The first call came from a theater owner in Burbank.
The second one was from Santa Monica.
By the time the third call came in, Greg Lang could no longer pretend it was just a coincidence.
He stood in his office, his tie loosened, phone pressed to his ear while another call blinked insistently on hold. The voice on the other end was lively, almost in disbelief.
"We had to add a midnight show," the owner exclaimed. "I've been in the theater business for twenty years, and I can't remember the last time I had to do that for a suspense film in October, especially when halloween weekend is approaching."
Greg expressed his gratitude, promised to follow up, and slowly hung up the phone.
Then he took another look at the numbers.
They hadn't just changed; they had skyrocketed.
Saturday's figures were much stronger than expected. Sunday held steady instead of dropping. The three-day total had settled at $17.1 million domestically—not a blockbuster, but way beyond what a slow-burn thriller without any big name backing was supposed to pull in.
And this was just the start.
Greg let out a deep breath and called Harry.
Harry picked up on the third ring.
"Please tell me you've got good news," Harry said, sounding a bit lazy.
Greg could easily picture him: lounging on a chair in his perfectly kept Los Angeles yard, sunglasses perched on his nose, shirt tossed aside, with Sparky the golden retriever sprawled out in a cool patch of shade, his tail occasionally thumping against the grass.
"You're impossible," Greg replied. "Do you even know what's going on?"
Harry smiled up at the sun. "Yep."
Greg hesitated. "You really do?"
"Theaters are filling up," Harry said. "Managers are asking for more screens. People are coming back."
Greg frowned. "How did you—what did you do?"
Harry tilted his head slightly, glancing down at Sparky, who rolled over onto his back, paws in the air.
"I made a movie that people want to see more than once," Harry said.
Greg waited for more.
Harry continued, his voice steady and relaxed. "That's what sets apart a one-time watch from something that sparks conversation."
Greg leaned back in his chair, a look of disbelief on his face. "So, you're telling me this was all… planned?"
"Absolutely," Harry shot back. "This isn't some horror flick where you scream and then forget about it. It's a suspense movie—a real puzzle. People don't just leave feeling satisfied; they leave feeling intrigued."
Greg rubbed his forehead, trying to process it all. "So they're rewatching it?"
"They're debating it," Harry corrected him. "And to have a good debate, you need some solid evidence."
Greg's eyes drifted to the spreadsheet on his desk. "So the ending—"
"Intentionally ambiguous," Harry interjected. "If I had tied everything up neatly, people would've just shrugged and gone home. Now they're left pondering. They'll come back, bring their friends, and say, 'You have to see this scene again.'"
A moment of silence hung in the air.
"You're kind of terrifying," Greg finally admitted.
Harry chuckled softly. "Spielberg does it with a sense of wonder. Cameron brings the scale. Scorsese dives into obsession. Tarantino plays with dialogue. I'm working with doubt."
Greg briefly closed his eyes, taking it all in.
"So, what's next?" he asked.
"Now," Harry replied, "we sit back and watch it grow."
And grow it did.
Monday didn't go down like the movies usually portray. Instead of the dramatic drop we all expected, A Blind Man's Gambit pulled in a surprising $6.8 million during the weekday—almost double what everyone had predicted. Tuesday held steady at $6.2 million, and Wednesday saw just a slight dip.
By Thursday morning, the domestic total had already surpassed $45 million.
The trade papers took notice.
Just a few small notes at first.
Unusual stability for a mid-budget thriller.
Momentum driven by the audience.
People were coming back for repeat viewings.
By the time the second weekend rolled around, the film had racked up another $22 million, pushing the domestic total to $67 million in just ten days.
Cinema owners started to rearrange their schedules.
Smaller films were pushed aside. One screen turned into two. Then three.
A manager in Chicago told Greg, "People are asking when they can see it again, not if."
Harry observed all of this with a maddening calm.
When Greg showed him the latest chart—domestic totals nearing $90 million by the end of week two—Harry nodded and said, "Good."
"Good?" Greg echoed, surprised. "This is amazing."
Harry took a sip of his iced tea. "Amazing would be if it stopped here."
Then the critics finally chimed in.
The first wave was a bit cautious.
Variety praised the film's "meticulous first act and unnerving control of perspective," but pointed out that "the second half veers into heightened territory that may divide audiences."
The Hollywood Reporter called it "a bold film," highlighting Daniel Hayes' performance as "precise and exhausting in the best way," and described Cate Blanchett's role as "her most unsettling in years."
Next came the mixed reviews.
A columnist from a publication often rumored to have close ties to Jackson Productions wrote dismissively, "The film confuses ambiguity for depth, relying on sleight-of-hand rather than substance." The tone felt oddly personal, sharper than it needed to be.
Harry read it and chuckled.
"That one stings," Greg said dryly.
Harry shrugged. "He works for people who aren't fans of mine."
Another review, this time from a Disney-affiliated outlet, criticized the film's "lack of moral clarity" and described the final act as "almost fantastical, undermining the grounded realism of its opening."
Harry grinned wider at that one.
"They're uncomfortable," he said. "Good."
Greg looked at him. "You're enjoying this."
Harry didn't deny it.
"I learned something a long time ago," he said. "If people are talking more about your ending than your opening weekend, you've already won."
By the end of week three, A Blind Man's Gambit crossed $130 million domestic.
International distributors moved faster than expected. Europe, especially, responded strongly. France and Germany showed early signs of breakout performance, audiences drawn to the film's restraint and psychological tension. The UK followed close behind.
Two weeks after release, worldwide numbers hit $180 million.
By the time November arrived, the film wasn't just holding—it was expanding.
And the questions followed it everywhere.
Was Aaron really blind?
When did he start pretending?
Did he ever stop?
Harry watched the debates unfold from a distance, amused and satisfied.
Not even the critics could stop it now.
As he once learned in another life—and proved again in this one—when people love a film, they don't care who tries to tell them not to.