After leaving Evelyn Parker’s office, Mark Anderson took the elevator downstairs to Silverline Pictures’ project development department.
Evelyn had already told him she would authorize the promised $700,000 investment, so his next step was to begin preparing a new project.
The development department handled script evaluations, production proposals, budget reviews, and investment plans, making it the part of the company Silverline’s contracted directors dealt with most frequently.
The moment Mark reached the entrance, he heard several employees talking inside.
“Mark really destroyed himself this time. There’s no way he comes back from losing that much money,” one person said, and another immediately laughed.
“He deserved it. The guy always thought he was better than everyone else, and instead of going through development like every other director, he went directly to Ms. Parker for financing. Now his movie crashed and burned.”
“If I were Ms. Parker, I’d sue him for everything he owns,” another employee added.
Someone nearby scoffed and replied, “And accomplish what? Mark doesn’t have twenty-four million dollars lying around. If she spends years burying him in lawsuits, where is the company supposed to recover its money from? She’d be better off locking him into some insane long-term contract and making him work for Silverline for the rest of his career.”
“Ms.
Parker acts ruthless, but she’s actually too generous when it matters.
Even if Mark worked here until retirement, he probably wouldn’t earn enough to cover twenty-four million dollars.” After a brief pause, the speaker added, “I still don’t understand why she trusted him with a movie that expensive in the first place.”
Mark stood outside and listened without showing much reaction.
According to the memories he had inherited, the previous Mark Anderson had indeed been arrogant, withdrawn, and difficult to work with, so it wasn’t surprising that many employees disliked him.
No matter what industry someone entered, treating coworkers as though they were beneath him was an excellent way to create enemies.
Still, the development department was hardly innocent.
Several people here were known for quietly favoring producers, contractors, and outside companies that offered them personal benefits, which was one reason the former Mark had bypassed them and approached Evelyn directly.
The conversation inside continued growing louder as everyone apparently used his failure as an opportunity to release months of accumulated resentment.
“That production cost almost twenty-five million dollars,” one employee said.
“If Derek had received an opportunity like that, he probably would’ve delivered a hit. Right, Derek?” Another voice quickly agreed.
“Exactly. Derek has more experience and a better track record than Anderson. If Mark hadn’t jumped the line, that production slot might have gone to him.”
A smooth male voice finally joined the conversation.
“Come on, we all work for the same company. There’s no point attacking the guy after the fact. Mark took his shot and things didn’t work out.” His tone sounded reasonable, but Mark could easily hear the satisfaction hidden underneath it.
“Derek, you’re way too nice,” someone said with a laugh.
“Why defend him?
After losing that kind of money, Ms.
Parker isn’t going to trust him with another feature.
Looks like your opportunity finally arrived.” Derek chuckled before answering modestly, “If something opens up, I’ll need you guys to put in a good word when management starts reviewing proposals.
If I get the financing, dinner’s on me.”
“You got it. Leave it to us.”
The atmosphere inside suddenly became remarkably harmonious.
“Mark! Why are you standing out here?”
A voice came from the elevator behind him.
Mark turned and saw a tall blond man in his late twenties approaching with a messenger bag hanging from one shoulder, while the chatter inside the development office stopped almost immediately.
The newcomer walked over, looked Mark up and down, and grinned.
“Still have all your organs? That’s encouraging. Apparently Ms. Parker likes you more than I expected.”
“Can you wish me good luck just once in your life?” Mark replied with a laugh.
The man was Paul Stevens, Mark’s former film-school roommate and one of the few genuine friends his counterpart had managed to keep.
They had studied directing together at a respected Los Angeles film school for four years before both joining Silverline Pictures after graduation.
Paul had served as assistant director on Mark’s failed debut feature, yet even after the disaster, he clearly had no intention of abandoning his friend.
Paul glanced toward the office and immediately understood why Mark had stopped outside.
“What, were they talking trash again?” Mark answered with nothing more than a helpless smile, and Paul’s expression darkened.
“Those hypocrites. Some of them were making our lives difficult before we even finished postproduction, and now they’re acting like they predicted the whole thing.”
He rolled up his sleeves as though he genuinely intended to walk inside and start an argument, but Mark raised an arm and stopped him.
“Forget it. Fighting with them isn’t going to put twenty-four million dollars back into Silverline’s account. Come on.” With that, he walked into the department while Paul followed beside him.
Everyone inside had already returned to their desks and suddenly appeared extremely interested in spreadsheets, emails, and whatever happened to be displayed on their monitors.
A short man wearing a tailored suit stood and approached Mark with an almost friendly expression.
“How’d it go? What did Ms. Parker say?”
His name was Derek Collins, another director under contract with Silverline Pictures.
Derek was only in his early thirties but somehow looked closer to forty, perhaps because of his meticulously combed hair and permanently serious expression.
He had spent several years directing commercials and television episodes but had never received the chance to independently direct a theatrical feature, which explained why Mark’s earlier opportunity had always bothered him.
Mark looked at him and smiled.
“You’ll find out soon.”
Evelyn had already contacted the head of development before Mark left her office, so the terms of their new agreement would probably spread through the department shortly.
Paul ignored Derek completely, threw an arm around Mark’s shoulders, and steered him toward the development director’s office.
The department head, Eddie Mercer, had known Paul for years and was close enough with him that Paul rarely bothered knocking before entering.
Once the door closed behind them, Paul scoffed.
