Johnny Depp.
A very well-known name, even in this reality.
Johnny was still as big as he had been in his past life. Even though Owen had seen movies starring him that didn't exist here, Depp had managed to maintain a comparable level of fame.
Among the most notable films Owen had seen that did not exist in this reality were Edward Scissorhands and Alice in Wonderland.
In the case of Alice, Owen had even read the original stories, from which the script was derived. Thanks to that, and having seen the adaptations, it didn't exist here.
Other iconic Depp films, however, did exist in this reality. Pirates of the Caribbean and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory were still part of Johnny's filmography.
Owen had watched the entire Pirates of the Caribbean saga and loved it. Still, that franchise existed here because its origin within Hollywood was rather unusual. It wasn't born from a book, a traditional tale, or even an original screenplay. The IP came from a theme park attraction: Pirates of the Caribbean, which opened in 1967 at Disneyland. From there, Disney built everything else.
As for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the screenplay was based on a children's novel from the 1960s, an old book that had never been especially popular or part of mainstream folklore. Owen hadn't read it in his past life.
Even so, Johnny had managed to stay relevant despite the fact that, in this reality, some of the works that had been key to his career didn't exist. Even without those titles, he still landed Pirates of the Caribbean and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Because of that, his fee in those years had never been cheap. However, there was one factor that changed everything: the trial with his ex-wife, Amber Heard.
A legal process that began in 2019 and, in its early stages, had been devastating for him. For years, his public image was seriously damaged. He was viewed with suspicion, labeled an abuser, and many studios chose to distance themselves without waiting for the story to be clarified.
But now, the situation was different.
The trial had ended on June 1, 2022. The jury ruled in Depp's favor on the key charges and, shortly after, Amber Heard announced a final settlement and withdrew her appeals. By December, the public narrative had clearly shifted.
Depp had been vindicated.
His image was recovering, though not yet fully normalized. He hadn't returned to major Hollywood franchises. In fact, he had been removed from Pirates of the Caribbean, a decision that in recent months had drawn heavy criticism toward Disney from both the public and the press.
That put him in a very particular position.
He was still Johnny Depp.
But he was no longer at his absolute peak, when he could command $20 or $25 million per film without question.
And that was precisely the right moment to hire him: not cheap, but accessible. A middle ground where a serious, contained project with artistic ambition could be appealing both to him and to whoever made the offer.
If there was a window to try, it was now.
Owen thoroughly researched the potential numbers that Depp and his agent might ask for. He reviewed recent work, spoke with Larry, and cross-checked all available information. This wasn't a hunch, he wanted to walk into the meeting with realistic expectations.
There was a clear and recent precedent: Jeanne du Barry.
A French biographical film written, directed, and produced by Maïwenn, starring herself alongside Johnny Depp. It had been his return to cinema after the trial. The budget hovered around $22 million, and even so it was a European production with almost no marketing outside France.
In practice, the only international hook was Depp's name.
And still, the film wasn't generating much buzz. It was a very specific story: an eighteenth-century French courtesan, the last official mistress of Louis XV. A niche project, far removed from the general audience.
'Why would anyone want to spend more than twenty million on a movie like this?' Owen thought, lightly tapping the desk, his brow slightly furrowed.
He understood the artistic impulse. If financial return didn't matter, if you had money to spare and wanted to invest it in a clearly risky premise, it could make sense. But even so…
Was it really exciting to tell such an odd story? A rigid period biopic with a limited reach from day one.
Back to the numbers: according to the most reliable reports, Depp had been paid between $300,000 and $400,000.
An extremely low figure for an actor of his caliber, even considering the particular moment he was going through.
But there were important nuances.
It was European cinema, with limited commercial reach, and Depp had also participated as a co-producer through his company, which offset the low acting salary, if the film worked, he would profit on another front as well.
And above all, it had been the first production to extend a hand to him after the scandal.
Now, Good Will Hunting had a smaller budget than that French film, ten million less, to be precise. Would Depp ask for less?
It would seem logical to think so if the budget was lower. But that line of thinking would be wrong.
Owen's project was something else entirely. It had far greater commercial and critical potential. It would have real marketing. Wide distribution, with A24 already interested, and there wasn't even a director attached yet.
It was coming from Owen, a creator who had achieved the highest ROI in history and who had just sold an IP for tens of millions of dollars.
Even without a director in place, the context was clear: this wasn't a small film or a niche European project. It was a drama with global reach, aimed at a broad audience and with genuine awards ambition.
