Talented Maestro

Chapter 37: Millionaire

Wayne watched as Thomson Rossman blurted out in surprise, clearly stunned by the price he'd just quoted. But Wayne noticed something important—the look in Rossman's eyes hadn't changed. Calm and calculating, just like before.

That told Wayne everything he needed to know: anyone who could rise to a high-level executive position at a media giant like Fox was definitely no pushover.

"Mr. Rossman, I don't think I need to explain the potential profits Happy Death Day could generate," Wayne said steadily. "I'm not some clueless outsider. We both understand that if a film performs well in North America, it's bound to do well overseas too—especially with 20th Century Fox's comprehensive international distribution network."

Rossman countered calmly, "Director Garfield, everything you're talking about depends entirely on Fox's distribution infrastructure. Without that, you'd have no way to release this film overseas. Your asking price is too high."

His tone might have seemed objective, but Wayne knew this was just a classic lowball tactic. After all, only buyers complain about the price—and if the number were truly a dealbreaker, Rossman wouldn't still be negotiating.

Wayne locked eyes with him, trying to detect even the slightest shift in his expression. "Mr. Rossman, even if we ignore international revenue, the sequel rights alone are worth that amount. With the existing fanbase, as long as the follow-up isn't a complete disaster, it's almost guaranteed to be a hit. My asking price is more than reasonable."

Rossman fell silent, considering. He now understood that Wayne wasn't as easy to manipulate as he'd initially assumed. But his job required him to take Fox's side and do everything possible to drive the price down.

There's an old saying in North America: Business is just business—and only business.

"Let's be honest, Wayne. $12 million. That's our offer for the international rights and sequel rights, all-inclusive. That's not a small number—in fact, it's astronomical compared to what you invested in the film."

Wayne nodded. "You're right—relative to my investment, it's not a small offer. But that figure doesn't reflect the actual value of Happy Death Day. Mr. Rossman, Hollywood isn't limited to 20th Century Fox. I came here because you were the ones who released the film. But believe me, there are other studios out there who'd happily pay."

He wasn't bluffing. Wayne had no intention of underselling the rights. In his mind, opportunities like this wouldn't come around again. He didn't plan on returning to independent production either.

Then, he caught something—a slight contraction in Rossman's pupils. Wayne had touched a nerve. Fox might have bought out all the North American rights, but the international and sequel rights were just as vital to them.

And Wayne was right—once word got out, other studios would come running. At least five other Hollywood giants would be eager to make an offer. The major studios were all competitors as much as collaborators. If they could make money and hurt a rival in the process, even better.

"$18 million, Wayne! That's our final offer. Don't forget who helped distribute your film. Without Fox, your movie would've been worthless."

Just as Rossman and Wayne were locked in thought, the office door opened, and a white man stepped in, cutting straight to Wayne: "$18 million. That's the line. Take it or leave it."

Everyone turned in surprise. Wayne glanced at him, then looked back at Rossman. "Mr. Rossman, aren't you the one leading this negotiation?"

Rossman gave a tight smile. "This is Tim Fisher, head of Fox's film production division. Yes, I'm handling this negotiation. One moment." He turned to Tim and added, "If you want to get involved, Tim, you'll need to request a new meeting and inform Jeff of the situation."

Tim, clearly unfazed, smiled as he backed off. "Relax, I'm just offering a suggestion—letting the kid know what really got him here. OK, carry on!" With that, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

No one had expected that interruption—not even Rossman. But Wayne remained unfazed. Compared to tens of millions of dollars, his temper wasn't even worth mentioning.

"So this is what dealing with a big studio is like, Mr. Rossman?" Wayne said mildly. "Let's hope your company politics won't get in the way. That said, the man had a point. Considering Fox took the first risk and released the film, I'm willing to compromise a little—$28 million. All rights included."

Rossman sat back down across from him, clearly irritated. "He won't affect these negotiations, Wayne. But your asking price is still too high. I need you to be reasonable. No more games—we're done with you tossing out crazy numbers and me trying to haggle you down. Let's settle on a number we can both accept."

Wayne knew one thing—Fox was far more anxious than he was. Happy Death Day was about to finish its North American theatrical run, and the box office was nearing $70 million. Fox needed to act fast and capitalize on the momentum for the film's overseas release.

