[Owen POV]
"Is there a name you're recommending?" I asked, curious to hear how she intended to rebrand ThunderCow.
I sat in the large conference room, disguised in my tall, fat, glasses-wearing appearance with a geeky haircut, across from the company's new CEO, and Elena sitting next to me.
Claire Donovan carried herself with the composed confidence of someone who knew exactly how to navigate a boardroom. Her dark bob cut framed her face neatly—sharp yet elegant—reminding me of those corporate power figures. A bright red pantsuit contrasted with the softer floral blouse underneath, authority with a touch of femininity.
"It's better to bring in a consultant for that," she replied smoothly, before her gaze turned scrutinizing. "Since the name will be tied to our reputation for the long term… it is going to be long term, right?"
Her tone was careful, probing for how serious I was about this venture, though she kept it wrapped in professional courtesy.
"Let's revisit this conversation after a year," I said decisively, unwilling to commit to a long, dragged-out discussion now.
Elena, sitting next to me in a mask and cap, leaned over to whisper a reminder.
"Oh, right. Do you know George Burnett?" I asked Claire.
"The director who's in movie jail?" she replied with some intrigue. "Do you want to distribute his new movie that's been getting buzz?"
She was up to date with the current Hollywood talk, which meant I hadn't picked the wrong person to hire as CEO.
"I want to distribute that movie," I told her.
"We can offer him a contract," she said, "but it'll be hard to convince him. The ThunderCow brand is synonymous with bad movies. Unless someone is desperate, they aren't going to sign a distribution deal with us."
I nodded in understanding. "He'll listen to you if you mention my name. My aunt is working with him, and she wrote the script for that movie."
"Ah!" Claire's eyes widened slightly, her face full of amazement. "Wait, did you fork out millions of dollars just to distribute your aunt's movie–" she guessed.
Then she paused, realizing her words, and immediately apologized. "Sorry—I crossed the line."
"No. Not at all. In fact, you're right." I agreed with her, then added, "But it's not like I'm going to distribute only her movie. I want to be the platform for good stories. Movies that real cinema lovers will enjoy."
"For cinema lovers, huh?" Claire nodded in understanding, her eyes showing me a little respect. She joked, "Maybe that could be the name of the new company."
"Maybe it actually could." I suddenly got an idea. I grabbed a paper with the list of the movie library TC once had, and scribbled behind it.
"What about, 4 CLOVER Pictures? It's a simplified 'For(4) C (Cinema) Lover. There's a double meaning about finding accidental luck in our journey."
Claire's eyes lit up a bit and she said, "That's quite a good name."
David arrived after checking the company's internal management. I left the company after spending only two hours there, but I returned the next day to continue the work.
When I returned, David already had gone over everything in the company and told me the problems in simple terms.
We discussed rebranding, which meant putting some money into some marketing to get the word out. That way, we won't lose the original ThunderCow audiences.
That alone would take an additional 2 million dollars.
David handed Claire the new draft contract. She flipped through it carefully, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the clauses.
Key Clauses in the Distribution Agreement:
Theatrical Split – Standard 50/50 between theaters and distributors.
P&A Costs (Prints & Advertising) – Distributor advances up to the agreed budget (e.g. $20M). This amount is fully transparent and will not exceed the stated figure.
Additional Marketing – Any promotional spending beyond the initial budget must be approved by both distributor and producer.
Recoupment – Distributor recoups only the actual P&A expenses as outlined.
Profit Participation – After theaters take their share and P&A is recouped, the net profits are split:
75% to the producers
25% to the distributor
(Industry standard: distributors usually take 35–40% of net profits. More if they bought the rights to the movie using a flat fee deal.)
Claire set the paper down, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she let out a quiet laugh.
"Mr. Kennedy… Hollywood doesn't work this way."
She continued, "You're putting everything in writing—clear, transparent, no room to hide costs. Normally, they'll dump a hundred fake expenses onto a balance sheet until the producers are left with nothing. You're flipping that on its head."
"That's the point," I replied casually.
Her eyebrow lifted. "Do you realize this makes us look insane to other distributors? They'll think we don't understand the business. But…" Her expression softened.
"Filmmakers are going to worship you for this. Every producer who's ever been screwed over will want to work with us. However, in Hollywood, the filmmakers don't hold the power."