If he wanted Johnny Depp, it wouldn't be for $300,000 or $400,000. That was off the table from the start. The realistic figure sat somewhere between two and four million dollars. Not cheap, but far below his historical peak.
The problem was obvious.
In the original budget Owen had put together for Good Will Hunting, the mentor role was calculated at $600,000 to $900,000, with an absolute ceiling of one million. A respected, solid actor, but not a star.
With Depp, that number could quadruple. And the total budget could climb from $12 million to $14 or even $15 million.
It was a significant jump.
But so was what he gained in return.
The media impact would be immediate. The free marketing implied by Depp's name was enormous. Added to the noise Owen had already been building after the success of Paranormal Activity and the sale of the IP, the combination could be explosive.
The narrative was perfect: Johnny Depp's return to Hollywood in a serious film, with a human role, far removed from franchises and spectacle.
A project that genuinely gave him material to aim for major nominations. Oscars included.
Owen leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.
It wasn't just a financial decision. It was a strategic bet.
And like any big bet, it could also go wrong, very wrong.
He had seen enough Depp films to know his range well. He knew what he could do when he was in control: physical dominance, precise posture, small tics built with intention, and a recognizable walk.
He came from physical theater, from external character construction. He had a remarkable ability to create memorable voices, eccentric figures, and striking characters that became iconic.
But he had also seen his weakest point.
Naturalism.
Internal, almost invisible emotion. That wasn't his comfort zone. Depp shone when he could build outward, not when he had to disappear into the character.
And the mentor was precisely that kind of role: an anti-actor part. A role where the more you acted, the worse it worked. A character that demanded stillness, silence, and real listening. Someone who didn't impose himself, who didn't steal scenes, who existed almost in the background and yet was remembered by everyone.
Honestly, the risk was high.
If Depp leaned into his usual style, the balance of the film could break. The mentor shouldn't be remembered for an eccentricity or a recognizable gesture. He needed to feel human and everyday.
That was the real issue.
Not the money.
If he had to pay more, he could. He had plenty of room.
From the IP sale, he had secured $42 million. Of that amount, roughly 23% would go to federal taxes, a lower burden than the 37% he had to pay on direct box-office earnings. The math was:
$42,000,000 − $9,660,000 = $32,340,000
To that, he had to add what he would receive from Paranormal Activity. By late December, or at the latest, early January, the 20% post-theatrical share from box office would hit his account:
$14,300,000 − $5,291,000 in taxes = $9,009,000
In total, with taxes already deducted, Owen would have approximately $41,349,000 in his bank account. And that didn't include other accumulated income: YouTube, sponsorships, and previous acting work.
That said, he still had to subtract what he had paid his father and brother for helping with the IP sale. And also the bonuses he had given to Matt and Sophie for Paranormal Activity.
Even so, he was left with a substantial sum, more than $30 million. With that money, paying $14 or $15 million for a film that included Johnny Depp was entirely feasible. He wouldn't be stretched or at risk.
And he would still have enough capital left to finance Lights Out, the second project he wanted to complete and have ready for 2023.
In that case, moreover, Owen wouldn't act. That simplified things considerably.
The timeline worked easily: he could be involved as a producer in a more secondary role, overseeing that the money was properly allocated, that everything moved forward as planned, hiring and, above all, delegating.
The script was already finished, and the director was set as well: Matt, his best friend, would be the one in charge of bringing it to the screen.
Returning to Good Will Hunting, another option Owen was considering for the mentor role was Bryan Cranston.
The legendary actor who had brought to life Hal, the father of Malcolm, Reese, Dewey, and Francis. That was, in this reality, his most remembered role. Malcolm in the Middle did exist here, since Owen hadn't watched all seven seasons in his previous life.
But the series that did not exist in this reality, and that had catapulted Cranston to fame, was Breaking Bad. Owen had watched it from start to finish in his first life. So here, that mythical series, considered by many to be the greatest in television history, didn't exist.
Cranston had never played Walter White. He had never had that iconic role that redefined his career and placed him at the very top of acting prestige.
That changed things for Owen, in a good way. Cranston's résumé was more understated. After Malcolm, he had lined up supporting roles, theater work, and solid appearances, but without an explosion. He was respected by those who understood acting, but he wasn't a marketing figure, nor a name that generated headlines on its own.
That worked in his favor.
