"Happy cooperation!"
"Happy cooperation!"
In the polished conference room at the 20th Century Fox building, under the watchful eyes of lawyers from both sides, Ben Gosling, Helen, Amanda, George Lucas, and the executives from Fox signed the final distribution agreement for The Blair Witch Project.
The moment Ben handed over the film master reel—personally packaged and protected by Helen—the deal was complete.
From that moment on, The Blair Witch Project officially no longer belonged to Ben Gosling. Except, of course, for the laddered box office clause in North America. The film was scheduled for release in the third week of February, tactically placed after the Valentine's Day rush and before the summer blockbuster wave.
Fox's internal forecasts estimated a box office return somewhere between $30–$40 million. No one in the room gave much thought to the $50 million threshold. That ladder clause? A formality, they believed.
Ben, for his part, had requested that the final promotional materials omit his name from the credits as producer, director, screenwriter, and investor. He wasn't a union member, and he preferred it that way. It gave him plausible deniability—and flexibility.
Before departing, Colette Singer gave Ben a warm smile, pausing to chat.
"If you ever need a distribution partner again," she said smoothly, "you have my number. 20th Century Fox is always open to fresh visionaries."
Ben nodded with a soft grin. "And I hope I'll be worth the call next time too."
Regardless of what anyone thought of the film's quality, the marketing campaign had earned him quiet respect.
As they exited the Fox building, Ben, Helen, and Amanda walked out into the crisp California sunlight.
"Regarding the three leads," Ben said, as they passed through the glass doors, "I want them sent off to Africa within the week. Two months. They come back when the time is right."
Helen nodded, already unlocking her car. "Don't worry. Amanda will handle that with the Fox publicity team."
Amanda turned sharply, her tone a mix of business and caution. "And you, Mr. Gosling, need to remember one thing—stay far away from anything or anyone connected to The Blair Witch Project."
"Even personally," she emphasized.
Ben raised his hands in surrender.
"Yes, ma'am. Got it. Ghost mode activated."
Amanda added with a teasing smile,
"Also, about that marketing campaign of yours—while the concept was genius, the execution was a complete disaster. We're still cleaning it up."
Ben chuckled. "What can I say? I'm a young talented film director, not a marketing planner."
He glanced sideways at Amanda.
"Unlike some people born into media dynasties with perfect instincts."
Amanda rolled her eyes but smirked.
As they reached the car, Ben let out a breath he'd been holding for weeks.
The debt—over $60,000 borrowed from Helen—had been sitting like an anvil on his shoulders. That money had paid for production, his living expenses, everything. And now, with the million-dollar sale to Fox, it was finally off his back.
He tilted his head to the sky, grinning. "Well... I think this calls for a proper celebration. My treat!"
Helen shot him a deadpan look.
"Do you even have a dollar left after what you owe me?"
Ben grinned even wider, wrapping his arms dramatically around both their shoulders.
"Not a cent. But dear Helen... dear Amanda... I know you won't mind loaning me one more favor."
Amanda sighed, already seeing the trap. "Where are we going, exactly?"
Ben's eyes lit up. "There's this amazing Indian restaurant I passed last week in Koreatown—The Royal Peacock. Great butter chicken. Spiced dal. The works. Reminds me of... home."
There was a beat of silence. Amanda tilted her head. "Home?"
Ben paused but kept smiling. "Just a feeling, I guess."
In truth, he couldn't explain it. But he remembered dishes by smell, by memory, with a clarity that didn't make sense—traces of his past life.
Helen gave him a knowing look, then opened the passenger door. "Fine. But this is the last favor before we charge interest on your charm."
Amanda groaned. "And we better get naan. I'm not eating lentils without bread."
"Deal," Ben said, beaming. "To our first success... and the next one coming soon."
And with that, the trio set off for celebration—fueled by victory, vindication, and just a touch of borrowed money.
-----
Interior – The Royal Peacock, Koreatown – Evening
The warm lighting of The Royal Peacock bathed the table in a soft golden glow. Polished wooden decor lined the walls with hand-painted murals of Mughal-era scenes. A waiter in a white kurta refilled their copper glasses with chilled water infused with mint and lemon.
The table was a celebration in itself—steaming biryani, creamy butter chicken, baingan bharta, crispy samosas, dal makhani in bronze bowls, and a tall stack of garlic naan.
Ben raised a glass of mango lassi. "To debt-free dreams and barely avoiding bankruptcy."
Amanda clinked her water glass to his.
"To me being your agent, casting director, assistant, and now... lender of naan."
Helen smirked, tearing off a piece of bread. "You forgot life coach and fixer."
Ben grinned. "My personal Avengers. Just without spandex."
They laughed. There was an ease between them now that hadn't existed a week ago—battle-tested camaraderie. The kind that only forms after surviving studio negotiations, last-minute marketing rewrites, and the odd existential breakdown.
Ben reached for the baingan bharta and spooned it carefully onto his plate.