“Collins didn’t waste any time, did he? Your movie has barely finished crashing and he’s already circling the body.” Mark merely smiled and sat down on the couch.
“People look after their own interests. Nothing unusual about that.”
He reached for the laptop bag he had left in the office earlier, but Paul sat beside him and pulled a bank card from his pocket.
“There’s a little over $140,000 in this account. Use it for now. I know a few people I can talk to, and I might still be able to raise more.”
“No.” Mark immediately pushed the card back.
“That’s the money your parents gave you for a down payment. I’m not touching it.”
Paul waved dismissively and tried to shove it into his hand again.
“Have you looked at Los Angeles real-estate prices lately? A hundred and forty grand isn’t exactly buying me a mansion. Take it, get through this mess, and pay me back when you’re working again.”
“If you’re really my friend, then I definitely can’t take it.” Mark slipped the card back into Paul’s jacket pocket before continuing, “Besides, the immediate problem has already been handled. Ms. Parker and I reached an agreement.”
Paul studied him suspiciously.
“Seriously?”
When Mark nodded, Paul finally relaxed.
“Fine. But if you need money, call me before doing something stupid.” He then yawned so widely that tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
“Man, I was drinking with people half the night. I’m exhausted.”
Paul was sociable and knew plenty of people throughout the film industry, but he rarely spent an entire night drinking.
Mark immediately understood that his friend had probably been meeting contacts and trying to raise money for him.
He chose not to expose him and simply said, “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you later.”
“Works for me.” Paul stretched out across the couch, turned onto his side, and within minutes began snoring.
Mark opened his laptop and logged into VistaStream, one of the largest entertainment platforms in this world.
The American entertainment industry here was enormous, with theatrical releases, television, streaming, licensing, advertising, and merchandise generating staggering amounts of money every year.
Hollywood remained one of the world’s major filmmaking centers, attracting directors, actors, writers, and producers from across the country and overseas.
VistaStream occupied an important place in that ecosystem, hosting a massive catalog of films and television series alongside entertainment news, trailers, industry statistics, and digital releases.
After its brief opening animation disappeared, the homepage appeared and several headlines immediately caught Mark’s attention: Award-Winning Director Daniel Brooks Scores Another Hit as Beyond the Horizon Opens Strong Across North America, Jason Grant’s New Thriller Midnight Runaway Disappoints Critics and Audiences, and Veteran Director Robert Hale Secures Over $100 Million for Epic War Production Crimson Tidefields.
Mark entered the film section and found row after row of unfamiliar posters.
Drama, comedy, romance, action, science fiction, westerns, crime, animation, thrillers, and dozens of smaller categories covered the screen.
As someone who had spent his previous life immersed in movies, the fact that almost none of those titles meant anything to him was startling, but it was also his greatest advantage.
He carried memories of another world’s film industry.
That was the real reason Mark had dared accept Evelyn’s challenge.
If the successful films he remembered had never been made in this world, then those memories represented opportunities, but he first needed to understand the competition.
More importantly, he had to determine which genre offered the best chance of turning $700,000 into a theatrical success large enough to reach Evelyn’s $14 million target.
After browsing for nearly an hour, Mark realized that this world’s filmmakers were hardly incompetent.
Its healthy entertainment industry had produced plenty of brilliant directors and exceptional movies, including works that could easily have stood among acclaimed films from his previous life.
Remembering successful stories did not mean he could simply walk into Hollywood and dominate everyone around him.
Mark wasn’t discouraged.
His resources were limited, which meant the important thing was choosing the right battlefield rather than competing head-on with major studios.
Period dramas were popular, but producing one properly required expensive costumes, elaborate sets, suitable locations, large casts, and extensive historical research.
The history of this world also differed enough from what Mark remembered that he couldn’t simply recreate a period film from memory.
With only $700,000 available, the genre was immediately eliminated.
Comedy seemed cheaper at first, but truly exceptional comedic performers were rare, and actors capable of carrying a theatrical comedy usually demanded salaries far beyond his budget.
Building an entire comedy ensemble from scratch would mean gambling everything on casting and chemistry alone.
Mark quickly rejected that option as well.
Romance presented similar problems because commercially ambitious romantic movies usually depended heavily on charismatic, attractive leads capable of drawing an audience.
Action was even less practical, requiring stunt performers, coordinators, insurance, specialized equipment, complicated locations, and actors capable of handling physically demanding scenes.
Neither genre suited his current financial situation.
Science fiction briefly seemed more promising, especially because Mark already had experience directing it, but the market was badly oversaturated.
Studios had spent the last several years flooding theaters with movies about deep space, alien planets, futuristic wars, artificial intelligence, and enormous spacecraft, and audiences had begun showing clear signs of fatigue.
Entering that market again would mean competing against much larger productions while carrying the baggage of his previous failure.
In fact, oversaturation had contributed heavily to the collapse of Mark’s debut movie.
The film itself hadn’t been completely unwatchable, but releasing another expensive science-fiction feature into an overcrowded market had been disastrous.
Its weak opening quickly became a collapse, theaters reduced its showtimes, and stronger-performing films took its screens until it disappeared after barely a week.
Mark leaned back and stared at the laptop.
With only $700,000, almost every mainstream genre demanded resources, stars, or production values he couldn’t afford.
He slowly scrolled farther down the category list, searching for anything he might have overlooked, until his eyes suddenly stopped on a small section near the bottom of the page.
Horror.
Mark’s eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned toward the screen.
(End of Chapter 2)