Owen knew his real range. He knew Cranston could handle naturalism, restrained emotion, and quiet presence, exactly what the mentor needed.
And because he had never played Walter White, that weight didn't exist. There was no powerful preexisting image lodged in the audience's mind. No need to peel him away from an iconic villain in order to reframe him as a wise, human mentor.
Here, Cranston arrived clean.
He wasn't the loudest option, nor the one that would bring the most marketing value, but actorially he fit the character better than any of the other options Owen had listed for the mentor. And his fee would be relatively low, far below Johnny Depp's.
A number perfectly absorbable within the original budget, without any need to alter the financial plan.
'I suppose I'll need the director's and casting team's help to decide this one hundred percent,' Owen thought, letting out a sigh as he set that dilemma aside.
And then another thought slipped into his mind: Breaking Bad.
How much would it cost to make it here?
It was 2022, almost 2023. The format had completely changed since the time the original series had been conceived. Streaming dominated, and the narrative rhythm was different. The idea struck him as, at the very least, interesting, and feasible to bring into this reality.
Cranston as Walter White.
Owen wouldn't stay on the sidelines in such an iconic series, especially if he were financing it. In terms of age and energy, the role that fit him best was Jesse Pinkman.
The idea drew an involuntary smile from him. The contrast was almost poetic.
If they did Good Will Hunting first, Cranston would be the mentor: a wise, restrained man. Someone who listens more than he speaks, who guides without imposing. And Owen would be Will, a brilliant genius, emotionally blocked, learning to open up.
And then, in another project, everything would reverse.
Cranston would become Walter White: a frustrated, brilliant chemistry teacher who slowly crosses to the dark side. An ordinary man who transforms into something monstrous without realizing it.
And Owen would be Jesse: impulsive, vulnerable, and lost. A kid dragged into a criminal world.
Owen, who was about to review candidates for Will's best friend, noticed that Larry had sent him an email. He opened it and saw that it was about what they had discussed just minutes earlier, the Netflix audition.
The movie was called Family Switch.
Owen read the main synopsis: a family of five who, overnight, completely swap bodies. The father with the son, the mother with the daughter, and the baby… with the dog. Clearly a comedy.
The director was listed as Joseph McGinty Nichol. The name rang a bell immediately, though he couldn't place it precisely. He opened a new browser tab and searched the name.
There it was. The director of Terminator Salvation. The fourth installment of the saga, released in 2009.
Owen remembered enough for the impression not to be a good one. It had been a failure on almost every front: critical response, audience reception, and fan expectations. The budget had hovered around $200 million, and global box office had stalled at $371 million.
It wasn't an absolute disaster, but for a production of that size, with massive marketing and the weight of a historic franchise behind it, it wasn't enough.
A film like that, with those numbers, probably needed at least $400 million just to break even theatrically. Of course, there were other revenue streams afterward, but even so, it hadn't delivered what was expected.
Ever since Terminator stopped being directed by James Cameron, the saga had never quite been the same for fans. That, at least, was the general perception.
And yes, Terminator existed in this world. Owen had never watched all six films in the franchise, he had only seen the first three in full and half of the fourth.
He kept reading the material Larry had sent him.
Next came the leads. There were four of them, the core family of the story.
The mother was played by Jennifer Garner. Owen let out a soft whistle when he saw the name. It was no small thing. Garner had a solid career, prestige in both television and film, and had won a Golden Globe for a dramatic performance years earlier.
The father was played by Ed Helms. Owen recognized him immediately from The Office, where he played Andy Bernard. That was his most recognized role in this reality.
Not from The Hangover, because those films simply didn't exist here. As a result, Helms didn't have the same level of fame he'd had in Owen's past life. Even so, he wasn't a nobody. He had experience, craft, and was respected within the industry.
Then he read the name of the actress playing the family's teenage daughter: Emma Myers.
Owen stopped and felt a faint tingling run up the back of his neck, like a brief electric shock that raised the hair on his skin. He frowned reflexively and brought a hand to his neck, scratching lightly, as if that could chase the sensation away.
"What the hell?" he murmured.
Owen shook his head slightly, chalking it up to fatigue. He'd been working for too many hours. His brain was starting to play tricks on him.
The name itself, of course, he had recognized instantly. Emma Myers. The actress who played Enid in Wednesday.
He knew it because the series had been a phenomenon, and still was, and also because he was friends with Jenna. He had heard her mention Emma more than once.