"Alright, Thomson. One price—$25 million, take it or leave it. That's my final offer," Wayne said firmly. "If Fox wants to buy, I want the full amount wired to Garfield Studios within two weeks. I don't have time to wait for your internal reimbursement cycles."

This was Wayne's bottom line. Anything lower, and he'd really consider taking the deal elsewhere. Upfront payment was non-negotiable. The profit cycle for movies could take a year or more—time that an up-and-coming director like him simply couldn't afford to lose.

"Wayne, I need some time to think. Give me thirty minutes. Wait here," Rossman said. He had read Wayne's expression clearly—if Fox didn't agree, Wayne would walk out that door and find another buyer.

Wayne wasn't in a rush. After agreeing, he chatted casually with Jimmy. About thirty minutes later, Rossman returned to the meeting room with Terry in tow.

"Alright, kid—you win," Rossman said, his face relaxed. "$25 million. We'll buy the overseas distribution rights and sequel rights to Happy Death Day. The full payment will be transferred to Garfield Studios within two weeks, no later."

Wayne knew the deal was done the moment he saw the look on Rossman's face.

"I'm ready to sign anytime, Mr. Rossman." Wayne stood up and extended his hand with a smile.

"We can sign immediately—just need your agent here," Rossman replied, shaking his hand with a grin of his own.

Jimmy looked on with a mix of surprise and amusement. Moments ago, the tension between the two had been razor-sharp. Now they were shaking hands like old friends.

Business is business. Nothing more, nothing less.

Everything went smoothly. With his lawyer and agent as witnesses, Wayne signed the contract.

It wasn't until he was back in his pickup truck that he let out a triumphant wave. This was the first time he'd earned serious money on his own terms. He also knew that squeezing this kind of deal out of Fox again would be close to impossible.

As they drove, Jimmy gave him a long, complicated look. Just over six months ago, this kid was holding a script and begging him to help put together a bare-bones production crew. And now—half a year later—he'd made over $25 million from that very film.

Curious, Jimmy asked, "So now that you've made all this money, what's next? Don't tell me you're going to fund another one of your own films."

"Nope, you're wrong," Wayne said, laughing. "I'm not investing in another self-produced project. This one was pure luck. You saw how many problems we had along the way."

Jimmy sighed. "You're one lucky kid. You just made more than most people earn in a lifetime."

No matter the time or place, $25 million is a huge sum of money. Even three decades into the future, it would still be enough to change lives.

"Jimmy," Wayne said with a grin, "think it's time I considered buying a new house?"

"Real estate is a smart move," Jimmy replied seriously. "If you just let that money sit in the bank, it'll lose value."

"Then help me find a real estate agent. Focus the search on Beverly Hills. Oh—and I'll need a personal assistant too. Keep an eye out for someone."

Beverly Hills—an iconic enclave in Los Angeles, known as the symbol of wealth and prestige. Nestled along the Pacific coast and the foot of the Beverly Hills mountains, it's the dream destination for global elites. The city-within-a-city is home to the world's most luxurious shopping district, countless Hollywood celebrity mansions, and is regarded as a sacred place in the film industry.

Every year, it draws tourists from across the world, hoping to catch a glimpse of glamour in its upscale streets, marble-clad storefronts, and glimmering brass doors. This was where Wayne now set his sights.

The irony wasn't lost on him—Naomi had always dreamed of owning a home in Beverly Hills, yet here he was, making it a reality before she ever could.

Jimmy opened his notebook. "Any specific requirements for the assistant?"

"Doesn't matter—gender, age, ethnicity—I just want someone familiar with the industry," Wayne replied, then added after a pause, "But no 'ivy league' types. No highly educated industry elites. I can't stand that self-important crowd."

Jimmy froze mid-note. Then he put down the notebook and looked Wayne dead in the eyes. "Hey. Listen to me very carefully. It's fine to joke with me in private—but you cannot, under any circumstances, say something like that in public. Got it? It could ruin your career. I mean it."

"Relax, I get it," Wayne said, nodding. "I was just expressing my opinion to you, that's all. You know how I feel."

Of course he understood. Wayne would never say something like that in front of a third party. Even if Jimmy left the car, he'd deny ever saying it.