Chapter 100 – I'm Still Too Young
Evan Martin ignored Jimmy's hostile glare and maintained a polite, professional smile as he extended his hand.
"Hello, Director Garfield! Apologies—I should've called ahead before dropping by," he said, giving Wayne's hand a brief, courteous shake. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I'd try my luck."
That nearly made Jimmy laugh out loud. Happened to be in the neighborhood? Garfield Manor sat at the very end of Mulholland Drive, perched high atop Beverly Park. Where exactly was he heading—off a cliff?
Wayne found it amusing as well. Nice move, he thought to himself.
"Hello, Mr. Martin. Please, have a seat. Feel free to speak openly—this is…" He gestured toward Colin Howard and the stack of financial documents on the table.
Evan Martin glanced around the room, noted everyone present, then took a seat across from Wayne, subtly observing his body language.
"Thank you."
He accepted a cup of coffee from Hela and wasted no time getting to the point.
"I've read the script for your new project—you know how this circle works, there are no secrets," he said, twirling his fingers to indicate the industry. "If you're willing to let CAA handle full-package production, I can guarantee you we'll be in pre-production within two weeks."
Wayne had been listening patiently until that last part—full-package production—made his eyes narrow.
"Mr. Martin, Warner Bros. hasn't even officially greenlit the project yet. Isn't this discussion a bit premature?"
"They will greenlight it—because you're Wayne Garfield!" Martin smiled, paying him a calculated compliment. Then his tone shifted. "Even if they don't, CAA can line up alternate investors and distribution for you."
His confidence and the smooth pitch made Wayne internally recoil with irritation.
"Let's cut to the chase," Wayne said bluntly. "Mr. Martin, I'm already signed with a CAA agent, and I have no intention of switching. I'm also not interested in your packaging services."
What was packaging? Put nicely, it was a "convenient, all-in-one production solution." More bluntly, it meant everyone—directors, actors, crew—became puppets under the agency's control.
Sure, this method could save a lot of time. Wayne didn't doubt CAA's ability to assemble a top-tier production team quickly and efficiently. But it clashed completely with his filmmaking philosophy.
Why else had he worked so hard to build his own core production team? So he wouldn't have to share creative control or have external interference during filming.
"Director Garfield, wouldn't you at least like to hear what we're offering?" Evan Martin gave it one last shot—he wasn't the type to give up easily.
"No need. I'm quite busy, so let's talk another time," Wayne said, standing and extending a hand.
Martin was clearly caught off guard. His expression froze for a moment, but to his credit, he remained polite. He shook Wayne's hand and turned to leave the living room.
Wayne watched him go, unmoved. The man's intentions were obvious—to lure him away with better terms, under the guise of empowerment, only to use him as a tool to push CAA's packaging agenda at Warner Bros.
Don't be fooled by the polite words. If Wayne had agreed, Martin's real goal was to leverage his name to pressure Warner—ultimately to further their control, not Wayne's.
"You should have heard him out," Jimmy said with a smirk now that Martin was gone, clearly more relaxed. "The offer was probably irresistible. He wouldn't have shown up like that if it wasn't."
"Jimmy, go handle your work," Wayne replied, his tone decisive. "I won't be anyone's puppet."
With that, his stance was clear. He was fine hiring an agent to handle logistics—but he wouldn't tolerate any attempt by that agent to control his career.
He was quite happy with Jimmy and his current team. They belonged to the milder camp of agents—those who focused on supporting clients and guiding careers, not dominating them.
Evan Martin, on the other hand, came from the school of Michael Ovitz—the so-called "agent emperor"—and had clearly inherited that aggressive, controlling style. Wayne had zero interest in dealing with someone like that.
He could already guess what the perks would be—CAA would elevate his status at studios, turning him from a "talent" into a partner, someone who could negotiate almost as an equal.
Sure, right now he might be in a weaker position at Warner Bros., but at least they saw him as a creative partner. They didn't try to own him.
"You don't know what you just turned down," Jimmy said at the door, unable to resist a parting shot. "It's the Oscars, Wayne. That's their biggest selling point—and Martin's biggest weapon."
Then he left.
Wayne simply smiled and shook his head. Of course I know, he thought. That's exactly why he didn't let Martin finish his pitch.