Even so, the sensation had been strange. Recognizing a name didn't explain that sudden tingling on his skin.
He let it go and kept reading. The next section talked about the family's son, the brother of Emma Myers's character.
There was no actor attached. They wanted him to audition.
Attached to the email were two files: a brief character description and a scene from the script.
Owen raised an eyebrow and opened the files, starting to read. A few minutes passed. He stopped reading and sat there with a thoughtful look.
The character was fifteen years old.
That gave him pause. He was twenty-one, and while playing teenagers was common in the industry, the idea of going that far back didn't excite him. He preferred roles closer to the end of adolescence, seventeen, eighteen. That transition point into adulthood. Like Sutter in The Spectacular Now.
Spending too much time playing fourteen- or fifteen-year-olds could turn into a trap. Typecasting was real. He'd seen enough cases. Jacob Elordi, for example: Euphoria, The Kissing Booth. Even with talent, it was hard to shake certain labels.
That said, to be fair, Owen knew he didn't need to worry too much about that. He didn't depend on random auditions. He wrote his own movies.
The scene they'd sent wasn't bad. It was clearly a family comedy. It would probably work and would likely be fun to shoot, and comedies had always appealed to him, they were one of his favorite genres. But it didn't blow him away.
On top of that, it wouldn't get a theatrical release. It was going straight to streaming.
The shoot would last around forty-five days and was scheduled to begin on January 9, 2023. That made things even more complicated.
With Good Will Hunting moving into executive pre-production, accepting that project would mean splitting his attention at a critical moment. It wasn't just a matter of energy or motivation, it was real time. If both shoots overlapped, he simply wouldn't be able to do it, no matter how much he wanted to.
Owen let out a long sigh and pushed himself back from the desk. The chair rolled smoothly, carrying him away from the monitor, its wheels softly squeaking across the floor.
"I'll decide later…" he murmured.
He still had a few days before responding to Netflix. He could take a proper look at the timelines, cross-check calendars, talk to the executive producer once everything was signed, and see if there was any real window. He wasn't dismissing it outright just because of that strange tingling he'd felt. Maybe it was a hunch.
Or maybe he was just losing his mind.
Owen stood up from the chair, rubbing his eyes with both hands as he walked toward the door of the room. Halfway there, he stopped for a second.
How long had he been glued to the computer?
He didn't know for sure. Hours, definitely. He shook his head, opened the door, and stepped out of the room.
The apartment lights were on. A few steps down the hallway, Owen ran into Sophie.
"Are you leaving?" he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice as he raised an eyebrow. She had arrived not long ago.
Sophie, who was putting a few things into her bag, looked up for just a second.
"Yeah," she replied, then went back to what she was doing.
"So soon?" Owen asked.
She stopped. This time she lifted her head more slowly and looked straight at him.
"So soon?" Sophie repeated. "Owen, I got here almost two hours ago, and you only came out of your office to say hi."
Owen raised both eyebrows and lifted his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm done now. I'm free," he said, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was almost six-thirty. "The whole night is yours."
Sophie sighed and shook her head, not angry. "I'm sorry… but assuming that, at best, we'd grab something to eat and then you'd get sucked back into Good Will Hunting, I made plans with some friends."
"Friends?" Owen repeated.
"Yes. Madison and Maddie, remember? From the cast of Boogeyman."
Owen tilted his head slightly as the names came back to him. Madison Hu and Maddie Nichols. They'd played secondary characters in Boogeyman, the horror film Sophie had starred in and that was set to be released in June 2023. He'd seen them, at most, a couple of times.
"Yeah…" he nodded. "Where are you going?"
As he asked, he opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water, and poured himself a glass.
"To a bar," Sophie began, telling him the name of the place and that they were going to see a band Maddie had been wanting to see for a while.
"Great," Owen said naturally. "Have fun. Just let me know when you get home."
Sophie rolled her eyes, though a faint smile immediately formed. "You sound like my mom, Owen."
Owen smiled slightly. He set the glass on the counter and stepped closer, resting his hands on Sophie's waist.
"Your mom and I have something very clear in common," he said in a lower tone.
"Oh, yeah? What?" Sophie asked, amused, looking at him.
"That we care about you," Owen replied, leaning his face closer to hers.
Sophie let out a soft laugh without looking away. "I'm very honored to have both of you worrying about me," she said before kissing him. "But relax, I'll be fine and I won't be back too late. I'll text you."
"Great," Owen said, returning the kiss.