"You know, I don't remember ever eating this before… but somehow I knew how it would taste. It's strange. This whole place feels… familiar."
Amanda looked up, curious. "You've never had Indian food?"
Ben shook his head. "Not really. Not like this. But this—" he gestured at the food, the scent, the room, "—feels like memory, not discovery."
Helen raised an eyebrow. "You mean like déjà vu?"
Ben shrugged. "Something deeper. Like I've lived this before. Like I've sat at this kind of table, in another lifetime, just not in L.A."
Amanda gave him a thoughtful look, then smiled. "So maybe this is a return, not a first."
There was a moment of silence between them—unexpected, almost spiritual.
Helen broke it with her usual practicality. "Well, if your past self can give us directions to the best dessert menu in Delhi, I'm listening."
They laughed again.
Amanda leaned back in her seat, sipping her chai. "You know, this feels surreal. Just a month ago, we were making a film in the woods with barely a budget, fake snot, and real panic. Now we're dining like we're celebrating an Oscar nomination."
Ben leaned in slightly, more serious now. "Because this was the real test. Not the woods. Not the editing. The real battle was in the boardroom. Today was the moment. And we made them blink first."
Helen gave a satisfied nod. "You were steady. Rothman tried to corner you. You didn't flinch. You earned your million."
Ben gave her a warm glance. "I only stood tall because I had you both behind me. And George, even if no one mentioned it aloud."
Amanda quirked an eyebrow. "You mean 'Uncle George' who agreed to take just 5% so Fox wouldn't suspect a coup?"
Ben smirked. "Exactly. We didn't just sell a film. We designed a political move." There was pride in his voice, but also calm.
As the last plates were cleared away and the air turned gentle with the scent of chai and saffron, Ben looked down at the linen tablecloth, then back up at Amanda and Helen, his tone quieter than before.
"I need to say something," he began, fingers slowly tapping the rim of his glass. "Properly. Without deflection or jokes this time."
Amanda tilted her head, sensing the shift. Helen folded her arms, leaning back, silent but attentive.
Ben's voice lowered. "A few months ago, I was lost. Burned bridges, messed up a pitch, had no agent, no plan, and no idea how to rebuild. I didn't just feel like I'd failed—I felt like I had no right to even try again."
He looked directly at Amanda. "And then you picked up the phone. You listened. You didn't just hear my desperation—you understood it. You challenged me, believed in me, fought for me. You were there before there was even a reason to believe this could work. You never had to do that. But you did."
Amanda's lips pressed together, eyes softening. She blinked once and quickly looked down at her cup.
Then Ben turned to Helen. "And you."
Helen gave him that cool, unreadable look. He smiled. "You saw through me like no one else ever had. You didn't coddle me. You didn't make it easy. You made it real. You lent me money, time, and trust—when I hadn't yet earned any of it. You made sure I didn't just dream this movie into existence. You made sure it got made."
He took a breath. "I know what it means to owe someone a debt. And what you both gave me, I could never repay with a check. But I want you to know—no matter what comes next, this film, this deal, this whole second chance—none of it exists without you."
Silence followed. A deep, glowing pause.
Helen looked down at the table for a beat, then up again.
"Ben…" she said slowly, "don't ruin it by getting emotional on me."
Amanda chuckled, and Ben laughed through a throat that was a little too tight.
Amanda reached across and squeezed his hand. "You don't owe us, Ben. You earned your way back. We just helped open the door."
Ben smiled, eyes glinting. "Still…this is a promise from me to you both....I will never be changing my agents in this life."
Amanda grinned. Helen raised her chai. "We better be."
Ben clinked his glass against both of theirs. "Deal."
And with that, laughter returned to the table—soft, free, and threaded with something unspoken but understood: gratitude, loyalty, and the start of a journey that had only just begun.
Then Amanda leaned her chin on her hand. "So what now? What's next for Ben Gosling? You gonna ride into the sunset or get back to work?"
Ben paused. Looked down at his plate for a moment. Then back at them. "I think… I'll make a real film next. Something bigger. Deeper. Something that leaves a mark. Not something like The Blair Witch."
Helen glanced at him with curiosity.
"Got something in mind?"
Ben smiled faintly. "Fragments. But it's coming together. And when I do, Amanda…"
He looked at her, then shifted his gaze to Helen. "…both of you will be the first to know."
Then he turned toward Amanda again. "And I've already made a promise. When the time comes, I'm inviting Naomi to act in it. She was there when I was invisible. She deserves to be in the spotlight."
Amanda raised her brows. "A star is born, huh?"
Ben gave a quiet nod. "She just doesn't know it yet."
A few moments passed in comfortable silence as they dug back into their meal.
Then Ben muttered, mouth half-full: "Seriously though... who's paying for this?"
Amanda sighed. "God help us. Get this man an assistant immediately."
Helen didn't say a word. She just handed the bill to Ben with a smirk—knowing full well the card it would be charged to wasn't his.