The success of The Glass Horizon had reached a fever pitch. What started as a "garage movie" was now a cinematic phenomenon, and the California Independent Film Festival had organized a special "Success Panel" to capitalize on the buzz. The venue was a packed auditorium in downtown Los Angeles, filled with hungry entertainment journalists, film students, and industry scouts all looking to deconstruct the movie's $8 million magic.
Anastasia sat on the stage under the harsh, white glow of the spotlights. To her left were Mark and Leo, looking polished in new corduroy blazers, and to her right was Tom Cruise, who seemed to be vibrating with the newfound attention.
The Opening SalvoA reporter from the Hollywood Reporter stood up first, his voice echoing through the hall. "This question is for the directors. You've made a fortune on a shoestring. But the talk of the town isn't the budget—it's the casting. Mark, Leo, did you realize you were sitting on a goldmine when you hired two nobodies?"
Mark leaned into his mic, grinning. "We knew we had a good script. But when Tom and Anastasia stepped onto that set... well, the movie stopped being ours and started being theirs."
"Speaking of Anastasia," a woman from the L.A. Times interrupted, her eyes fixed on the fourteen-year-old. "Anastasia, you're the youngest lead to break into the Top 50 this year. There are rumors that you were essentially 'co-directing' your scenes. How much of Elara was the script, and how much was you?"
Anastasia adjusted her seat, her auburn hair shimmering. She didn't reach for her Aura; she wanted the room to feel her intellect, not her charm.
"The script provided the skeleton," Anastasia said, her voice steady and clear. "But Elara is a girl who survives through silence. I felt that if she talked as much as the original draft suggested, she wouldn't be the anchor the family needed. I suggested we cut 30% of her dialogue and replace it with shared looks and domestic rhythm. Mark and Leo were brave enough to trust a fourteen-year-old's instinct on that."
The Question of AuthenticityA seasoned critic from a San Francisco paper leaned forward. "You play a girl who is devastatingly lonely, yet you come from a very supportive, very present family. Where does that 'old soul' quality come from? Some are calling your performance 'uncomfortably mature.'"
The room went quiet. It was a pointed question, bordering on an accusation that she was "too grown" for her age.
Anastasia offered a small, polite smile—the kind that didn't reach her eyes. "Loneliness isn't always about being alone, sir. It's about the fear of being forgotten. I've spent a lot of my life observing how people react to loss. You don't need to live a tragedy to understand the mechanics of it. You just need to be paying attention."
Tom leaned into his microphone, interrupting with a smirk. "I'll tell you where it comes from. On day three, I was overacting a scene, trying to win an Oscar in every frame. This 'kid' walked over and told me to stop trying to be a star and start being a brother. She didn't just play Elara; she protected the whole film."
The Future and the FortuneThe final question came from a young journalist in the back. "There are reports that you didn't just take a salary, but that you have 'points' in this movie—meaning you're already a very wealthy young woman. What does a fourteen-year-old do with that kind of power in 1981? Are you buying a Malibu beach house?"
The audience chuckled, but Anastasia remained serious.
"I'm not interested in real estate," she said. "The money from The Glass Horizon is being funneled into Jones International. I've already begun acquiring the rights to stories that I believe need to be told. I'm also investing in the technology that will change how we watch these stories."
"Technology?" the reporter asked, confused. "You mean cable TV?"
"I mean the future of personal computing and digital distribution," Anastasia replied, her forest-green eyes flashing with a brief, sharp intensity. "Hollywood thinks it's in the business of making film reels. I think we're in the business of capturing human experience. I intend to own the tools that do both."
As the panel ended and the reporters rushed the stage, Anastasia stood up with the grace of a veteran. She shook Mark and Leo's hands, gave Tom a friendly nod, and walked toward the wings where Sarah and Beth were waiting with her coat.
She had survived the first real interrogation of her career. She hadn't used her power, yet the journalists were already typing up headlines about "The Red-Headed Mogul."
As they walked out to the car, Beth whispered, "Stasia, they were scared of you. I could see it."
"They weren't scared, Beth," Anastasia said, looking at the Hollywood hills. "They were just realizing that the script is changing, and I'm the one holding the pen."