She added, "If your system shakes Hollywood's established structure, our company might make a lot of enemies."
I asked her calmly, "What's my name?"
"Jack?" She frowned, confused.
I stared at her. "My family name."
"Ke—oh—you're a Kennedy." Recognition washed over her face. I nodded. "You don't have to worry about enemies—not at least at the beginning."
I remembered how A24 launched with creative marketing that got people talking, reducing the need for massive upfront budgets.
"I want to focus on three things in today's meeting: Acquisition, Marketing, and Distribution."
I laid out the company vision while multiple VPs and department leads listened—acquisition, marketing, distribution, and more.
We even have our own VHS factory, so we can handle physical video sales to big chains like Walmart and Blockbuster.
George agreed to partner with us on distribution—mainly because he trusts David. Plus, I told him directly I'd allocate $20 million for the film's P&A, and make sure it opened in 1,000 theaters countrywide.
There were around 7,200 cinemas in America in 1996. So even a 1,000-theater rollout isn't that huge—it's the ceiling of what a mid-tier distribution company can manage.
I created a short animated clip for the rebranding. A 7 second animation where it started with a cow getting blasted by thunder. And then, a 4 leaf clover grew on where his body had disintegrated. The clip would be played before the 4CLOVER logo appeared on screen.
It was fun to create animations again. Claire and the marketing people were really impressed by the quality of the animation, and my figure became even more mysterious for them.
The contract with JOI– George's production company was publicised, and the trailer finally dropped.
There was still a lot of attention from the plane murder, so the trailer became a huge talking point in the country.
"I See Dead People."
My line became a huge selling point for this movie. The attention the movie was getting was a huge bonus help to both JOI production company and 4CLOVER Pictures.
Theaters became more willing to sign a distribution deal with 4 CLOVER, and we managed to grow our channel for movie screening.
TV spots, trailers before movie screenings in theatres, billboards, college campus marketing, and so on. The 6th Sense movie posters were everywhere.
I also asked a web developer to create a new website for 4CLOVER, where the website would show tidbits about the movie we're going to release.
The sites would also show the theater chain and locations which the movie was available in. Since the internet was only at its infancy in 1996, it didn't help much with the public, but I was planning for the future.
On the Hollywood side, the orc from Miramax tried to sabotage the movie, but he had a huge car accident that left his entire arms and legs broken.
He couldn't speak for a while. Another producer did the same thing, and police raided his house for cocaine, which made him have to undergo a trial.
That began a rumor in the Hollywood circle on not to mess with a Kennedy.
My real last name was a huge help in this town, even though I no longer had any connection to the prestigious family.
Three weeks had passed by quickly. The momentum for the movie grew bigger. Major studios were concerned, but they couldn't do anything about it.
"There seems to be an overall lag in the films slated for summer releases," Claire said, her purple pantsuit crisp under the office lights.
Elena no longer accompanied me to the company. She preferred training at home with Michael and the others.
"The big one—Independence Day—has been pushed back a month," Claire added.
"Huh? Why?" I frowned.
"Three of their staff died in February. Cause unknown. But rumors say their necks were twisted." Her voice dipped lower. "It took six weeks to replace the key positions, which dragged the whole production out."
"Twisted necks?" At first I was just puzzled, then it hit me—the demon contracts. The aftermath. All those bodies.
Claire's expression didn't waver. "It benefits us. Less competition."
I nodded slowly. She shifted gears, her tone brightening. "By the way, I have something."
"A potential gem?" I asked with a smile.
She nodded, reaching into her purse to pull out a demo VHS tape. Sliding it into the player hooked to the office TV, she hit play.
"MGM was about to buy this, but the deal collapsed when their acquisitions director died. Honestly—there are way too many deaths this year," she muttered.
On screen, grainy 16mm film flickered.
"It was made for just a quarter of a million," Claire explained. "Hard to watch, honestly. Shot on 16 instead of 35, amateur directing. But—" She raised a finger. "The heart is there. And the script is golden. If we go direct-to-video, this could turn a tidy profit."
I tuned out her commentary, staring at the man on screen. He looked familiar.
'Is that Happy from Iron Man?'
