"Hello?"
"Link!"
Cameron's voice on the other end of the line was husky and shaking, carrying an undisguised rush of pure joy.
"I did it."
Clark opened his eyes, listening with keen interest.
"Hold on, take a breath. What happened?" Link's tone was gentle.
"It's The Shawshank Redemption! I... I closed the deal with Morgan Freeman."
Cameron then launched into the whole story, detailing how she ran into dead ends, managed to track down Eastwood, and then flew solo to San Francisco. She recounted how she finally swayed the Oscar-winning actor with a story about "hope."
Her speech was fast and high-pitched, like an emotional victory report.
Clark listened quietly, his expression shifting from curiosity to surprise, and finally to a look of pure appreciation.
He got it now.
Link's team wasn't a one-man show.
On the other end, Cameron let out a long, shaky sigh.
Link didn't speak immediately. He waited for her excitement to settle slightly before speaking in a soft, low tone that could melt any woman's heart:
"You knocked it out of the park, Miss Producer."
Then, he hung up.
Silence lingered in the car for two seconds.
"Your girlfriend?" Clark finally spoke, his tone a friendly jab. "Sounds like a total hustler."
"Not just a girlfriend; she's a key member of my team," Link corrected, though the smile at the corner of his mouth was impossible to hide.
Clark nodded, dropping the subject. He turned to look out the window at the scenery whipping by. After a long moment, he spoke, almost to himself.
"Looks like I made the right investment."
"A man who can command the nuts and bolts and inspire the geniuses. Link, I'm looking forward to watching you flip the script on the world."
He turned back to Link, flashing a wide grin.
"Will I ever have the honor of meeting this 'Miss Producer' of yours sometime?"
"Absolutely!"
After dropping off Jim Clark, Link returned to his hotel.
He didn't immediately call the team in Los Angeles to celebrate, nor was he in the mood to bask in the glow of victory. He poured a glass of whiskey and stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the cold, concrete jungle below.
The funding problem was solved—it was like clearing a major artery. Now, he needed to make sure the blood flowed to where it was needed most.
He picked up the phone and pulled up a number he hadn't dialed in a long time.
It rang three times before it was answered.
"Hello?"
It was Jennifer Connelly's cool, clear voice.
"It's me, Link."
"I know."
"You're in New York?"
A two-second silence followed on the line; she seemed surprised. "How did you know that?"
"Just a hunch," Link chuckled. "A serious actor doesn't just hang out in L.A. when they're between gigs. They come to New York, hit Broadway, watch plays, and soak up life."
"You know me pretty well, then." A subtle, fleeting hint of amusement entered Jennifer's voice.
"Got time for a drink?" Link asked.
Half an hour later, at a jazz club.
The lighting was soft, and a saxophone wailed a smooth, low melody.
Jennifer walked in. She wore a simple black turtleneck sweater and jeans, completely makeup-free, looking like a grad student from Columbia's literature department.
But the moment she appeared, the whole atmosphere of the bar seemed to quiet down a notch.
She sat across from Link and ordered a club soda.
"You didn't just call me for a drink, did you?" she asked, getting straight to the point.
"Of course not." Link looked into her deep, obsidian-like eyes. "I'm here to tell you your wait is over."
Her fingers paused on the rim of her glass.
"The money's in the bank," Link said softly. "A Beautiful Mind starts shooting next month."
Jennifer gazed at him quietly, her eyes trembling just slightly.
After a long moment, she let out a slow, quiet breath.
"I thought... I'd have to wait another six months."
"I wasn't going to let the story of a genius wait that long."
Jennifer smiled, a gentle but weary smile.
"I went to Princeton," she said. "I visited with the Nash couple. I went to the library, looked at all his papers—even though I couldn't understand a word of them."
She looked up at Link and smiled again. It was a smile like a flower blooming in the winter snow.
"But I feel like... I can sense him now."
"Sense what?"
"Loneliness," her voice was barely a whisper.
"The kind of loneliness you feel when you're standing on the mountaintop, only to realize the rest of the world is stuck at the bottom."
"His formulas weren't written for other people to read. They were written for the universe inside his own head."
Link was stunned; something deep in his heart stirred.
He finally understood why this role had to be hers.
"Be back in L.A. next week," Link said. "You, me, and Russell. We need one last table read of the script."
He raised his glass.
"To John Nash."
Jennifer raised her glass of water, clinking it softly against his.
"To that beautiful, brilliant, and absolutely mad mind."
The jazz music swelled again.
Outside, the lights of New York City shone bright, like a dream.