The email had been sent. The offer was out.
Rachel leaned back in her chair, staring at the screen for a second before shifting her gaze to Alex.
"I still don't get why you want her," she said, sipping her coffee. "Angelina Jolie? She hasn't delivered anything impactful in years. Everyone just sees her as old Hollywood now—drama, past glory, and some bad choices."
Alex didn't respond right away. He stood, walked toward the window, hands in his pockets. The skyline stretched before him, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
Rachel continued. "I mean… you really think she can carry something big? Now?"
Alex turned slightly, his expression unreadable. "You know where she did those last few films, right?"
Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. Blackstar Studios."
He nodded. "Exactly."
She sighed. "Right. Forgot. You spent five years with them."
"My first directing gig was through them," Alex said quietly. "Thought I was getting a golden ticket. Instead, I got buried under NDAs, executive meddling, and rewrites so bad I wanted to take my name off the credits."
Rachel leaned forward, her tone shifting. "I remember. You hated them and showed them their place."
Alex's voice sharpened. "They don't care about stories. They care about control. And when you stop being easy to control, when you have an opinion, or push back, they make sure the world hears about how 'difficult' you are."
Rachel leaned back, arms crossed. "And that's what they did to her."
"They gutted her career and made it look like it was her fault," Alex said. "They fed her bad scripts, then told the media she'd lost her edge. No real directing, no creative freedom. Just flashy trailers and shallow garbage."
Rachel tapped her nails against the side of her mug, thinking. "You really think she's still got it?"
Alex turned fully now, voice low but firm. "I know she does. She's not done. She was just never given the right fight."
He paused.
"And I'm giving it to her."
Rachel gave him a long look, then sighed and shook her head, half-amused. "Of course you are. Fixing broken legends now, huh?"
Alex smirked. "Someone's gotta do it."
She raised her coffee in a mock salute. "To revenge casting."
He raised his back. "And resurrection roles."
The screen beside them quietly pinged with a new notification.
Rachel glanced at it and muttered, "Well… let's see if she bites."
"Oh, she will. She got no other option, right now..."
"So, are you gonna tell me what this top-secret resurrection role actually is?"
Alex leaned against the windowsill, arms crossed. That smirk of his returned—the one that usually preceded something big.
Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Don't you dare give me the 'wait and see' speech. I helped craft the casting strategy for this mystery project. I know you're hiding the title."
He raised a brow. "You really want to know?"
"I've had three shots of espresso and I'm still standing. Yes. Spill."
Alex crossed the room slowly, picked up his tablet, and tapped in a passcode. The screen shifted. A logo appeared in crisp, cinematic lettering:
"Mr. & Mrs. Smith"
An Original Action-Romance Spy Thriller
Directed by Alex Wilson
Written by Alex Wilson
Starring: [Redacted] & [Pending]
Rachel stared. "Wait. That's the name?"
"Yup!" He nodded.
She raised her eyebrow, "Mr. & Mrs. Smith. That sounds... classic. Clever. So, give me the gist of it."
Alex explained. "Two elite assassins. Hired by rival agencies. Ordered to eliminate each other. They fall in love. Or try to kill each other. Or both. Depends on the day."
Rachel leaned back, eyes wide. "Spy romance. Black-tie action. Explosions and unresolved sexual tension. Holy crap."
Alex's voice dropped a little. "It's not just another action flick. It's a showcase. Elegant chaos. Character-driven violence. And the heart of it all is Jane Smith."
Rachel blinked. "Jane Smith… that's Angelina's role?"
He nodded.
"She's smart, lethal, emotionally armored, but she has this dry wit that cuts like a scalpel. A woman who's been trained to kill the world but never learned how to live in it. Until she meets her match."
Rachel whistled. "So she's the anchor."
"She is the movie," Alex said simply. "If she says yes, I'm writing it for her. No compromise. No fallback."
Rachel studied him for a long second. "You're serious about this one."
Alex's voice was steady. "I want her to walk into every scene and remind the industry what happens when you give a legend a real script. I want her name in every review next to the word comeback."
He paused.
"And I want her to win."
Rachel smiled softly, unexpectedly moved. "Damn. You're not just casting her… you're giving her a warpath."
Alex nodded once, quiet again.
Rachel picked up her coffee and said, "Alright then. Here's hoping she says yes."
