Talented Maestro

Chapter 43: A New Home

"Jimmy, how did the negotiations go this time?"

"Terribly," Jimmy said bluntly. "The Fox negotiating team was arrogant as hell. They think you're asking for too much—those damned bloodsuckers are still only willing to offer you base-level director compensation."

He paused, his frustration clear in his voice.

"They begrudgingly agreed to credit you as a co-producer, but flat-out refused to let you participate in post-production. Their stance is basically: shoot the footage, get paid, and get out."

Over the phone, Wayne's voice erupted in anger.

"Fxxk that! This is my project! What the hell do they think they're doing—throwing me a bit of money, using me up, and then tossing me aside? Goddamn it."

Jimmy ended the call with a sigh and slumped into his chair in the coffee shop on the first floor of the Fox building. This was already the second failed negotiation in just two weeks. Fox's stance had been unexpectedly firm, outright rejecting almost every term Jimmy brought to the table.

He understood Wayne's intentions clearly—it wasn't that Fox needed to accept everything. But at least be willing to talk.

After Happy Death Day, Wayne had grown by leaps and bounds. The experience he'd accumulated made him confident in his next project, especially since it played to his strengths as a filmmaker. He wasn't obsessed with a director's salary—what he really wanted was to share in the long-term profits from his own work.

But Fox's message was simple: We're investing in your movie. We'll either buy it outright or pay you what you're worth as a director. But don't expect more than that.

Post-production? That's for the producers.

Profit-sharing—even milestone-based incentives? Not your concern.

Be grateful we're investing at all.

And that arrogant attitude hadn't changed from the beginning. Everyone involved acted like it was only natural. Even Jimmy, if he weren't Wayne's agent, might've seen it the same way. After all, this was 20th Century Fox.

But Jimmy's job wasn't to see things Fox's way. His job was to fight for his client—and this was exactly where his skills needed to shine.

Finishing his coffee, Jimmy picked up his briefcase stuffed with project copies and walked out of the Fox building. If negotiations couldn't get results, then it was time to try other studios. Wayne wasn't some no-name newcomer anymore—plenty of companies would jump at the chance to fund him now.

Back at Wayne's apartment, Nina handed him a bottle of water after watching him hang up the phone, visibly frustrated and, unusually, swearing aloud.

Over the past two weeks, Nina had been juggling communications with Wayne's lawyer and family accountant, while also keeping tabs on Jimmy's negotiation efforts. It had been a rocky ride, and she knew better than anyone just how badly things were going. At one point, she even wondered if she'd be out of a job soon.

With July already halfway through, Wayne had spent most of the month just waiting. Fox's hardline stance had started pushing him toward other options. He'd already discussed it with Jimmy—if today's negotiations also failed, they'd suspend talks with Fox and look for other investors.

The $5 million production budget listed in Wayne's proposal was unlikely to scare off most studios. Compared to standard commercial film budgets, it was practically indie-tier.

Jimmy's plan to shop the project elsewhere made sense. From an approval standpoint, it was low-risk and easy to greenlight. Major studios might hesitate to throw around huge budgets, but a low-cost film with a proven director? That was an easy yes.

"Investing in film is like gambling," Nina said with a sigh. "If it hits, the returns are massive. Fox already made a ton off your last movie—why are they still pushing you around like this? Don't they worry you'll just go to another company?"

Wayne exhaled a stream of smoke, calming himself down before replying.

"No, they're not afraid. Because they're 20th Century Fox. It's because they know my next film will likely succeed that they're trying to lock down the profits. They don't want to share even a fraction of the return."

He flicked ash from his cigarette.

"And as for not letting me handle post-production—it's not personal. It's about control. In their eyes, producers always understand the market better than directors. They know what sells."

"So what now? Just keep waiting?" Nina asked playfully. "Boss, honestly, my job's been way too easy lately. I feel guilty with the salary you're paying me."

Wayne smiled faintly. She'd spent enough time around him to know he wasn't the overly serious type.

"We're definitely making this film—don't worry. Once production starts, you'll be swamped. You'll be begging for the quiet days back."

He stubbed out the cigarette and looked at her again.

"By the way, what did the realtor say?"

Jimmy's bad news left Wayne with no time or mood to focus on anything else. It was clear now that the project wouldn't come together anytime soon, so he decided to shift his focus to something more immediate—finding a new place to live.

"We can go check out the houses anytime," Nina said, flipping open her notebook with practiced ease. "Three options: two in the hills above Beverly Hills, and one in Malibu. Should I contact the agents?"

"Call the realtor," Wayne replied. "Let's go take a look. This apartment's too small—I need a new work environment."

