Ben stepped into the lobby of Star Talent Brokerage just as the noon sun cast streaks of gold through the windows. The place was quieter than usual, though the ever-bored Donna was manning the front desk, flipping idly through a magazine.
She lit up the moment she saw him. "Well, look who it is. Our favorite renegade director!"
"Donna!" Ben grinned. "Long time no see. Still holding down the fort?"
"Of course. Someone has to keep this place from collapsing under its own drama."
They exchanged warm smiles as Ben appeared from the hallway, approaching with curious eyes and a sheepish grin.
"Hey, Donna," he said, lowering his voice. "Can I ask you something?"
Donna leaned forward, intrigued. "What is it?"
"How old is Helen?"
Donna blinked, then burst into laughter. "What do you want to do with that information?"
"I'm just curious," Ben said quickly, hands up in defense. "She looks so young, but she carries herself like she's got decades of experience."
Donna raised an eyebrow. "Uh huh. Sure. Curious."
She leaned closer, eyes mischievous. "Let me tell you something—never ask a woman her age. Especially not Helen. That's not just a secret. That's classified."
Ben smiled awkwardly. "Right. Got it."
Donna smirked. "Besides, if you're trying to figure out her background, you're better off just asking her straight. But good luck with that."
Before Ben could press further, Donna waved him away. "You should go. She's in her office, looking like she just won a lottery worth a million bucks. She might be in a good mood."
When Ben made his way to Helen's office, he nearly stopped in his tracks. She wasn't in her usual business-casual attire. Today, she wore a sharply tailored navy-blue power suit, the jacket hugging her frame just enough to be stylish while still commanding presence. Her hair was pinned up in a sleek twist, and a minimalist silver necklace adorned her neck.
Across from her, Amanda was dressed just as impeccably—charcoal-gray blazer, silk blouse in a muted jewel tone, and matching trousers with pointed heels. The Newhouse polish was evident.
"Wow," Ben said with mock reverence. "Look at you two. Ready to negotiate a UN treaty."
Helen didn't look up from her papers. "I've got a charity event later," she said flatly, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust from her cuff.
Amanda glanced over her shoulder. "What happened to the date you brought to the screening?"
Ben smiled. "Naomi's a close friend. She helped me out when I was down and out. She didn't laugh when everyone else did."
Helen gave a small nod, perhaps an acknowledgment, perhaps indifference. "The contract's almost ready. Colette is finalizing a few clauses. There's still a chance Fox pulls something last minute."
"I'm feeling good about it," Ben said. "If this goes through, I'll be rich."
Helen arched a brow. "Your movie hasn't even released yet, doofus."
Amanda smirked. "Yes, but you'll be getting a million upfront, right?"
Ben grinned. "And $160,000 of that goes to you guys. Helen's production loan and the agency's 10%."
Amanda crossed her arms. "It seems Fox estimates the final box office won't cross $50 million. That's why they're being generous now."
Helen added, "We could remove the box office performance clause. Get a better buyout instead."
Ben understood instantly. "They're betting on the film not breaking out. If we keep the ladder clause, they minimize risk."
"Exactly." Helen straightened her blazer. "But if you want the million, it's still a good price. The global box office clause is generous and almost unheard of for new directors. It also excludes VHS, TV, streaming, everything else."
"When's the contract signing?" Ben asked.
"If you're ready, this afternoon," Amanda replied. "But the money will arrive within the week, at most."
Helen advised, "Hire a personal assistant. And a good financial manager. The IRS won't wait."
Amanda chimed in, "Also, it's time you upgraded your apartment. Move closer to Hollywood. And get a decent car, please."
Ben chuckled. "Alright, alright. Amanda, can you recommend a real estate agent before I hand over my soul to some scammer?"
Amanda sighed in mock frustration. "Why do I feel like I've become your manager, agent, and personal concierge?"
Helen was already walking toward the door. "Because you have."
Ben followed them out, heart pounding slightly. Amanda had already taken out her keys, unlocking her car parked just outside.
