The closing ceremony of the Sundance Film Festival had come and gone. Snow continued to fall lightly over Park City, as though mocking the warmth and frenzy of the week before. Film enthusiasts were leaving town, luggage dragged over icy sidewalks, conversations buzzing with new names and half-forgotten titles.
Among all the chatter, one absence weighed heavily: Sex, Lies, and Videotape had not won a single award.
Adrian Knight sat in the modest hotel room with Steven Soderbergh, the director whose film had carried his hopes for the past few days. Steven's confidence had visibly cracked. He slouched in the chair, his shoulders rounded, one hand tugging absentmindedly at the sleeve of his sweater.
"Relax, Steven. Don't rush to conclusions," Adrian said softly, standing near the window with a cigarette between his fingers.
"How can I not be anxious?" Steven exhaled sharply, running a hand through his messy blond hair. "Independent distributors like Savoy Pictures, Trimark, even Reischer Entertainment, they were circling the film before the awards. Now they're all backing away. No award, no safety net. They don't believe Sex, Lies, and Videotape can sell."
"They don't lack belief," Adrian corrected. He turned from the window, his gaze calm, almost detached. "They lack the willingness to pay the real price. They want to buy it cheap, nothing more."
Steven looked at him doubtfully. "And if no one bites? You wouldn't sell it too low, would you? I can't..."
"Steven," Adrian interrupted, "your film isn't unsellable. It's just a matter of value. Don't confuse price with worth."
The words didn't completely ease Steven's worry, but they steadied him. For hours, the two remained in that hotel room, alternating between silence and short conversations, waiting to see who might knock.
By evening, a knock finally came.
Adrian stubbed out his cigarette and opened the door. Standing there was a heavyset man with a sharp gaze, accompanied by an assistant with a leather briefcase. His presence seemed to fill the hallway before he even entered.
"Harvey Weinstein, Miramax," the man introduced himself with a grin that felt more like a challenge. "I hear the negotiator for Sex, Lies, and Videotape is a young man. Didn't expect him to be quite so young, though."
Adrian shook his hand firmly. "Adrian Knight. I represent Steven Soderbergh."
Harvey studied him for a moment, eyes flicking up and down as if weighing more than his words. Then he smirked. "With that look and build, you could've been in the movies yourself. Shame you're wasting it on paperwork."
Adrian ignored the jab, motioning them inside. "Let's talk business."
Harvey wasted no time. He sat heavily on the sofa and leaned forward, hands clasped. "Here's our offer. Six hundred thousand dollars, flat, for North American theatrical release and home video rights. No strings, no games. Honestly, I don't think you'll find a higher bid."
Steven's eyes widened. His lips parted, ready to respond, but Adrian's steady glance silenced him.
Adrian took his time. He sat down opposite Harvey, calmly lighting another cigarette. He inhaled, then exhaled a slow stream of smoke before speaking.
"Harvey, you know as well as I do this is an excellent film. The fact that Sundance ignored it doesn't change that. Festivals can overlook talent. That's not the same as audiences overlooking it."
Harvey leaned back, arms folding. "It represents risk. And risk is expensive."
Adrian smiled faintly. "Risk is also opportunity. Right now, audiences are buying more than just explosions and action heroes. Look at Rain Man, a family drama, dialogue-driven, yet it dominated the Golden Globes and is climbing the box office. Sex, Lies, and Videotape speaks to a similar appetite, but with sharper intimacy. It's not another safe Hollywood drama; it's daring, it's different."
Harvey's brow furrowed. He wasn't used to a young negotiator speaking with such certainty. "Different doesn't always sell, Adrian. Distributors calculate input against output. This isn't Stallone. It's four people in rooms, talking."
Adrian leaned forward, eyes glinting. "And those conversations will unsettle people in ways car chases never could. Add to that the videotape motif, modern, voyeuristic, disturbing. You don't see that every day. This is the kind of originality Cannes eats alive. And that's where we're headed next."