They pulled apart a few seconds later and walked together toward the door.
"You have to eat something nutritious," Sophie said from the doorway. "I mean, not pizza…"
"As you command," Owen nodded. "You eat well too… and remember me, stuck here, forgotten."
Sophie turned around immediately, looking at him with one eyebrow raised. "Do you want to talk about the number of times you've abandoned me since you started working on Good Will Hunting?"
Owen raised both hands in surrender. "I give up."
"That's what I expected," Sophie replied with a satisfied smile.
She gave him a quick kiss, shorter this time, and stepped out of the apartment. "You don't need to walk me out."
"Okay, bye," Owen said.
Sophie left, and a few seconds later Owen closed the door behind her. The apartment fell silent.
'I don't want to cook,' Owen thought. He had absolutely no desire to.
But it was also true that he couldn't keep living on delivery junk food.
After thinking about it for a few seconds, he took out his phone and called his mother. Five minutes later, he had an enthusiastic invitation to have dinner at his parents' place.
'It's good to have a family…' Owen thought as he headed back to his room.
He took a quick shower, changed clothes, and left for his parents' house. When he arrived, it wasn't just his parents and his sister there. His brother and Emily were there too.
"I told them you were coming for dinner and they joined in," his mother said with a smile. "The whole family together."
"Yes, it's not that easy to get all of us together for dinner," James said, nodding as he took a seat.
They all had packed schedules, but especially the three of them: Edward, James, and Owen. Or rather, the three of them shared the same tendency to get too immersed in work and lose track of time.
Dinner was delicious. Home-cooked food, well made, the kind that doesn't just fill you up, but relaxes you. The conversation split across several threads: trivial comments, anecdotes from the day, and overlapping laughter.
After that, Owen was in the living room, sitting on a single sofa, eating dessert.
James was on the other sofa. It was just the two of them. Elizabeth was tidying up the kitchen and, as usual, had forced Edward to help her. Emily had joined them as well.
"How's everything going?" James asked, not looking at Owen, focused on his dessert.
"Good. Tomorrow morning we have the meeting with the other producer, with Larry," Owen replied, just as focused.
"Mm… I see," James said. "Who do you think you're going to hire?"
Owen grew thoughtful.
The first producer they had met with was Lianne Halfon. The producer of Manchester by the Sea, a film with six Oscar nominations and two wins: Best Actor and Best Original Screenplay.
A woman nearing seventy, with enormous experience. In the meeting she had come across as professional, direct, with no ego or problematic attitudes. And on top of that, she had loved the script. It was clear she wanted to be part of the film.
The problem was the price. If they chose her, he would probably have to pay her between $350,000 and $600,000.
The second option, whom they would meet the next day, was Russell Smith. A producer with more than twenty years of experience, but with a much more operational and technical profile. Less prestige, more execution. He wasn't a headline name like Lianne, but he was solid.
And also cheaper: between $250,000 and $400,000.
"I don't know… but I think it'll be Russell," Owen replied after a few seconds.
"Why? Do you think Lianne is too expensive?" James asked.
"That," Owen nodded. "And I also see her as very involved on the creative side. I'm looking for something more functional. Someone very efficient on the technical side, on set, and in making sure the production flows smoothly."
"I get it," James said, "but at the end of the day, Lianne has been doing this for over thirty years. Even if she seems more creatively focused, she surely has a lot of technical experience too."
"Good point," Owen admitted.
Maybe the issue wasn't her experience, but her enthusiasm. Lianne had been very invested in the script. That wasn't bad, of course, but it could lead to too many creative opinions. And if those opinions didn't align with his, they would end up clashing.
Owen knew he would have the final decision. It was his project. But he didn't want to have to exercise that power constantly.
The idea was to bring in someone who would make the process easier, not heavier.
And even though Lianne had an impeccable reputation, Owen knew this well: you only truly confirmed those things when you worked side by side with someone. Until then, it was all theory, references, and kind words. Practice was another story.
That was why, at that moment, he felt slightly more inclined toward Russell. Even so, he wasn't going to decide anything yet. The final decision would come the next day, after the meeting.
They both fell silent again until James spoke up.
"Everything okay with Sophie?" he asked.
Owen, who had been looking at his dessert, paused and looked up, a little confused. It wasn't common for his brother to ask such everyday questions.
"Yeah. Why do you ask?" he replied.
James shrugged with feigned indifference. "For nothing. Conversation."
