After a morning ride around the paddock, Wayne returned to the house drenched in sweat.
He headed straight to the second-floor bathroom, showered quickly, and changed into fresh clothes.
The scent of breakfast drifted up the stairs—his mother was already at work in the kitchen.
He came down to find her pouring a glass of milk.
"Mom, where's Dad? I don't remember him ever getting up early to help the boys."
She smiled, handing him the glass. "Do you want some fried eggs? He went to the farm entrance. Howard's coming by soon—your father went to pick him up."
Wayne nodded.
He knew exactly what that meant. Howard was the family's longtime accountant, handling taxes and investments.
If he was here, the funding was about to become real.
Just as Wayne finished his plate of breakfast, the front door opened.
He and his mother stepped into the living room as Old Greenberg entered with a middle-aged man in tow.
"Oh, Anna, you're still as beautiful as ever," Howard said warmly. "And little Wayne—how's school? I hear you're graduating soon. Time sure flies."
Wayne smiled. "Uncle Howard, welcome. Want some coffee? And yeah, this is my final year."
He poured him a cup and handed it over as his father settled into the armchair.
"Well, Reuben," Howard said, pulling out a folder, "I've got the documents you asked for. Just sign here. But I'll say this again—this is income from the trust you set up for Wayne. Are you sure it's not a little early to tap into it? Internet stocks are looking strong right now."
Old Greenberg didn't hesitate. He signed the papers, then looked up.
"This kid's about to graduate. I promised I'd invest in his first feature film. A promise is a promise."
Howard nodded. "The funds are in your account. You can write the check whenever you're ready."
Without a word, Wayne's father reached for the checkbook and scribbled out a figure: $1.2 million.
He handed it to Wayne with a steady gaze.
"This is the agreement we made when you were a kid. Honestly, I didn't expect you to stick with it all these years. But this is it—the last money you'll get from this family. If you screw it up, you're on your own. I'll only have to find you an internship to earn your keep like everyone else."
Wayne stared at the check. $1.2 million. It was more than just money—it was a lifeline, a launchpad for a whole new career.
If he had to earn it himself, it would take years. Maybe a couple of decades.
"I understand, Dad," Wayne said quietly. "I know you don't fully believe it yet, but I won't lose this money. I'll earn it back—and more."
Back upstairs, Wayne placed the check carefully in his pocket, the weight of it settling in his chest.
He sat at his desk and picked up the phone.
"Jimmy, it's Wayne. We're ready to start recruiting. I need reliable people. I'll be back in L.A. tomorrow—I want to meet them in person."
After hanging up, he clenched his fist with quiet triumph. It was finally happening.
He took the check out again and looked at it.
He'd always known about the trust fund his father had set aside—meant to mature when Wayne turned forty, assuming he hadn't made anything of himself by then. It was a safety net, not a springboard.
Old Greenberg had once sold his stake in a film company for a sizable sum, but the fallout had left him bitter and disillusioned.
The farm and the trust fund were his way of starting over. Giving Wayne over a million dollars now wasn't easy—it was a leap of faith in his son.
The next morning, Wayne said goodbye to his mother, then drove out of the farm and onto Highway 101, heading straight back for Los Angeles.
Back at his apartment, he tidied up quickly and made his way to Jasmine Café, where Jimmy was already waiting with a stack of documents.
"Based on your criteria," Jimmy said, sliding the folder across the table, "these are the best I could find. They've all got some experience, but none of them have worked on a major production. They're affordable, and they're good."
Wayne flipped through the profiles:
Steve Wilson, lighting engineer
Lily Angie, makeup artist
Ross Will, props engineer
Mia Craig, set designer
All competent. All within budget.
"Alright," Wayne said. "Let's go with them for now. What about actors? I need classmates and best friends for the heroine—preferably American blonds."
Jimmy glanced up from the script. "What about the lead? Want me to pull some options from CAA's new talent pool?"
"No need," Wayne replied. "I've already chosen her."
He had. His neighbor—a young woman chasing her own Hollywood dream.
Wayne had seen her work in his previous life and knew she was perfect for the role. She had the look, the presence, and the rawness he needed.
There were still countless logistics to handle, and Wayne knew he couldn't do it alone.
With his lawyer Ryan, he traveled to Delaware to officially register Greenberg Studio.
It was a necessary step. Independent films needed a legal entity to sign contracts, manage payroll, and handle liability. A studio gave him credibility—more than any college degree ever could.
Delaware was the industry standard. With its tax benefits and streamlined corporate laws, even giants like Disney and Paramount registered there.
Wayne paid $5,000 to set up a nominal office, sharing a clerk with other companies. It wasn't glamorous, but real enough.
Back in L.A., Wayne met with the crew Jimmy had assembled and signed contracts.
Before he could catch his breath, he was back at USC, asking Professor Anderson for one more favor.
"I need someone with experience," Wayne said. "Someone who knows the grind."
Anderson nodded and introduced him to Luke Simmons, a senior who had graduated two years earlier. Luke had bounced between crews, never quite landing, but he had grit—and Wayne needed that.
They agreed to meet the next day at Jasmine Café.