allowed them to move a little faster.

Wayne, on the other hand, was still a fledgling director. Despite having one successful film, 20th Century Fox wasn't going to give him any special treatment. His recent hit wouldn't change that reality much.

But if what Harvey claimed was true—if Miramax could fast-track approvals and get the film into production quickly—Wayne had to admit, he was tempted. He knew better than anyone how much time mattered to him.

"Harvey," he asked cautiously, "if I give the project to Miramax, can you guarantee it'll pass review quickly? I mean—can you make that call alone?"

He wasn't sure—after all, Miramax wasn't completely under Harvey's control. Disney still held the reins.

Noticing Wayne's hesitation, Harvey smirked, sensing he had the upper hand.

"You don't need to worry about that. I've always had final say over operations at Miramax. If you're interested, bring your script and project proposal over anytime—we'll talk."

Wayne gave a small nod. "Alright. Once I've finished the proposal, I'll get in touch and we'll discuss details."

He wasn't afraid of "shopping around" his project to more than one studio. If anything, he welcomed it—exploring multiple offers was part of the game.

"Great. I'll wait for your call." Harvey stood up, satisfied. In a town ruled by money, the past was quickly forgotten. Everyone acted as if the incident at the film festival had never happened. For the right deal, even bigger grudges meant nothing.

Wayne mulled over the feasibility of it all, then walked over to Naomi.

"I'm heading home. You coming?"

"Of course." She grinned. "Your place or mine? I got some new toys I think you're going to love. Want to try them out?"

She licked her lips as she spoke, her voice low and teasing—words only the two of them would understand.

"I can't wait. Let's go." Wayne gave Terry a quick goodbye, then took Naomi's hand and led her to the underground parking garage.

Once inside the car, Naomi gave him a puzzled look. "Didn't you used to say that fat pig was a terrible business partner? You two looked pretty chummy back there."

"Naomi, things have changed," Wayne replied calmly. "I haven't decided whether to work with him yet. It depends on how Fox handles my new proposal. But even if I do work with Harvey, it won't be like before. Now I have the leverage to set terms."

He was confident. After Happy Death Day, he expected a level of respect he'd previously lacked.

Naomi snorted. "I still don't like him. The way he looks at people—like a snake slithering over your skin. Gives me the creeps."

Wayne nodded. "In some ways, he's a very successful producer. Just because he's unpleasant doesn't mean he's not effective. He has zero boundaries. That's probably why he'll become even more successful."

He wasn't wrong. In the years to come, Harvey would become an Oscar kingmaker. As Wayne remembered, this man didn't even know what a moral bottom line was. He practically rewrote the rules of Oscar campaigns with his aggressive publicity tactics.

Wayne could recall multiple classic examples. Like when Harvey went all out to manipulate the media against Saving Private Ryan, resulting in Spielberg's film losing the Oscar—while a Miramax film benefited instead.

Or when he engineered a Best Actress win for one of the weakest winners in Oscar history—Gwyneth Paltrow. Regardless of what people said about her, Harvey made her an Oscar winner. That took a certain kind of twisted talent.

Even Meryl Streep, as old as she was, wasn't off-limits for Harvey. No moral lines, no shame—people like that had a way of succeeding.

Hell, even Nicole Kidman—just after divorcing Tom Cruise—won her Oscar thanks to Harvey's relentless campaigning. Putting aside how disgusting he was, just knowing he'd slept with the Little Mermaid of Hollywood made Wayne grind his teeth sometimes.

They pulled up to Naomi's apartment. Inside, as Wayne stepped out of the shower, he was stunned.

Naomi had completely transformed.

She wore a skin-tight, ultra-thin black leather catsuit, with a lace blindfold over her eyes. Her body curved perfectly beneath the outfit, and the finishing touch? A pair of cat ears on her head, and a leather collar with a fine chain leash.

She saw Wayne staring, smirked, and placed the chain in his hand.

"Mr. Batman," she said in a sultry whisper, "Catwoman reporting for duty. Want to take your kitten for a walk?"

"Oh, yes. Naomi, you're wild."

Wayne grinned, grabbed the leash, and led her to the bedroom.

She really had put in the effort. She knew his tastes—and how to surprise him just right.

—

The next morning, Wayne woke refreshed and invigorated. The pressure he'd been under for weeks had finally lifted. All he wanted now was to finish the proposal and dive into his next project.