He wasn't going to tell him that Emily had nudged him to test the waters and, if needed, offer some advice.
Owen nodded and turned his attention back to his dessert. He scooped up a bite with his spoon, studied it for a second, and said, "Actually… I think I'm focusing too much on work rather than on my relationships."
It wasn't that he was some Shaolin monk who never left the house, but he was working a lot. He stayed in touch with his family, friends, and of course Sophie, but he was giving them less time than he used to.
Maybe it was because he finally had the money to get several projects off the ground at once. But no matter how much money he had, he still needed to put in the time to make sure everything stayed on track.
"Oh yeah?" James said, looking at him with interest, crossing his legs and settling in to listen.
Owen sighed and told him what had happened a few hours earlier with Sophie. He didn't consider it a fight, not even close, but it had been a point of friction. She had arrived at the apartment, greeted him, and Owen had almost immediately gone back to locking himself in his office.
By the time he finished working, nearly two hours had passed. By then, Sophie had already made plans with some friends instead of staying for dinner like she usually did.
"It didn't bother me that she left," Owen clarified, "but I noticed something in her tone. A bit of annoyance, I guess."
James nodded slowly. "Did you fire them coldly?"
"No. Actually, it was pretty good. But yeah, there was some friction because of that, I suppose," Owen replied.
"That makes sense," James said. "You left her in the living room of your apartment and shut yourself away to work without giving her much attention."
Owen pointed at him with his spoon, almost in protest.
"It's not quite like that. She already feels like my place is her place. And she knows my work routines, she knows I'm strict about that. It's not like we'd made plans to spend time together and then I suddenly told her I had work. I was already working when she arrived, and I couldn't just drop it like that."
He lowered the spoon and sighed, not sounding defensive so much as explaining it to himself. "It wasn't disinterest," he added. "It was focus."
"I get it," James replied in a neutral tone. "Let's just hope she does too. And if not… you'll have to do something to change it."
He wasn't taking sides. He wasn't defending Sophie or questioning Owen. He just wanted his brother to be aware of one simple thing: no matter how justified his reasons were, relationships weren't sustained by logic alone.
"I'm not saying this as a criticism," James continued. "I'm saying it because I know how it works. You think everything's fine, until it isn't."
"I'll keep that in mind, thanks…" Owen said quietly, nodding.
Owen stayed a little while longer until, eventually, it was time to head home.
"Sleep well, tomorrow's an important day," Elizabeth said affectionately, straightening his jacket with an almost automatic gesture.
"Yeah, Mom. Thanks. You too," Owen replied. "See you."
He left his parents' house with his mind feeling a bit lighter. The cold night air helped clear his head as he made his way back.
When he reached his building, he headed toward the elevators. The lobby was quiet, soft lighting reflecting off the marble floor.
Just as he reached out to call the elevator, the doors opened. And Jenna stepped out.
They both held each other's gaze for a second longer than usual.
Jenna took a step out of the elevator, adjusting her jacket, and Owen took a moment to react. It struck him how long it had been since they'd seen each other in person.
They were friends, lived in the same building, had shared a leading role in a film, and yet their schedules made running into each other more the exception than the rule.
"Hey," Owen finally said, breaking the silence.
"Hey," Jenna replied, a faint smile forming on her face. "Long time."
Owen nodded. "Too long," he admitted, smiling back.
He looked her over for a second, head to toe, and raised an eyebrow.
"Out this late? On a Tuesday night?" he asked in an accusatory tone that was clearly playful.
Jenna let out a soft laugh. "I'm an adult, and yes, on a Tuesday," she replied. "I have to meet my social quota with some friends. I'd put it off long enough. And, well, being an actress, my schedule is a bit more flexible."
Owen nodded. For an actor, there wasn't much real difference between a Tuesday and a Saturday. If you were free and didn't have interviews, photo shoots, or specific commitments, the day of the week was almost irrelevant.
They stood in comfortable silence for a few seconds until Owen spoke again.
"Oh, right… I got a message about an audition for a Netflix movie," he said, as if suddenly remembering. "Family Switch."
Jenna crossed her arms, clearly interested in catching up. "Oh yeah? And how is it?" she asked. "Worth it, or one of those typical Netflix movies meant to pad the catalog?"
Owen tilted his head, thinking, and made an ambiguous face. "Meh…" he said. "It's not terrible, but it didn't blow me away either. I don't know yet."
