Chapter 113: A Packaged Film
"Indecent Proposal?"
Inside Dawnlight Studios' sleek office, Aaron flipped through the script that Steven Ruther had just delivered. A few pages in, and he could already tell — it was a strong concept.
"Well?" Ruther asked, leaning forward with a confident grin. "Good story, right? The premise is fresh — you've never seen anything like it."
Aaron gave a small nod. "It's solid. Tense, provocative. People will talk about it."
Ruther's smile widened.
The story was simple but dangerous:
A young married couple loses a fortune at a Las Vegas casino and meets a charming, older billionaire.
The billionaire, captivated by the wife's beauty, makes an outrageous offer — one million dollars for a single night with her.
After a brutal struggle with their conscience, the couple agrees, vowing never to speak of it again.
But of course, they do. The money, the guilt, the temptation — it all corrodes what they once had.
And just when they think it's over… the billionaire reappears.
It was the kind of moral melodrama that Hollywood loved. And Aaron could already see it: glossy lights, sensual tension, high emotion — box office gold.
---
"So," Aaron asked, closing the folder, "how's Adrian Lyne feeling about it?"
"Still refining," Ruther replied. "Amy Jones is rewriting the script based on Adrian's notes."
Aaron nodded slowly. "Makes sense. It fits Lyne's style. He knows how to turn temptation into poetry."
It was a typical CAA package — big-name director, seasoned writer, and carefully selected stars all negotiated together.
But even by CAA's standards, this one was pricey.
"What's the budget they're proposing?" Aaron asked.
Ruther didn't hesitate. "No less than $35 million, plus 15% of all gross revenues — theatrical, home video, and TV rights."
Aaron's brow furrowed.
"Steven, this is a drama, not Terminator 2. There are no sets to build, no explosions to fund. Why the hell does it need thirty-five million?"
He leaned back, shaking his head. "And fifteen percent of everything? That's steep — even for CAA."
---
Ruther shrugged, unbothered. "For the billionaire, we want Robert Redford. And for the husband? Tom Cruise."
Aaron laughed aloud.
"Tom Cruise? You really think he'll take a role where his wife sleeps with another man for money? He doesn't exactly need the paycheck."
Ruther smiled faintly. "Adrian Lyne's longtime collaborator Sherry Lansing is also interested in producing. You know she's got a first-look deal with Paramount."
Aaron's expression sharpened. "Sherry Lansing, huh? The first woman to ever head production at Fox. She's smart — ruthless, even. But fifteen percent is still out of the question."
Ruther shook his head firmly. "That part's non-negotiable."
Aaron tapped his fingers against the mahogany table, exhaling softly.
"Alright then. Dawnlight will handle production with a $25 million budget. That's as high as I'll go. We can revisit casting — maybe find a younger lead who isn't allergic to moral conflict."
Ruther paused, weighing his options, then nodded. "Twenty-five million. That's workable."
"Good." Aaron stood and extended a hand. "Then let's move quickly. I want Indecent Proposal ready for release in the second half of next year. That means you and CAA need to move fast."
Ruther blinked. "That soon? Isn't that a bit tight?"
Aaron's grin returned — confident, unshakable.
"If CAA can't pull together a package by year's end," he said smoothly, "then maybe they've lost their touch."
Ruther chuckled, shaking Aaron's hand. "Oh, we can do it. Don't worry — we'll deliver."
Aaron watched him leave, then leaned back in his chair, tapping the edge of the script with a thoughtful smirk.
"A married couple, a million dollars, and a choice that destroys them," he murmured.
"Not bad. Not bad at all."
And just like that, Dawnlight Studios' first packaged production — Indecent Proposal — was officially greenlit.
Aaron hadn't expected that he, of all people, would end up producing a CAA-packaged project.
But in Hollywood, irony was often the price of success.
---
Santa Monica — Pacific Palisades
The Pacific wind drifted gently across the oceanfront terrace of Steven Spielberg's seaside villa as Michael Ovitz arrived, a familiar calm in his sharp Armani suit.
"Wait," Spielberg blinked in surprise after hearing the news. "Aaron Anderson actually wants to finance Schindler's List?"
He couldn't hide his disbelief.
His old friends — Steve Ross, the chairman of Warner Bros., and Sid Sheinberg, the president of MCA-Universal — had both dismissed the project.
Too bleak. Too political. Zero commercial value.
Ovitz nodded, smiling slightly. "I spoke with him personally. Aaron wants to collaborate — and he means it."
"Don't forget," he added with a faint chuckle, "you're Steven Spielberg. And Aaron — well, Dawnlight may be young, but it's already shocked the industry. Still… he was just a CAA agent not long ago."
Before Spielberg could respond, a gentle voice interrupted.
"Here," said Kate Capshaw, his newlywed wife, carrying two steaming cups of coffee.
"Thanks, honey."
Spielberg's second marriage was still fresh — though the price of his previous one had been steep: over $100 million in alimony.
Kate settled beside him, curious.
"You're talking about that young producer, right? Aaron Anderson? The guy behind Ghost?"
Ovitz smiled. "That's him. Talented. Fearless, too."
Kate leaned her chin on her palm, a playful glint in her eye.
"Impressive. Anyone who can make Warren Beatty look like a relic deserves credit."
"But why would he want to back Schindler's List? It's hardly a money-maker."
Ovitz spread his hands with a knowing smile.
"Because Spielberg is Spielberg. And Dawnlight wants legitimacy. Supporting a film like this? It gives them prestige money can't buy."
Kate frowned slightly. "Seems like a steep price for prestige."
She wasn't wrong. Everyone in town thought Schindler's List would bomb financially.
---
Spielberg, however, didn't care. His eyes gleamed with quiet conviction.
"Michael," he said, "Hook is in post-production. Once that's done, I want to move straight into Schindler's List."
"Did Aaron give any conditions?"
Ovitz shook his head. "None. He's being incredibly generous — full creative control, zero interference. He'll even transfer the full budget into the production account by the end of the year."
Spielberg blinked, momentarily speechless. "Really? That soon? I could start shooting before New Year's?"
"Absolutely," Ovitz confirmed. "Dawnlight's flush right now. Aaron just bought Heritage Entertainment and spent millions acquiring Pixar. The funding comes from Boyz n the Hood and The Silence of the Lambs."
He paused with a grin. "And as for Ghost — you've seen the numbers yourself."
---
The film's North American box office had surpassed $80 million, and its overseas gross had already crossed $50 million despite only recently opening abroad.
Kate chimed in, beaming.
"Michael's right — Ghost is tracking even higher than Pretty Woman did last year. The momentum's insane."
Spielberg nodded slowly, setting his coffee down.
"No wonder. In that case, I'll meet Aaron as soon as possible and start assembling my crew."
Ovitz smiled faintly. The deal was as good as done.
With Ghost's massive success, Aaron could afford to fund both art and ambition.
---
"Steven," Ovitz added cautiously, "just… don't let Jurassic Park get delayed, alright?"
Spielberg waved it off with an easy grin.
"Relax, Michael. I can prep both. Once I finish Schindler's List, I'll roll straight into Jurassic Park. They'll complement each other."
"Two films, back-to-back?" Ovitz raised a brow.
Spielberg chuckled. "A story about humanity — and then one about survival. It's poetic balance."
Ovitz laughed softly, shaking his head. "Only you, Steven."
As he stood to leave, he glanced toward the ocean, thinking of Aaron Anderson — the young upstart from nowhere who was now bankrolling Hollywood's greatest director.
Maybe, Ovitz thought, the kid really was building something that could last.