23: Chapter 23: Adam left the studio shortly after, telling the executives he needed time to start shaping his next project.
Derek stayed behind, busy leveraging the momentum for the rest of the old crew.
Most of the people from the Saw set had signed with the agency by now and were already being placed on other productions while they waited for Adam’s next call.
Clark Gregg, predictably, had the most offers coming in.
The role of Jigsaw had transformed him from a working actor into a recognizable name that casting directors actively wanted on their call sheets.
None of that required Adam’s direct involvement.
After a brief stop to catch up with Robert Downey Jr., he caught a car back to his hotel in Beverly Hills.
It struck him, on the ride over, how much of his life these last few months had taken place inside hotel rooms.
He had no family to go home to—just a string of temporary suites he paid for, one after another.
Having Angelina Jolie around had helped take the edge off that isolation more than he wanted to admit out loud.
Back at the hotel, Jolie hadn’t gone anywhere.
She had taken an extended leave from her usual modeling work, deciding that staying close to Adam right now mattered more than chasing whatever minor jobs she might otherwise have lined up.
Even if nothing permanent came of their arrangement, simply being near the center of his next project gave her a better shot at a meaningful role than competing for scraps on her own.
She had spent a quiet, easy day in the suite—a good meal delivered to the room, some television, nothing urgent pulling at her attention.
When Adam walked in, she looked up from the couch, and for a moment neither of them said anything.
Then, the news anchor’s voice on the television caught Adam’s attention before he could take a step toward her.
The segment was covering a massive, unfolding scandal involving a prominent billionaire family—a story of hidden crimes, extreme entitlement, and the terrifying lengths the ultra-wealthy would go to in order to preserve their legacy and evade consequence.
Adam sat down slowly, his mind suddenly pulling away from the room and focusing entirely on the screen.
He didn’t care about the specific corporate scandal, but the coverage reminded him of the unique power of the horror genre.
The best thrillers didn’t just scare audiences with monsters; they held a mirror up to the deep, unspoken anxieties of society.
He thought about the terrifying reality of elite exploitation, of danger dressed up as high-society politeness, and the suffocating dread of realizing the welcoming people around you are actually a threat to your autonomy.
The horror concept he had been loosely developing all week vanished from his mind entirely, instantly replaced by a much sharper, more masterful narrative.
Get Out.
He would strip the concept down and rebuild it purely around class and psychological terror: a young, working-class outsider travels to a secluded, affluent estate to meet his wealthy girlfriend’s family, only to discover their terrifying, surgical method of stealing bodies to achieve a twisted form of eternal life.
The premise took the insidious nature of elite exploitation and escalated it into a brilliant, terrifying sci-fi narrative.
It was smart, tension-driven filmmaking that operated on multiple levels.
On the surface, it was a flawless thriller with impeccable pacing.
Beneath that, it was a profound critique of extreme wealth and entitlement that would resonate deeply with audiences, sparking exactly the kind of meaningful conversation that elevated a film from a simple box-office hit to an undeniable cinematic milestone.
“Adam?” Jolie said softly, watching him drift somewhere she couldn’t follow.
“Just figuring out the next film,” he said, shaking the thoughts off and finally looking at her.
“I know exactly what it is now.”
A few days later, Adam returned to New Line Cinema with finished, detailed outlines for the next two Saw installments, complete with enough structural guidance that the studio’s own storyboard artists could begin work immediately.
The two sides finalized the rights agreement that afternoon.
Thirty-one million dollars landed in his accounts shortly after.
Once CAA’s five percent commission was deducted—roughly 1.55 million—along with the smaller advance he had already drawn, the remaining cash balance settled at just over twenty-nine million dollars.
“Don’t forget Uncle Sam wants his cut too,” Dean said as they shook hands, the warning entirely genuine despite his smile.
“Only two things in this country you can’t avoid forever.”
“I know,” Adam said.
“I’ll handle it before April.”
He understood the brutal reality of the math.
Left untouched in a standard account past the April 15th filing deadline, a windfall of this size could lose as much as half of its value to combined state and federal taxes.
It was the mechanism that funded the country, and the permanent puzzle for anyone with enough liquid capital to spend real effort trying to maneuver around it.