"Classic," Jenna commented with a half-smile.
"And one of the leads is Emma Myers, your friend," Owen added.
Jenna raised her eyebrows slightly. "It's good that she's getting new roles… but I wouldn't call her my friend yet," she clarified. "We get along well, though."
They had been great scene partners during the Wednesday shoot. Intense months, lots of scenes together, and very good on-screen chemistry. Even so, they had never taken that extra step into a close friendship. Sometimes it worked like that: you spent a lot of time with someone, but the relationship stayed contained within the set.
They worked well together, but outside of that, each went their own way.
With Owen, things had been slightly different for Jenna. They had also shared a shoot, an even shorter one, but things had flowed in another way. Maybe because of his more open personality, or because of the different dynamic they had.
"Jennifer Garner's in it too," Owen added. "You worked with her, right?"
"Yeah," Jenna said, sounding a bit surprised that two former co-stars would end up on the same set again. "On Yes Day. A Netflix comedy."
"Did Garner sign a lifetime contract with Netflix to do family comedies?" Owen joked.
Jenna laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised. Maybe one day there'll be news that she signed a ten-year deal or something, it wouldn't be weird."
"Alright, see you. Have fun," Owen said, about to step into the elevator.
"Owen," Jenna said, stopping him.
He turned around.
"Do you want to come with me?" Jenna asked.
Owen looked at her, eyes widening slightly, not expecting the invitation, "To meet up with your friends…?"
Jenna nodded and quickly clarified, "It's low-key. We're getting together at a house with Melissa Barrera, Mikey Madison, Dylan Minnette, and Jack Quaid. And maybe a few others."
She said their full names so Owen could place them. He recognized them immediately, all actors from Scream 5, a movie Jenna always spoke about fondly. She said the set had been comfortable and the experience very positive.
"I'm sorry, I can't," Owen replied, shaking his head. "I have an early meeting tomorrow."
"That's a shame," Jenna said. "I thought you might need a bit of fun, judging by your face."
"Do I look that bad?" Owen asked with a smile.
"Not that bad," she replied with a soft laugh, "but you've got pretty noticeable dark circles."
They exchanged a few more words and said goodbye. Owen stepped into the elevator, and the doors closed slowly.
Jenna stood there, staring at the reflection in the metal doors for a few seconds longer than necessary, before letting out a sigh.
"Rejected," she muttered to herself, without any dramatics.
It made sense. She knew Owen well enough to know that. He had a personality similar to hers: reserved, very professional, and not inclined to improvise social plans with people he didn't know. How was he supposed to accept a gathering with a group of strangers, except for her?
Jenna shook her head lightly and started walking toward the building's exit. She wasn't entirely sure why she had invited him. It wasn't something she usually did without thinking it through.
Maybe it had just been an impulse. She let it go and stepped outside.
Back in his apartment, Owen didn't go to sleep. It was only 8:30 p.m., and even though he had an important meeting the next morning, he wasn't about to go to bed twelve hours early. He set his keys down on the table, took off his jacket, and walked through the living room, his head still full of ideas.
Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Owen went to the door without rushing and opened it. He wasn't surprised at all by who he saw.
There was Matt, his best friend, wearing that same enthusiastic expression as always, like he'd just had fifteen coffees in a row. In one hand, he was holding a pack of beers.
He didn't greet him or say hello.
He simply lifted the pack and exclaimed, with a huge grin, "Let's work on that technical script!"
Owen smiled immediately. "Of course," he said. "The night is young."
Matt walked in with total confidence, as if the apartment were his too, and set the beers down on the table without stopping his chatter.
"I've been thinking about Lights Out. Where we left it last time… the transition between the second and third acts needs..."
Matt dove straight into it the moment he arrived.
Owen watched him for a second, amused, before following him into the living room.
It was curious. They were both just twenty-one. They had money. Owen had millions in his account. Matt had received a significant bonus thanks to Paranormal Activity, hundreds of thousands of dollars. They could have been anywhere: going out, traveling, or celebrating just because.
And yet, there they were. A Tuesday night, talking about technical scripts, structure, and potential shoots for Lights Out in 2023.
That night, Owen went to bed late.
Matt, as usual, fell asleep on the couch.
Owen had to wake up early, around seven. He had slept barely three hours. When he saw Matt deeply asleep on the living room couch, he felt a twinge of envy.
'Damn it… don't you have college?' he thought, until he remembered Matt was on Christmas break.