Alex glanced at the screen.
"She will," he said.
And for once, Rachel didn't argue.
...
[Meanwhile...] [Jail] [Caroline's usual visit to her father]
Max and Caroline sat side by side in the stiff plastic chairs of the jail's visitation lobby, surrounded by faded motivational posters and the distant buzz of fluorescent lighting.
Caroline looked unusually polished with pressed coat, perfect hair, light makeup just enough to say "I care," not "I'm scared." Max, by contrast, was wearing a hoodie that said FREE THE CUPCAKES and sunglasses indoors like a hungover celebrity at an airport.
Caroline checked her phone nervously. "Okay, they said we're next. Try to be chill this time, Max."
Max kicked her feet up onto the chair in front of her. "I'm always chill. I'm basically a human popsicle."
Caroline side-eyed her. "Last time you asked my father if he wanted a cupcake filled with a file."
Max shrugged. "He looked peckish and mildly stabby. I was being considerate."
Caroline groaned and rubbed her temples. "This is serious. He's my father. He might have embezzled millions and stashed fake gold in our pool house, but he still deserves dignity."
Max slurped from her soda. "And I deserve air conditioning that doesn't smell like inmate regrets, but here we are."
Just then, a voice rang out from across the room.
"YO! I KNOW YOU!"
Max turned, sunglasses still on. "Unless you're a barista or a mistake, you're gonna have to be more specific."
A wiry guy in an orange jumpsuit with buzzed hair and a slightly unhinged grin stood up from the bench near the vending machine. His eyes locked onto Max like a hawk on a cupcake.
"It's you! You're the chick who got me arrested!"
Caroline blinked. "Wait, what?"
Max tilted her head. "You're gonna have to narrow it down, Jailbird. I've had many inspiring encounters with law enforcement."
He stormed over, waving his arms. "It was YOU! Outside that bodega! I sold you that herbal stuff, and next thing I know, BAM! Cops everywhere!"
Max sat up straighter. "Excuse me? First of all, I didn't buy anything. I gave you twenty bucks to get me gum and a lottery ticket. You came back with a bag of oregano and said it was 'medicinal creativity salad.'"
Caroline looked horrified. "Max. Did you accidentally trigger a sting operation?"
Max held up a hand. "Caroline. I accidentally washed my jeans with ketchup packets. Anything's possible."
The inmate was now frothing. "You RUINED MY LIFE!"
He lunged.
Caroline screamed.
Max ducked under the attack with the reflexes of someone who'd dodged both exes and eviction notices.
"Whoa! Touch me and I'll scream louder than your mom during sentencing!"
Before the guy could even brush her hoodie, two correctional officers tackled him to the ground like it was the NFL and he owed them money. Another guard came from behind the main door.
The inmate flailed as the guards swarmed him, three of them now, one with a knee on his back, another shouting orders no one was listening to. The third, red-faced and probably overdue for a vacation, jabbed his baton again, harder this time.
"Get down!"
"I am down!" the guy wheezed, trying to twist free. "She set me up! SHE SET ME..."
A guard cut him off with a punch so sharp it echoed off the cinderblock walls. The other taser-wielding officer gave him another jolt, like he was taking out six years of unpaid student loans on this poor idiot's thigh.
Max, eyes wide behind her sunglasses, muttered, "Run. Run, run," as if the floor might catch fire if they stayed.
She grabbed Caroline's hand, yanked her up, and they bolted for the exit.
"Wait! What? Max! I... I can't just..."
"Trust me," Max hissed. "Better to run while we're still 'witnesses' and not 'accomplices.'"
Behind them, guards barked orders into radios. Chaos spilled across the room. Chairs overturned. One correctional officer was yelling something about protocol, but nobody was listening, not even the vending machine, which ominously spit out an unwanted Snickers.
In that little split second, Max left Caroline's hand, ran over to the machine, picked up as many Snickers as she could, put them inside her jacket, and then went back to Caroline.
They were almost at the door when Caroline's breath hitched.
She saw him.
Through the thick glass and iron bars of the secure hallway, her father stood silently behind the visitation door. Eyes locked on hers. Gray-haired, cuffed, tired, but there. Real. Just feet away.
"Daddy!" she screamed, almost tripping as Max yanked her forward.