As they got in and pulled away toward Fox Headquarters, the weight of it hit him.
This wasn't a game anymore.
-------
Fox Headquarters, Conference Room – Afternoon
The room had that faint, clinical smell of polished wood and fresh paper. A long rectangular table stretched between the two camps—on one side, the executives from 20th Century Fox, led by Tom Rothman, Colette Singer, and Bill Mechanic. On the other, Helen, Amanda, and Ben walked in together. George Lucas, seated calmly at the edge, nodded to a few familiar faces but said nothing. Everyone knew why he was there. No one dared say it.
The sleek, high-rise boardroom buzzes with silent tension. The view outside is breathtaking, but all eyes are focused inside.
Tom Rothman leaned forward, setting the tone fast. "Let's be honest. A million dollars for a found-footage horror film? We like the film. We like the buzz. But we think a million dollars and a tiered box office cut is a stretch—especially for a director who got escorted off the Forrest Gump set. We're giving you a shot here, but let's not pretend you're James Cameron."
Ben doesn't flinch. He meets Tom's gaze without blinking. "And yet here we are. With you all waiting a week. Besides, it's a good thing I'm not pitching my experimental short film. This is something else entirely."
George chuckles under his breath. 'This guy still wants to talk about it. What a nerve!'
Tom narrowed his eyes. "We're just buying your film."
"I never said otherwise," Ben replied coolly.
Colette cleared her throat, trying to steer the tension. "Let's focus. The structure proposed is sound—$1 million up front, a 5% global box office share to... respected strategic partners." She avoided eye contact with George. "And tiered bonuses depending on performance."
Rothman cut in. "We want to lower the backend. That 1% per 10 million increase? Let's cap it earlier—say, 10% max, not 20. And no percentage if it doesn't hit $30 million."
Helen's voice broke through the tension, calm but steely. "You're underestimating the film. You've seen the marketing materials. You know this has legs. The numbers don't lie."
Amanda nodded, folding her arms. "We're not budging on the 20% cap. And the global cut for Mr. Lucas is non-negotiable."
"That cut is unnecessary," Tom insisted.
Amanda raised an eyebrow. "Is it? Or is it the best insurance we will get to ensure transparency in your reporting? Do you really want to risk someone asking uncomfortable questions down the road?"
Bill Mechanic exhaled. "Let's not get adversarial here."
Ben leaned in slightly, a half-smile on his face. "You know what this is really about. You're afraid this becomes bigger than expected. And if that happens, Fox will have given away a goldmine for what feels like scraps. But that's the thing about goldmines—you don't get to dig unless you're willing to pay for the shovel."
There was a silence. George Lucas remained still, unreadable. But just his presence made any strong-arming feel… dangerous.
Seeing that this was going nowhere when they should be here to sign the contract. Helen decided to shake things up. "The window's closing. You were given exclusivity on this deal for a week. Paramount has already expressed interest if this doesn't go through."
Tom Rothman leaned back, clearly frustrated. "You're playing this like you've got all the cards."
Helen smiled, finally speaking with a glint of dry amusement. "We brought the deck, Tom."
Amanda pushed the finalized contract forward. "If Fox wants this film, you'll sign it as is. Otherwise, we move on. We're not here to beg. We're here to partner."
There was a long pause. Bill glanced at Tom, asking with his eyes, if he was done with the nonsense and if they could move forward.
Tom nodded, knowing nothing was going to come out of this.
Bill Mechanic finally nodded. "Let's get it signed."
Tom scowled but said nothing. Colette passed the paperwork over.
George Lucas gave a barely perceptible nod—silent, neutral—but somehow that nod filled the room like a final word. The pen scratched on the contract, and the deal was sealed.
George mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Ben to hear. "You're lucky I like you, kid. And that, you are represented by Helen"
Ben exhaled quietly and grinned, "I know."
Amanda squeezed his shoulder with a grin, and Helen gave him a curt, proud nod.
The film had found its launchpad. And the empire—Fox, Lucas, and the Newhouse name—was behind it, whether spoken or not.