Chapter 114: Buying Finished Films
East Hollywood, Los Feliz.
Steam swirled around the marble-tiled bathroom.
In the bathtub, Aaron Anderson leaned back, one arm wrapped around Jennifer Connelly as they soaked in the warm water.
"Your Ghost is a monster hit," Jennifer murmured, brushing a strand of wet hair from her face. "Everyone's talking about it."
He chuckled. "Too bad about The Rocketeer, though. Been out a month and barely scraped thirty-six million. Critics weren't kind either."
Jennifer sighed, deflating a little. The disappointment showed in her eyes.
Aaron smiled, drawing her closer. "Hey, you're still in college. Don't waste your time worrying about the numbers. You've got time."
She tilted her head, meeting his gaze with a teasing smile.
"So, Mr. Producer… got a new script for me?"
Aaron grinned. "Actually, yeah. Picture this: a bus rigged with a bomb. If it drops below fifty miles an hour… boom."
Jennifer's eyes lit up. "That sounds intense! And exciting!"
"Oh, it'll have plenty of explosions," Aaron said with a playful wink.
"When do you plan to shoot it?" she asked.
He thought for a moment. "Next year, if all goes well."
The summer of 1991 was owned by two films — Ghost and Terminator 2: Judgment Day.
One made audiences weep; the other blew their minds.
Together, they defined Hollywood's new dual obsession: emotion and spectacle.
---
Universal City — Spielberg's Office
Steven Spielberg leaned back in his chair, script in hand. "Aaron, are you sure about this?"
Across from him, Aaron smiled calmly, setting down his coffee. "Completely sure. Dawnlight will have a major cash inflow soon — I can guarantee the funding."
Spielberg looked at the young producer with cautious admiration. "You're talking about Ghost, right?"
"Exactly," Aaron nodded. "Once those numbers settle, you can start assembling your crew. Find your locations. Whatever you need."
Spielberg nodded, understanding. "Thank you, Aaron. The budget will be around twenty million. I might be able to secure part of it through Universal."
Aaron shook his head. "No need. Dawnlight just acquired Heritage Entertainment — we've built our own distribution network. What we need right now is a film to showcase it. Twenty million is nothing we can't handle."
Spielberg hesitated, then smiled faintly. "And you're sure? You'll finance the whole thing yourself?"
Aaron raised his glass. "Completely. And as far as Schindler's List goes — no one's going to interfere. You'll have full control. Three months from now, the budget will hit your account."
He took a slow sip of wine.
"Making something that gives voice to the dead… that's worth every cent."
Spielberg's eyes softened. He understood exactly what Aaron meant.
---
That afternoon, Aaron stopped by Angel Theatre, where Jack Wells was handling a very different kind of production.
Behind the theatre, in a narrow alley reeking of cigarettes and beer, two security guards were dragging a pair of Black men deeper into the shadows.
Jack cracked his knuckles and smiled darkly.
"You boys really thought you could pull this crap here?"
One of the men shouted, "Hey, we didn't even do anything, man!"
The second tried to break free — a mistake.
The guards slammed him against the wall, pinning him hard.
Jack leaned close, his grin widening.
"You worthless punks… sneaking into the theatre, picking fights?"
He kicked one of them square in the ribs, sending him sprawling. "Not on my watch."
Aaron turned the corner just in time to catch the tail end of the chaos. He sighed.
"Jack, do we really have to do this every week?"
Jack glanced over his shoulder, wiping his hands. "Hey, boss! Just keeping order. These idiots tried to start a fight — can't let that slide."
Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Just don't break anyone's spine this time."
Then, with a grin, he tossed Jack a bottle of whiskey. "Come on. Let's talk Indecent Proposal. You earned a drink."
Jack's expression softened. "Now that's the kind of deal I like."
The two of them walked out of the alley — Hollywood's strangest mix of high art and low life, wealth and violence, playing out under the same sun.
And Aaron?
He was already thinking three steps ahead — about a new script, a new deal, a new fortune to make.
Because in Hollywood, you didn't wait for the magic.
You bought it, finished or not.
Jack Wells had his knee jammed into the back of the man's neck, pressing him down against the filthy alley floor.
He smacked the back of the man's head twice, his voice low and dangerous.
"You scared my customers, huh?"
By the time Aaron Anderson arrived, this was the scene that greeted him — one man face-down on the pavement, Jack crouched over him like an LAPD cop from the evening news.
Aaron blinked. Christ, he thought. Isn't this exactly how the cops treat suspects in L.A.?
Knee on the neck, arms twisted behind the back — all too familiar.
Jack noticed Aaron's arrival and immediately got to his feet, brushing off his jacket.
"You two — get these idiots out of here."
The guards nodded and dragged the men away.
---
Back in the office, Jack poured two glasses of wine, as if nothing had happened.
Aaron just shook his head, half amused. "You're still as hot-headed as ever, huh? These incidents happen often?"
Jack shrugged. "Not really. Maybe just bad luck today."
Aaron chuckled and took a seat. "Fair enough. Anyway, nothing serious — I just dropped by after meeting with Universal. I was heading home, but figured I'd bring you an update."
"Oh?" Jack asked, handing him a glass. "What kind of update?"
Aaron took a sip before answering.
"I just met with CAA's Steven Ruther — you remember that script you mentioned? Indecent Proposal? It's now officially a CAA package, and Dawnlight's taking it on."
"Wait," Jack raised a brow, "a packaged project? You've never liked those."
Aaron smirked. "Normally, yeah. But this one's different — it's their script, their team. They've already lined up a producer, director, and writer. And honestly, the story works. If we don't take it, some other studio will."
Jack nodded thoughtfully. "I guess that's true. Still, CAA packages — they get deep into production. You okay with that?"
Aaron leaned back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers. "It's fine. Let them in. There's enough money to go around — might as well make it together."
Jack chuckled. "Can't argue with that."
---
Then he asked, "Now that Dawnlight's got its own distribution arm, are you planning to hit the film festivals and buy some finished pictures?"
"Buy completed films?" Aaron exhaled smoke slowly, considering. "Maybe. The art films are cheap enough. If you pick the right one, there's profit to be made."
He paused, tapping the ash into an empty glass. "The Venice Film Festival's next month. I might head there — see what's worth picking up."
Jack grinned. "You should. With your instincts, you can clean up. Go to Venice, Cannes, Toronto, Sundance — all of them. Look at what Sex, Lies, and Videotape and Cinema Paradiso did. Low risk, high prestige — perfect business."
Aaron smiled faintly. "Yeah. Prestige and profit — my favorite combination."
He stood, brushing off his jacket. "Alright, I'm heading home. Let's meet at the bar tonight."
Jack nodded. "Got it. Oh, and Quentin's back in town. I'll bring him along — you two should talk about Reservoir Dogs."
Aaron's grin widened. "Sounds good."
As he walked out, the evening sun cut through the narrow street — gilding the cracked walls of the old Angel Theatre in gold.
Behind him, Jack called out, half-laughing, half-proud,
"So… Tarantino's finally shooting his first feature, huh?"
Aaron didn't turn around.
He just raised a hand in a lazy wave and said,
"Yeah. And something tells me it won't be his last."