24: Chapter 24: Adam headed straight for the agency’s offices.
Derek was already there, having received the transfer confirmation that morning.
“I want to set up a production company,” Adam said, once they’d sat down.
“Independent.
I’ll still work with studios on distribution, but I want my own shop behind the scenes.”
Derek nodded.
They’d talked through the broad shape of this before.
Part of it was practical—filing as a company instead of an individual meant a considerably better tax position once the kind of money Adam was now making got involved.
But the bigger reason was that Adam didn’t want to spend his whole career as someone who simply made money for other people’s companies.
A director who consistently produced hits was a massive resource.
If he kept making successful films, that track record was worth owning outright as an investor, not renting out one paycheck at a time.
“Call it Morning Light Pictures,” Adam said.
“The logo is a ray of morning light breaking over the horizon.
Find a design firm that can put that together properly.”
He wasn’t in a rush to staff it up yet.
As popular as he currently was around town, popularity built on one success could evaporate just as fast if the next project flopped.
Recruiting openly this early risked attracting people chasing a name rather than people who actually possessed the talent and belief in the work.
For now, an empty shell that could sit quietly in the background of his next deal was enough.
With that handled, Adam headed back to the hotel.
“Want to go look at houses?” he asked Angelina Jolie when he walked in.
“Sure,” she said, brightening at the idea.
She was already treating their arrangement with a sense of permanence, though Adam had no intention of marrying anyone.
He had seen too many high-profile figures—Nicolas Cage immediately came to mind—ruin their finances and careers through messy marriages and divorces.
He preferred to keep things cleanly professional and mutually beneficial.
He already planned to offer Jolie the lead role in Get Out; her natural magnetism and ability to project a sharp, captivating edge made her perfect for the film’s complex, calculating femme fatale.
Adam hadn’t planned on buying anything this soon.
But running the numbers in his head on the drive over to Beverly Hills, he kept landing on the same conclusion.
The current market was still recovering, meaning real estate wouldn’t stay this affordable much longer.
He knew the broad economic strokes of the coming decades—waiting meant paying considerably more for the same square footage later.
There was also a simpler, less complicated reason.
Taxes were coming due either way.
Money he didn’t spend or reinvest before the deadline would simply get absorbed by the government instead.
Putting a chunk of it into property he actually wanted, in a neighborhood known for its unparalleled privacy and security, felt like the better outcome by far.
They found a high-end realty office near the center of Beverly Hills and walked in.
A balding, well-dressed man approached them almost immediately, displaying the kind of practiced warmth that came from years of sizing up exactly how much a client was worth before they’d said a word.
“Afternoon.
How can I help you?
Buying or renting?”
“Buying,” Adam said decisively.
The man, whose name tag read Litt, immediately brightened.
His smile widened.
“Right this way.
Follow me.”
Litt led them toward the back of the office, where a highly detailed, 3D scale model of the neighborhood sat under glass—every property mapped out in miniature, complete with little labeled details on each lot.
He clearly took immense pride in the display; it was an expensive visual aid designed specifically to separate his agency from the rest.
“This one here belongs to the Hollywood star Nicolas Cage,” Litt said, pointing to one of the larger estates.
“Right next to it—this one’s just come on the market.
The owner is looking to sell quickly.”
He walked them through several more, each one bigger and more elaborate than the last—multiple bathrooms, swimming pools, private gardens, and even small patches of private forest.
It was a scale that made the whole thing feel almost unreal.
“This street is mostly studio executives and a few names you’d recognize,” Litt added smoothly.
“Tom Cruise has a property right over here.
Quiet street.
Very secure neighbors.”
Adam looked over the options carefully, weighing each one less on charm and more on what it represented—a stake in something solid, in a city he intended to be part of for a very long time.
“This one,” he said finally, pointing to a smooth-roofed two-story villa toward the edge of the model.
“Let’s go see it in person.”
Litt didn’t bother hiding his excitement this time.
The villa Adam had picked ran just over six million dollars—well out of reach for almost anyone walking in off the street, but clearly not a concern here.
“Right this way,” Litt said eagerly.
“I’ll drive.”
Outside, a well-kept Lincoln sedan waited at the curb.
Whatever Litt made selling property in a neighborhood like this, it was clearly enough to live comfortably himself.
He opened the doors for them, and the three of them set off toward the property.