Chapter 45: Warner Makes Its Move
"Thirty million dollars in cash handed to a lawyer, suing someone endlessly over any random excuse until they go bankrupt? Is this guy insane?"
When the executive finished speaking, everyone in the room shared the same incredulous look. The idea was absurd—but not impossible. In fact, such blunt-force tactics were all too common among North America's wealthy elite.
In this game, if I'm richer than you, I can bury you in lawsuits, file after file, until you're financially drained and can no longer fight back. Wall Street is practically overflowing with legal teams that specialize in this kind of scorched-earth litigation.
"All right, gentlemen," CEO Kevin Tsujihara tapped his knuckles lightly on the table, gesturing toward the documents in front of him. "Let's leave the director's personal vendettas out of this. What we need to focus on is the project proposal—and how likely it is to succeed."
"There's one more detail worth noting." It was again Jeff Robinov, the head of film production, who took the lead.
"Besides Happy Death Day and this new project, Get Out, my people uncovered some interesting leads at the Writers Guild. Wayne Garfield has already registered a screenplay titled Joker, and a preliminary outline for another one called W.
"And there's more. A few months ago, we found three short stories published under the name 'Wayne' in a magazine issued by Random House. After some digging, we confirmed he submitted them through his mother's connections. Now, this doesn't prove anything definitive—but it does show that the guy has a solid career plan. He's not just some lucky upstart who's about to fade away."
This was Hollywood—the heart of the global film industry, where commercialism ruled and evaluation systems were ruthless. Here, actors and directors alike were subjected to highly structured assessments.
The fastest way to evaluate a director was by reviewing three key data points from the last three to five years:
1. Total box office gross
2. Per-screen average
3. Weekly box office performance
Each studio had its own spin on the formula, but these three metrics formed the core of any serious analysis.
A director's golden era from five or ten years ago didn't matter. What counted most was the box office performance of their last three films. If their most recent releases consistently hit over $10,000 per screen in theaters, they were considered top-tier directors.
Wayne, with only a single film under his belt, wasn't in that category yet. That's why Warner needed to dig deeper—to figure out whether he was a one-hit wonder riding a wave of dumb luck, or someone worth betting on.
At the very least, Jeff's words sent a clear signal to everyone—this guy wasn't just some brainless lucky break.
In the grand scheme of things, Hollywood studios—like most companies in North America—live and die by data and performance.
"His agent, Jimmy, has already opened negotiations with 20th Century Fox. Are we stepping in too late?" asked Vincent, the Vice President of Distribution, raising a cautious point.
"That's exactly why I brought this proposal to the table today," Jeff Robinov replied calmly, clearly confident in his position. "I have reliable intel that negotiations between Jimmy and Fox have hit a stalemate. This is the perfect moment for us to make our move."
Then, from the far end of the table, the Executive Vice President spoke up. "Jeff, don't forget—he's only made one film. That kind of directorial track record is shaky."
"That's true," said Ralph, another member of the production team, jumping in before Jeff could respond. "But that one film is about to hit $110 million worldwide. No amount of talk can beat solid numbers—and that's the golden rule in Hollywood!"
Tap, tap.
All eyes turned to CEO Kevin Tsujihara, who was rapping the table lightly with his middle finger. Once the room quieted, he spoke in a calm, measured voice.
"Batman Returns has just wrapped filming, and we've poured massive resources into it. It's our flagship project—no other film can be allowed to interfere with its rollout.
We also still have Under Siege in production—which require significant funding. Right now, we're stretched thin on cash flow. But this director's project has a low production cost and shows high promise.
The sticking points in his talks with Fox are post-production rights and a share of the North American box office—things Fox is either unwilling or unable to give him. But we can."
Everyone fell silent, clearly thinking through what Kevin had just laid out. He was right—Warner Bros. was more than capable of meeting this director's demands. And if his film succeeded, the studio stood to make a fortune.
"I have another idea," Kevin added, scanning the room. "We at Warner Bros. don't currently have any exclusive partnerships with rising directors. If Wayne Garfield proves he can deliver again, the commercial potential would be enormous.
Jeff mentioned those registered screenplays—those could become hot commodities for every studio. We can offer him a performance-based, tiered revenue-sharing contract, but only if he agrees to give us first rights on all future projects.
If Get Out becomes a box office success, we lock him in with a profit-sharing structure and make him Warner's golden boy. If it flops—cut him loose."