His hand moved up, like he was about to reach for her. But then she was gone.
The heavy doors slammed behind them as they burst outside into the sunlight, breathless and adrenaline-wired.
Caroline twisted to look back, voice cracking. "He was right there."
Max didn't stop moving. "Yeah? And so were three angry guards, a tasered lunatic, and possibly a Snickers-related lawsuit. Let's go!"
They disappeared into the parking lot as alarms started to blare.
...
[EXT. ICE CREAM PARLOR – LATER]
The air is calm, sunshine harmless, and a neon sign in the shape of a melting cone flickers above the door: SCOOPED EMOTIONS.
Caroline and Max sit outside at a tiny table. Caroline is double-fisting two scoops of rocky road and one scoop of salted caramel. Max has a single scoop of vanilla, mostly because she's busy unwrapping stolen Snickers under the table like she's doing black market business with a candy cartel.
Caroline takes another angry bite of ice cream. "This is my sad flavor. You know that, right?"
Max deadpans, "Yeah. Nothing screams emotional spiral like marshmallows and regret."
Caroline sighs, slumping over her cone. "I saw him, Max. He looked… older. Smaller. Like he shrank in there."
Max shrugs. "Well, jail does that to people. Lack of sunlight. Terrible pillow options."
Caroline leans back in her chair. "And now we're probably banned from the facility."
Max nods solemnly. "We are definitely banned. I'm pretty sure one of the guards yelled, 'Blacklist those cupcake girls!' which is kind of badass, honestly."
Caroline laughed, then stopped. "But seriously… that guy today. The one who said you got him arrested? What actually happened there?"
Max glances around like she's about to confess a state secret, then leans in, eyes behind her sunglasses.
"Okay. So picture it. Tuesday afternoon. I was having a bad hair day and a moral crisis, probably over rent. I see this dude outside a bodega holding up a Ziploc bag like it's the answer to all of life's questions. He says, 'Herbal creativity boost, $20.' I give him twenty bucks because of optimism, and ask for gum and a scratcher. He gives me the bag, says 'Namaste,' and vanishes like a shady magician."
Caroline blinks. "So you did buy drugs."
"Hey, it was organic and he said 'HERBAL'. Well, I got suspicious and took it to that hippie store on Third to ask if it was real. The lady behind the counter smelled it and said, 'Girl, that's for lasagna.'"
Caroline chokes on her ice cream. "What did you do next?"
"I got mad. Not righteous anger, but like, 'revenge Yelp review' mad. So I called that tip line from those subway ads... You know, the ones that say, 'If you see something, say something, anonymously, possibly for a cash reward.'"
Caroline stares. "You snitched."
Max didn't even blink. "Damn right I snitched. It was free money, Caroline. Five hundred bucks. CASH. Versus a guy who sold me oregano and called it a 'roofie alternative' like it was a vegan menu item."
Caroline blinked at Max, halfway between impressed and appalled. "You turned a bad herbal deal into five hundred dollars?"
Max popped a Snickers in her mouth and mumbled, "Yup. I paid the electricity bill. Bought toilet paper with aloe. A couple of batteries and a little something on the side. That was a good week." She smiled, remembering the past.
Caroline looked at her, torn between being appalled and impressed. "You turned a fake drug deal into rent and luxury butt tissue?"
Max smiled proudly. "That's the hustle, baby."
Caroline shook her head, licking her spoon like it might offer wisdom. "So that guy today… the oregano bandit… He looked dangerous."
Max nodded, "He probably thought I was part of an elaborate sting. Really, I was just broke and mad my apartment smelled like Italian seasoning for a week."
Caroline pointed her spoon at her. "Max, that man tried to lunge at you."
Max shrugged. "To be fair, I've had worse reactions from baristas when I asked for half-decaf with oat milk."
Just then, a kid nearby dropped his cone and started wailing. Max looked over, sighed, and wordlessly handed him one of her stolen Snickers. The kid lit up like Christmas and ran off.
Caroline raised an eyebrow. "So now you're the candy Robin Hood?"
Max leaned back in her chair, sunglasses still on. "Steal from the vending machine, give to the sticky-fingered children. That's my platform."
[POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]-
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[5 advance chs] + [13 chs of Two and a Half Men: Waking up as Charlie Harper] [All chs available for all tiers]
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