Hughes actually sat through the whole final cut of Source Code. No phone, no interruptions; just watched it straight through.
It locked in something he'd already been feeling.
Joey had a gift for directing that nobody else in this town could touch. She was the ultimate underdog who somehow kept carving out wins with a plastic knife.
Once-in-a-century talent. No exaggeration.
He didn't even know how to put the feeling into words.
The first five minutes alone floored him.
People always think good sci-fi needs a breakneck plot and total immersion. Sure, that helps, but it doesn't guarantee a great sci-fi flick, let alone a great hard sci-fi flick, and definitely not one that actually makes you think. The real key isn't plot, visuals, movie stars, or edge. It's whether the thing has a beating heart. In film-school speak: humanity.
And Source Code dug deep into the human side. At its core, it's about the rights of a brain-damaged soldier; whether a mind deserves freedom no matter what shape the body's in.
Joey slipped her own belief in there loud and clear: thought itself is sacred, period.
That single idea alone put the movie head and shoulders above 99% of the sci-fi junk out there.
Hughes suddenly realized he didn't really know this version of Joey at all. The woman who'd exploded out of nowhere after their breakup wasn't just technically sharper; she'd leveled up philosophically, too.
From Juno to Source Code, every frame screamed world-class.
She was a genius who'd finally remembered who the hell she was.
A little spark of pure joy lit up inside him. The Joey he'd fallen for was back; maybe even better.
If he hadn't seen the finished film with his own eyes, nobody in Hollywood would've believed Joey Grant shot a mind-blowing sci-fi masterpiece on a $20 million budget.
When he called her into the screening room, the first thing out of his mouth was, "This doesn't feel like pure hard sci-fi."
Joey flashed him a thumbs-up. "Sharp eye. Yeah, I mixed in some soft sci-fi elements. Call it a hybrid; best of both worlds."
He raised an eyebrow and rolled his shirtsleeves higher. "Lot of people will say you're lowering the bar by doing that."
Joey leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Or it gives the audience more to chew on and actually drags them into real sci-fi questions."
Hughes looked at her for a long second. "You're right. If a sci-fi movie leaves people thinking instead of laughing at it, then who cares if it's hard, soft, or somewhere in between; it worked."
"Exactly!" Joey let out a relieved breath. "So you like it. Cool. Now let's talk distribution."
When Hughes got down to business, the playful mask dropped; voice calm, emotions on lockdown. "I can call Fox Searchlight for you."
Joey wrinkled her nose. Fox Searchlight was the indie arm of 20th Century Fox, and she still had a bad taste from bigger studios.
"I want a good deal, but the big boys never pay what a movie's worth."
"They've got the biggest marketing machine and the best platforms," he countered.
She stayed quiet, so he added, "I'll handle the call, but I need your walk-away number."
Joey thought hard, then looked him dead in the eye. "I don't want a flat buyout. I want profit participation; backend split."
Hughes actually snorted, half-impressed, half-mocking. "Your confidence is growing faster than the national debt."
Joey hummed a little tune. "Look, any distributor who wants to buy us out clean has to pony up way more than $20 million plus P&A. That's a huge risk for an indie, even a great one. Backend lowers their risk."
He cut right to it, smirking. "Translation: you just want a bigger paycheck."
She laughed, embarrassed. "You said it, not me."
He pulled out his phone and started scrolling contacts. "Then Fox Searchlight's out. We need a true indie distributor."
"I say we go back to Bluebird," Joey said instantly. "Working with them on Juno was smooth."
Hughes shrugged. "Your call. Go for it."
Joey was out the door five seconds later, sleeves rolled up like she was headed to war.
She hit Bluebird's lot, called the same acquisitions exec she'd worked with on Juno, and was ushered straight in.
No small talk; she slapped the DVD on the table and said, "Watch this."
The exec rounded up three other managers. They were all skeptical going in.
"A $20 million hard sci-fi? Is this a prank?"
"How the hell did she even pull that off?"
"Hope she didn't get cocky after Juno and blow it all…"
"Shut up and hit play."
Two hours later:
"Holy shit. Joey Grant is a legit genius."
When they filed back in, every single one of them looked like they'd just seen the Second Coming.
"Grant, you're a wizard. How did you make something this good on twenty million?!"
Joey patted her empty pockets and grinned. "Creative poverty."
"We have to distribute this. Name your terms."
Joey rubbed her nose, trying to look tough. "Love you guys, and last time was great, but I've got one little request this round."
"Shoot."
"Backend deal only. You saw the budget. Buying us out clean means you're on the hook for a fortune plus marketing. That's scary. Split the profits; way less risk for you."
Made sense. They leaned in. "How do you want to split it?"
She started high; always leave room to negotiate. "60% of everything to the filmmakers after the split with theaters. You guys cover all P&A."
They laughed in unison. "You're dreaming. After exhibition take and your marketing costs, we might break even; if we're lucky."
"But I've got $20 million on the line here," Joey shot back dramatically. "I can't walk away with nothing and screw my investor."
The head exec frowned. "Here's the thing, Grant. Juno was awesome, but you've got zero track record in sci-fi. You're basically a first-timer in this genre. Quality's there, but who's gonna convince audiences to show up? Your name alone isn't moving tickets yet… and let's be honest, your old reputation still scares some people."
Ah. There it was; the past as leverage.
Joey kept her cool. "So what's your offer?"
"It's a gamble for everybody. You gambled first, dragged your investor in, now you want us on the hook too. We're all in the casino together. That doesn't guarantee we win; it just means we're willing to sit at the table with you."
Joey smiled. "You just watched the movie. You know it's good. That's why you're willing to sit."
"Doesn't mean we bet the house. We still protect ourselves first. This could flop hard with sci-fi purists. You're not Spielberg."
They played the reputation card again, softer this time.
Finally the head guy said, "Meet us in the middle; 50-50 after theater take?"
Joey shook her head. Her past wasn't a valid excuse to lowball her work. "If you really believe in the movie, show me with dollars."
"60's insane."
She softened. "Different structure then. You take 25% of gross receipts (that covers your marketing and everything). I keep 75%, but all the hard costs; prints, guild residuals, agent fees, even the damn water bill; come out of my side first. Plus, home video and first-window TV rights; 50-50 split."
The execs stepped outside to huddle. Came back five minutes later grinning.
"Deal."
It was genuinely win-win. Joey wasn't trying to rob them blind; she just wanted them to have real skin in the game so they'd actually promote the hell out of it.
They hammered out a few more details, Joey called Hughes with the good news, and they set a signing date.
Everything had gone smoother than she ever expected; way easier than the first time around with Juno.
Now Bluebird would take the wheel for a bit, and she could finally breathe.
That night, totally out of the blue, she got an email.
From the Master himself.