As heads nodded around the table, Kevin concluded, "Jeff, contact his agent. Give him what he wants. Sign him before Fox even realizes what's happening."
"No problem, boss!"
---
Meanwhile, back at Wayne's apartment, Naomi was helping him pack. Wayne was sealing a box of documents with tape—mostly old journals he'd written. While few in the U.S. could read Chinese pinyin, he wasn't taking any chances.
There weren't many clothes—just enough for a single suitcase. He mostly wore a few interchangeable black suits anyway. Aside from the box of personal notes, he was also bringing two boxes of VHS tapes.
From high school through his junior year of college, Wayne had made it a habit to watch films every day. Some he watched repeatedly—painstakingly breaking them down to learn different techniques and filmmaking philosophies.
"Boom—Wayne!"
Jimmy suddenly burst through the door, grabbed Wayne's shoulders, and shook him excitedly. "Good news—someone is ready to meet all your demands!"
"Hey, Jimmy!" Wayne pulled free, grinning. He sat down and asked with barely contained excitement, "Fox agreed? Weren't they being super difficult? Why the sudden change?"
"Fox? No, no! This has nothing to do with them. I intentionally leaked news that our negotiations with Fox had stalled." Jimmy grinned and accepted the cup of coffee Naomi handed him. "Thanks, Miss Watts."
"And?" Naomi leaned in eagerly, not even waiting for Wayne to respond. "So who bit? Is another studio interested? Are they willing to negotiate?"
"Absolutely. Just before I got here, I received a call from Jeff Robinov over at Warner Bros. He wants us to come to Burbank tomorrow to meet. He said, very clearly, they're ready to meet your terms—but the details need to be worked out in person. And he wants to hear your vision directly."
"Nice work, Jimmy!" Wayne didn't hold back on the praise this time. Compliments poured from his mouth. "I knew you could do it! You're the best agent anyone could ask for."
"Of course! Wayne, you're working hard—I have to keep up with you." Jimmy's expression turned serious for a moment.
Wayne could read the look on Jimmy's face. Even if he wasn't saying it, Wayne understood—Jimmy was worried about getting left behind. If Wayne rose too quickly, he might ditch him for one of the major agencies. After all, Jimmy didn't have the connections the big-name agents had.
"Relax, Jimmy. You're the perfect agent for me. I promise—as long as you don't screw up in any major way, I won't drop you. Before shooting officially starts on this project, we'll go to CAA together and renew the contract."
"Okay, now I'm relieved." Jimmy beamed. "I'll give you my absolute best. You're my top priority, Wayne—and you always will be. From now on, everything I do will be for you. Yeah, I'm definitely the agent you need."
With the reassurance he wanted, Jimmy was clearly energized. In this business, dropping an agent was so easy, it was practically free.
But Wayne never intended to cut Jimmy loose. Like he'd said—Jimmy was the best fit for him right now. Unlike the big-shot agents, Jimmy didn't have industry clout—but he had Wayne's trust, and trust was hard to build with strangers.
"Alright, gentlemen, the deal's done. What about the move tomorrow?" Naomi finally interrupted, pointing to the packed boxes.
"I'll head to Warner first," Wayne said, surveying the room. "Naomi, you and Nina can handle moving the boxes. Just bring these few over. Oh—and Naomi, feel free to pick a room for yourself on the second floor of the estate. It's yours."
"Oh my God! Are you serious?" Naomi gasped, covering her mouth. "Wayne, you know this—I've always dreamed of living in Beverly Hills. I'm so touched right now!"
"Hold on, don't get the wrong idea," Wayne quickly added, seeing the misunderstanding in her eyes. "Yes, you can choose a room—that's something I promised you a while ago. And no one else will be staying there. But it doesn't mean you're the lady of the house, got it?"
Naomi froze for a moment—then remembered they had talked about this. She had just forgotten.
"No problem. That's still amazing. I've made up my mind—I'm moving in early. Wayne, is that okay?"
"Do whatever you like. You know I don't mind you. Just one condition—don't get carried away with it." Seeing that she understood, Wayne finally let out a breath.
His career was just beginning. He had no interest in starting a relationship—not now. Even if he liked Naomi a lot, he couldn't afford to get distracted by emotional entanglements.
"Alright, 9 a.m. tomorrow in Burbank. Don't be late, Wayne. I'm heading back to prepare. Gonna be a late night. You owe me a bonus for this one, Director Garfield!"
With a theatrical bow, Jimmy opened the door, nodded to Naomi, and disappeared into the hallway.