It has been almost two decades since I began the infinite loop transmigration. My memories of my original life were quite blurry.
"What's his name?" I asked.
"You mean Jon Favreau? Or Vince Vaughn?"
"Ahh." I sat forward, suddenly decisive. "Can you call him here for me?"
"You… want to meet him face-to-face?" Claire blinked, clearly astonished. "This is just a low-budget indie, you know."
I nodded. "Yeah. Call him. And the director too."
…
Inside the conference room, I sat alone, reading through the marketing plans the employees had sent me, when two men entered.
"Hey, is this where the meeting is?" Jon Favreau asked, his face a little nervous.
"Yeah. Claire's handling something right now, so you guys can take a seat here," I told them casually.
He turned to the director, smiled, and said, "I knew we were in the right place."
Doug Liman frowned. "Can you blame me? The signboard changed. It says 4CLOVER now. I thought ThunderCow was the one who called."
Jon brightened. "That means our movie isn't that bad. I mean, 4CLOVER—the name sounds great. So maybe the company's great too."
He turned back to me, looping me into the conversation. "4CLOVER… is this an international company? Like one from Europe that just set foot in America?"
"Nope. It's actually ThunderCow—just rebranded after the new owner bought them out," I explained simply.
Both of them froze.
"God damnit," Jon muttered.
"Wait, wait. If they have a new owner, maybe they're merging with another company," Doug said, holding onto a shred of hope.
Jon turned to me again. "Is that it?"
"Nope. A rich man bought it."
"Fuck," Doug cursed, rubbing his face in frustration.
"Wow, you guys really hate ThunderCow, huh?" I asked, slightly disbelieving.
"I mean, you work here. You know what kind of movies they usually distribute." Jon sighed as he begrudgingly sat across from me. "My name's Jon, by the way." He extended a hand, and I shook it.
"I'm Doug," the rookie director said, shaking my hand as well.
"Jack," I introduced myself.
"Jack, can I ask you something? Do you know why the CEO wants to meet us?" Doug asked.
Both of them looked genuinely curious.
"Well, you want to sell the rights to your movie. They want to buy. So I think that's what they're going to discuss with you today."
Jon and Doug both sighed in relief. Doug slumped back. "At the very least, I can pay off the credit card debts."
He had financed the entire film with credit cards and loans from friends. They had finished shooting a year ago, screened it at Sundance, and managed to generate some buzz.
MGM wanted to buy the theatrical rights, Miramax was lobbying for VHS distribution—but seven months had passed with no deals, leaving them desperate.
"Do you know which rich man bought the company?" Jon pressed.
"I think he's a Kennedy," I said with a grin.
"Oh—that's actually better than I expected." Jon's eyes widened slightly. He turned to Doug, excitement bubbling up. "This… this is an opportunity."
"Hey, as long as the movie makes it to theaters, I'm already happy," Doug said.
Jon chuckled. "He might be one of those old guys with too much money. If we're charming enough, we'll be fine."
Doug smirked. "Or one of those perverted investors trying to get into Hollywood to target young actresses… maybe even young actors."
Jon laughed. "Well, I don't think we're going to have that problem. We don't really have the looks to seduce anyone."
"Speak for yourself," Doug shot back, and they chuckled together.
A knock interrupted them. Claire stepped into the room, surprised to see the two men already seated.
She smiled and turned to me. "Mr. Kennedy, did you already talk with them without me?"
The two froze, stunned.
Jon stammered first. "Yo—you're Jack Kennedy? The new owner?"
"Wait. Did we just bad-mouth you… right in front of you?" Doug asked nervously, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
Jon added, "You look really young. I thought you were an intern."
I chuckled. "It's fine. I won't hold it against you. Let me formally introduce myself: I'm Jack Kennedy, owner of 4CLOVER. I already know who you are, so we can skip that. This is Claire Donovan, the new CEO. She's the one you'll deal with if we reach a deal today."
"Deal? So you want to buy the movie?" Doug asked.
I nodded. "Yeah. I want to buy it."
Claire sighed quietly, thinking I was green in Hollywood business. I had just handed the filmmakers leverage.
"I also want to float something to both of you," I added, interlocking my fingers on the table.