He got up, took a quick shower, and left.
The morning passed without too many hiccups. He met with Larry, and then they had the meeting with Russell. It was a solid meeting.
Around eleven, close to noon, Owen and Larry ended up sitting at a nearby café. They ate something simple while debating who to hire and how to move forward to get everything signed as soon as possible.
The final decision seemed clear: Russell was the most convenient choice based on their analysis.
But at that moment, Larry's phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at the screen, frowned slightly, and answered. Owen kept eating, attentive.
The call lasted a few minutes. Larry listened more than he spoke. Finally, he hung up and placed the phone face down.
Owen looked up. "Who was it?"
"Lianne Halfon's agent," Larry replied.
Owen paused and let him continue.
"He wanted to make it very clear that Lianne really wants to be part of the film. And that she's even willing to discuss a lower fee if it means staying on the project," Larry explained.
Owen blinked, surprised. That changed things.
Up until then, the choice had leaned toward Russell for practical and budgetary reasons. Less risk and less friction. But the fact that Lianne was willing to lower her price said far more than any résumé ever could.
It meant real enthusiasm and commitment. That she saw something special in the project.
And above all, that she wouldn't be joining out of inertia, but because she genuinely wanted to be there. Maybe there wouldn't actually be that much creative friction. And having her name attached carried significant prestige.
Because of that gesture, Owen chose Lianne.
The following day, they reached out to her and her agent again. Everything moved quickly. On Friday the 23rd, they had the final meeting, ironed out the last details, and signed the agreement.
Her pay was set at $325,000, plus performance-based bonuses tied to the film.
That same Friday, Lianne was in her office. Beside her was her longtime agent. They had just ended the Zoom call and completed the digital signing of the contract. It was no longer unusual, since the pandemic, that kind of closure had become standard, especially when things needed to move fast.
Her agent looked at her with a mix of surprise and skepticism. "You really accepted a cut like that?" he asked. "You could've charged at least four hundred thousand."
Her usual fee was $600,000. Dropping it by almost 50% seemed excessive to him. But she was the one making the call.
Lianne didn't seem bothered. Nor defensive. "Yes," she replied calmly. "It was necessary."
The agent nodded slightly.
They knew through a leak that Owen had reached out to Russell, another CAA producer like them. And they knew Russell's fee was lower.
On a film with a contained budget, it made sense that a cheaper fee would be more attractive. And since Lianne had liked the script so much, she didn't want to be left out over something like that.
"The project has enormous potential," Lianne said with conviction.
The agent crossed his arms, still doubtful. "Really? A movie by a twenty-one-year-old kid?" he said. "I thought his scripts were horror, not drama."
Lianne shook her head. "You didn't read the script," she replied. "And if you had, you wouldn't be saying that."
The agent looked at her, intrigued. "Is it really that good?"
"It's on the level of Manchester by the Sea," Lianne said without hesitation.
The agent's eyes widened immediately. "Aren't you exaggerating?" he asked.
Manchester by the Sea (2016) had cost eight and a half million dollars, grossed seventy-one million, played festivals, received outstanding reviews, six Academy Award nominations and two wins.
It hadn't just been a tremendous commercial success for its budget; it had also been a resounding critical success. Something rare these days.
Lianne looked at him calmly.
"Am I exaggerating when we're talking about the guy who made a twenty-thousand-dollar movie that went on to gross one hundred forty-three million at the box office?" she shot back. "Or the same guy who got two short films into Sundance, with an acceptance rate below one percent?"
The agent fell silent.
Lianne leaned back slightly in her chair. "This isn't about age," she concluded. "It's about talent, and about knowing how to recognize it in time."
There were a few more seconds of stillness before she added, in a practical tone, "Leave me alone. I have work to do."
The agent nodded, grabbed his coat, and left the office without another word, closing the door softly behind him.
Lianne turned her gaze back to the desk. The contract was already signed. There was nothing left to debate. The work began now.
She opened a new folder on her computer and typed the title without hesitation:
Good Will Hunting – Director
That was the absolute priority.
Lianne had already spoken briefly with Owen after the signing, and they were in complete agreement: the next step allowed no delays. They had to hire a director. Everything else could wait.
She sat in front of the computer and began putting together an initial list.
The plan was clear: send that shortlist to Owen as soon as possible, start contacting agents, and set up meetings immediately. If everything went well, she wanted to have the director chosen, or at least very close, before the month ended and the new year began.
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