Harvey stilled, his face unreadable.
"CAA is prepared to back Steven," Adrian continued. "If no distributor comes forward, we'll send it directly to Cannes. There, buyers will fight for it. We're not desperate, Harvey. This film isn't going to be buried in Park City."
The name "CAA" carried weight. Harvey knew it. He also knew Cannes could indeed transform a film from obscurity to sensation overnight.
After a pause, Harvey asked, "What's your price?"
Adrian held up two fingers. "Two million for North American theatrical and video rights."
Harvey laughed, short and sharp, as though testing the air. "Impossible. There's never been an indie film at Sundance sold for anything near that. We can't commit to that kind of number, not for a new director with no-name actors."
"Then at least guarantee a wide release in two hundred theaters minimum," Adrian countered.
Harvey shook his head. "Not a chance."
Steven's heart sank. He pressed his lips together, caught between frustration and fear.
But Adrian didn't flinch. "Cannes," he repeated firmly. "We'll wait. And once the buzz builds there, it won't be you offering six hundred thousand, it'll be you begging us to take two million."
Harvey's eyes narrowed. "You're bluffing."
"Try me." Adrian tapped ash from his cigarette into the tray, his expression calm.
Silence stretched. Then Harvey spoke again, slower this time. "Fine. One million. That's as high as I'll go."
Steven nearly jumped in his seat. A million! But Adrian remained still, like a poker player holding cards close.
"Not enough," Adrian said at last. "For North America, we need at least three and a half million."
"You're insane," Harvey growled. "If you hold out like this, the film won't see a single theater. You'll kill it before it breathes."
Adrian didn't blink. "You underestimate us. Paula Wagner already screened the film she liked it. And Cannes will be a battlefield. European buyers live for art films like this. If Miramax doesn't move, someone else will."
The name Paula Wagner, Tom Cruise's agent, landed heavily. It wasn't idle boasting; it was strategy.
Harvey stood, glaring. "Eight hundred thousand. Final."
Adrian rose too, shaking his head. "Then we'll revisit this conversation in France." He turned slightly toward the door.
Harvey inhaled deeply, his heavy chest rising. Then, reluctantly: "One million. North American theatrical rights."
Steven's pulse thundered. He was trembling with adrenaline, his palms sweaty.
Adrian put out his cigarette with deliberate calm. "One point two million. Paid in cash within a week. In return, we'll partner fully with Miramax to push it at Cannes."
Harvey's eyes searched his, calculating. Finally, he exhaled through his nose like a bull conceding ground. "Done. I'll have the paperwork drawn up."
He paused at the doorway, glancing back. "Adrian Knight, you're good. Too good. I'll remember that."
When the door closed, Steven could no longer contain himself. He jumped up, fists pumping the air.
"Adrian! You're a genius! One point two million dollars for North American rights only! Do you realize what this means? This is history." His face was flushed, voice trembling. "I thought we'd be lucky with eight hundred thousand, maybe nine. You just rewrote the game."
Adrian sat back down, finally allowing himself a quiet smile. "Miramax got what they wanted. The most expensive indie deal at Sundance so far. But Steven, don't mistake this for luck. This was a strategy. Harvey Weinstein isn't a fool. He knew he couldn't let it slip to Cannes."
Steven stared at him in awe. "I wasn't even as confident in my film as you were. How did you....."
"Because I've seen it," Adrian interrupted gently. "And I know what it's worth. Remember this: the world doesn't hand you recognition. You fight for it. And today, we won."
Snow fell outside the hotel window, muffling the city into quiet. But inside, both men knew the silence was only the beginning. Sex, Lies, and Videotape was no longer just a small indie film. It was now armed with money, a deal, and momentum.
Adrian Knight had turned a near failure into a breakthrough. And though Steven couldn't know it yet, that night marked the true beginning of his career and of Adrian's legend as an agent who could see further than most dared.