Jon leaned forward. "You've already read our conditions, right? So you're not going to suggest changing the actors?"
"Yeah. Not that. I actually love the chemistry between all of you. You felt like real friends."
"We kinda are," Jon said with a smile. "I wrote the script based on my friends and our conversations."
I nodded. "Yeah, I could tell. The dialogue's extraordinary. But some aspects of the film could be improved."
Doug jumped in. "I'm sure it could be with more budget, but indie films have their own market in the '90s. Clerks, Reservoir Dogs—"
"The movie is good. No doubt it'll explode in the indie circuit," I cut in. "However—" I pulled out a piece of paper. "It will only break out of that circuit if it can stand up in the mainstream."
I laid my notes on the table. "Some parts need tighter editing. The audio's messy in places, so better mixing is needed. Certain cuts feel rough."
The three of them stared, stunned at my detailed critique. I even turned on the tv and showed them what I was talking about.
"It's not the screenplay—it's the limitations of a low budget. So, we have two paths. First: polish it with editing and mixing, then do a limited theatrical release before VHS. The theater run won't bring in much, but it'll become a cult classic on video.
I paused before adding, "Or— we can reshoot it. Better stock, better sound, tighter cuts. Then give it a proper theatrical run before going to VHS."
Jon and Doug were silent for a moment. Doug finally broke the tension. "If by better stock you mean reshooting the entire film—who does that? Not after shooting's done. It's never been done before."
"I think they did with Back to the Future," Claire offered, trying to back me up.
Jon shook his head. "That was mid-production. We shot everything already—we'd have to rehire crew, pay residuals, double the cost. It's a logistical nightmare."
I leaned forward. "I can handle the nitty-gritty. If you need a crew fast, I know a production team eager for work. They specialize in rapid reshoots—cutting time without cutting corners."
Doug tilted his head. This film is indie through and through: no crew, limited budget. A production company stepping in could raise its quality instantly.
Jon cleared his throat. "I think Doug and I need a moment to talk this through."
"Of course. After that, give Claire a call. I swear, I won't demand any casting changes or tamper with the story. I just need it to have polish—something that can stand up in the HDTV era."
Doug blinked. "HT… what era?" he asked, puzzled.
Claire's eyes lit up. Then she murmured, "Is that… that new Japanese widescreen TV system—Clear-Vision? They're saying it might arrive by '97 or '98."
In my head, I was thinking of smart TVs decades later. But yes—Clear-Vision was a Japanese analog widescreen improvement over NTSC. It was so well-known it even showed up in Friends—that giant TV Joey and Chandler dragged into their apartment.
"Oh, is it really that great?" Jon asked curiously.
Doug, however, narrowed his eyes. "Wait. Did your family tell you about the TV, and now you're pushing us to reshoot just to prepare for the future?"
"Yup."
I decided to go with it. It was easier to convince a skeptical director that way.
Jon leaned back, rubbing his chin. To be fair, he had always said Swingers wasn't meant to be some great work of art. It was his way of putting himself—and his friends—on the map.
He'd debuted as a heavyset actor in 1994, landed a tiny breakout, and then moved to Hollywood with the same dream as his friends. But none of them fit the industry's beauty standards. No one was hiring them.
That's why he wrote the script. It almost got snapped up by a major studio—until they wanted to recast the whole thing. Jon refused. He wanted it to be his story, their story. The nights in Los Angeles, the rejections, the breakups, the friendships—that's what Swingers was about.
He hadn't written it as a masterpiece. He wrote it as a joke to pass around to his friends. But when someone finally pointed out it had the spark of a real movie, Jon decided to gamble everything on it.
Now, sitting across from me and Claire, he had to decide if he was willing to gamble one more time.
They went out to talk for a while. I thought it would take them days, but instead they returned to the conference room within 15 minutes.
"We'll do it." Jon and Doug said.
I gave them a budget of 5 million dollars and helped them hire the JOI production company.
Since George was in post-production, the crew was idle and had to take some extra work in Hollywood production to make ends meet, so this was a good thing for both sides.
I also invited them to the first screening of the movie, 'The Sixth Sense,' which was on June 1.
After they left, Claire told me, "Next time. Leave the negotiations to me."
I was taken aback, wondering if my negotiation techniques were really bad.
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