"Alright, let's get back to it, Colin." He gestured to the stack of paperwork. "Don't bother explaining it all—I won't get it anyway. Just tell me how much I made."
Colin Howard blinked, momentarily stunned. Then he picked up a printed sheet of paper and looked up at Wayne with curiosity.
"Was Jimmy serious? Can that guy really get you into the Oscars?"
Even the normally reserved Nina had a spark of intense curiosity in her eyes. As gossip flames burned around him, Wayne lit a cigarette, arching a brow.
"They do have that kind of pull," Wayne admitted, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. "If CAA pulled out all the stops—lobbying Academy voters, critics, insiders—they could probably get me shortlisted for a few awards."
He let out a scoffing laugh.
"But I'm too young. That's something even they can't change. Do you really think those old Academy geezers would hand over a golden statuette to some twenty-something kid?"
He shook his head with mock amusement. "It's all just about building up credentials. And let's be real: the whole awards campaign—every dinner, every screening, every PR stunt—I'd have to pay for it all myself. So what is that really? Spend a fortune for a pat on the back and leave empty-handed?"
Wayne was probably the only one in his team who had managed to stay completely level-headed. Even Jimmy, usually sharp and cautious, had clearly been dazzled by the allure of the Oscars.
"Anyway, that's what it boils down to. Evan Martin and his crew thought they could bait me with Oscar gold," Wayne said with a faint smirk. "But I'm not that naïve."
Both Nina and Colin exchanged looks of realization. Colin let out a quiet sigh.
"Hollywood really is a shark tank…"
Wayne hadn't paid much attention to his investments since handing over control to Colin. But that didn't stop his stock portfolio from growing at an impressive pace.
Both Microsoft and Oracle—giants of the tech world—had experienced one or two stock splits since his purchases. And the prices had bounced right back up. His initial $10 million investment, at today's valuation, was conservatively worth over $14 million. If he waited for the right moment to sell, he could easily earn at least 10% more.
That only strengthened Wayne's conviction. When the next $20+ million hit the Garfield Studio account, a good chunk of it would go right back into stocks—even if buying into those tech giants was a slow process.
"You know," Colin started, "you could consider investing in other tech companies. Their stock prices are also—"
"No need, Colin," Wayne cut him off with a wave. "Why play risky bootleg servers when I already have VIP access to the official game?"
After seeing Colin out, Wayne changed into a comfortable outfit and stepped out into the yard with his two golden retrievers, sprawling onto a lounge chair on the lawn.
The California sunshine was famously glorious, and it had instilled a sunbathing habit in many white folks. Some even sought out a sun-kissed tan. But truth be told, most Anglo-Saxons just turned lobster-red after ten minutes in the sun.
Wayne, however, didn't lie out to tan—he simply enjoyed the scenery and the rare opportunity to empty his mind.
For two years now, he'd been like a tightly wound clock, ticking nonstop. Even in his sleep, he was thinking about the next move. Rest was a luxury for him. Once pre-production on the new project began, he'd be swallowed by deadlines and stress all over again.
And on this side of the Pacific, what was the best way to decompress?
Simple—the woman walking slowly toward him.
Cameron Diaz wore a plain T-shirt and a pair of light blue skinny jeans. Despite the casual attire, her stunning figure was impossible to ignore.
What really drew attention, though, was her radiant face, framed by a playful smile. She wore barely any makeup—maybe just a hint of lip gloss. But with those features, even a basic touch-up from a pro artist could turn her into a full-blown screen goddess.
"Hi, Wayne." She smiled and grabbed a glass of juice from the table, settling beside him cross-legged. The lounge chair creaked loudly in protest under their combined weight.
"Daddy! I hope those tabloids haven't caused you too much trouble."
Wayne chuckled softly at her cheeky nickname. He immediately understood what she was referring to—the endless gossip columns. And sure, she probably had a hand in it. But just because he didn't call her out didn't mean he was unaware.
In this industry, any kind of buzz was valuable. Even bad publicity was better than none. At least she'd managed to raise her public profile.
After all, if Nicole Kidman hadn't played the media game after her divorce, her string of box office flops would've sunk her completely. Instead, she rode the wave of "ex-Mrs. Cruise" coverage for all it was worth—dragging Tom Cruise's name out again and again to stay relevant.
Actors in this town didn't fear bad press. What they feared was being forgotten.