Despite his growing success, Wayne was still living in an apartment near USC. Ever since the thought of moving crossed his mind, he had started to feel increasingly constrained by the small space. Now that he finally had the means to upgrade his lifestyle, there was no reason to keep putting it off.

In Hollywood, the unspoken rule was simple—if you have the means, live in a way that reflects or exceeds your status. Anything less is just settling.

A few days ago, a real estate agent had recommended two villas. One of them was located in the Santa Monica Canyon area of Brentwood, a classic old-money neighborhood perched along the hills of Los Angeles. The place was peaceful and upscale—ideal for living.

But the frequent wildfires that swept through Malibu during winter and spring made Wayne hesitate. If he didn't factor in the slope distance, the typical fire zones were less than five kilometers from the recommended property.

It didn't matter whether the rumors were true—about firefighters lighting controlled burns to justify their paychecks—or if it was just an unfortunate pattern of natural wildfires. Wayne wasn't interested in taking the risk.

Another major issue was the neighbors. The nearest house belonged to Matthew McConaughey, a lunatic who liked to get high, blast music loud enough for the entire street to hear, and run around naked antagonizing the cops.

With the wildfire risk and that kind of neighbor, the Santa Monica Canyon property was quickly scratched off the list.

Nina drove all the way up to Beverly Hills. Once they met with the realtor, they followed him in a separate car up to the heights of Beverly Park, where they finally pulled up in front of a large estate.

"Mr. Garfield, I'm Henry, your real estate agent," the man greeted them as they stepped out. "This estate sits at the top of Mulholland Drive in Beverly Park. It was designed by the renowned architect Howard Scott. The property covers 5.3 acres and was completed in March 1970. The previous owner was a hedge fund executive from Wall Street."

As he and Nina stepped out of the car, Wayne took one look at the stately gate and silently admired the estate's design.

Marble pillars flanked either side of the entrance, styled like old-world classical columns—weathered but well-maintained. The floral carvings etched into the stone gave the gate a dignified sense of time and tradition. Clearly, the property had been well cared for.

Beyond the gate, all that was visible was a guardhouse and a dense grove of trees—providing complete privacy from outside onlookers.

"Let's head inside."

At Wayne's word, the realtor unlocked the gate and led them in by car.

Inside, the estate opened up into a grand garden. Since the entire property was built on a hillside, the buildings had been smartly designed to follow the slope. The main road wound gently through the trees and landscaping—clearly a deliberate design to preserve the owner's privacy.

Along the garden edge, near the property walls, were rows of massive crape myrtle trees. Not only did they block all outside views, but in spring, when the crape myrtles bloomed, the entire area would transform into a rare and beautiful scene.

The garden was clearly well-kept. At the end of the path, it opened into a large, flat lawn furnished with sun umbrellas, lounge chairs, and a row of benches.

The realtor gestured toward the large canopy umbrellas. "If you host parties during the day, you can open the retractable awnings to shield guests from California's harsh sun."

"This design is really thoughtful," Wayne admitted, continuing forward. "Plenty of space, and even private shading options. Too bad I'm not the type to throw big parties at home. For me, umbrellas are probably more practical."

"The entire estate spans over 5.3 acres, Mr. Garfield. Would you like to take a tour around the grounds?" the realtor asked, subtly hinting at the estate's inevitably steep price tag.

"Of course. Let's take a look around." Wayne understood the implication—but with his current income, he could easily afford it.

They circled around the main residence. Out front was a marble-paved courtyard with a modest fountain at the center. On the right stood a two-story auxiliary building that included the garage, storage rooms, and staff quarters.

The main residence stood proudly at the center—three stories tall with a stately stone façade that gave off a dark, solid aura. Yet even from outside, Wayne could see massive floor-to-ceiling windows embedded within, suggesting that the interior would be flooded with natural light.

At the base of the building was a wooden plaque. Wayne stepped closer to read the inscription—it said: Augustus.

"That's the name of the main residence," the realtor explained. "The previous owner's last name was Augustus."

Behind the main building was a large outdoor pool that wrapped around the back of the estate. Beyond that lay a huge, flat lawn marked with a helipad.

"Boss, if you move in here, you could commute to work by helicopter!" Nina was still in awe. From the moment they arrived, she hadn't stopped staring. In her world, she had never imagined a private estate this luxurious.

"Helicopter?" Wayne raised an eyebrow. "Don't even say that word to me. I'm never getting on one of those things again in my life."

He had a psychological aversion to helicopters. In his previous life, he'd been a die-hard Kobe Bryant fan—and like many in his generation of NBA followers, the thought of helicopters brought up nothing but tragedy.

Beyond the helipad was a private golf course. Wayne took a moment to look it over, then mentally made a note—he could rip out part of it and build a horse stable instead. He'd be able to bring his horse here. Golf wasn't really his game anyway.