While Wayne worked in solitude, 20th Century Fox executives were also discussing him behind closed doors.

Inside the CEO's office sat distribution head Thomson Rossman, film development lead Tim Fisher, and CEO Jeff Giannopoulos himself.

Jeff was the first to speak, brows furrowed. "Alien 3's opening weekend didn't meet expectations. Thomson, send out the order—cut back on the remaining marketing budget. Scale down promotions and stop the bleeding."

"Understood," said Thomson. "I'll stop all further funding and call the theaters—see if we can stretch Alien 3's screenings a bit longer. But even then, recovering the investment will take years of home media and licensing."

Everyone in the room knew the truth: Alien 3 was a box office disappointment. But for big Hollywood studios, losses were rarely permanent. Through years of downstream revenue—TV, rentals, licensing—they could still break even, or even turn a profit.

"That kid of Rubin, the one who shot that film—he still holds the overseas rights, doesn't he? You oversaw that project, and it generated substantial revenue."

"Reach out to him again. Buy the overseas distribution rights and the sequel rights from him. If he's willing, we can even let him direct Happy Death Day 2—include that as part of the negotiation."

Hearing Jeff's words, Thomson remembered that before the film was even released, the kid had insisted on retaining the overseas rights and sequel rights—even at a low buyout price. Did he already know the film would be a hit?

"I'll arrange a meeting," Thomson replied. "But it won't be easy to get the rights at a low price now."

He thought for a moment before adding, "Though, from what I've heard via Terry, he doesn't seem too interested in directing the sequel. Apparently, he's working on something new."

"Then invest in his new project," Jeff said, lifting his coffee cup. "Tell him Fox is willing to fund and produce it. But the project still needs to go through the proper vetting process. If it looks promising, we'll present it in Monday's strategy meeting."

At that point, Tim Fisher, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke up.

"That kind of kid—still in college, lucky enough to make a breakout hit—we have to be cautious. We can't ignore the risks just because of one success."

Jeff and Thomson turned to look at him as Tim continued.

"Sure, his first film became a hit among young audiences. But let's not forget—public tastes change fast. This is still a niche horror flick. There's no guarantee the next one will capture the same crowd."

No one at a top-tier Hollywood studio reaches executive level by being naïve. Everything Tim said was, in fact, objectively true. But why he said it was another matter entirely.

Thomson Rossman happened to be Tim's main competitor for the next CEO position. Since Thomson had brought in a surprise hit, there was no way Tim could just sit on his hands.

Jeff considered his words carefully, then said, "Thomson, go talk to him about the overseas distribution rights. We need to ride the wave of the North American success and move quickly with the international release."

"Understood. I'll schedule a meeting as soon as possible," Thomson replied, returning to his office. Of course, he knew exactly what Tim was trying to do. Office politics were inevitable in a big company like this—he'd sabotaged Tim's initiatives before, too.

---

The next day, Wayne once again had to put his new project on hold. Accompanied by Jimmy, he returned to the Fox headquarters to negotiate the rights deal.

Wayne wasn't particularly attached to keeping the rights. Selling them at the right price made far more sense—he knew very well he didn't have the resources or ability to manage global distribution himself.

This time, it was Thomson Rossman who personally received them. Honestly, Wayne felt somewhat grateful to him. Regardless of whether it was because of his father's connections or the money involved, Rossman had given him a crucial opportunity early on.

"Hey, Wayne! How's the new project coming along?" Thomson greeted him warmly.

"Smoothly. A few more days and the proposal will be ready. Fox will be the first to see it." Wayne shook his hand, genuinely liking the man—this Jewish executive had treated him fairly.

"Great. Now, down to business. Regarding the overseas rights to Happy Death Day and the sequel—Fox wants to buy them all. Name your price, Wayne."

"Thirty million dollars," Wayne said flatly, staring into Thomson's eyes. At this moment, friendship meant nothing—only cold, hard cash mattered. "For just thirty million, Fox gets the whole package."

The number hit the room like a thunderclap. Even Jimmy, who had expected Wayne to ask for a hefty sum, looked stunned. And Thomson? Practically speechless. Even Terry, who had just walked in with a coffee, nearly dropped the cup.

"No way. That's insane! It's just a horror film. How much did you even spend on making it? Thirty million? No, no—that's outrageous!"

Thomson had expected a steep asking price—just not this steep.