Chapter 55: Sorry to Bother You
Random House PublishingEditor's Office
"I think we should discuss publishing terms first," Adam said pleasantly, and did not hand over the rest of the manuscript.
Jack Cerf had been in this business long enough that the move didn't surprise him. He settled back in his chair.
Adam had thought this through carefully before walking in. The American publishing and legal landscape was not friendly to people without resources. Copyright protection existed on paper and in courtrooms, and courtrooms cost money — money that a first-time author going up against a major publishing house's legal team would run out of long before any favorable verdict. The pattern was well established: the side with deeper pockets could extend litigation indefinitely, and the cost of winning could exceed the value of what you'd won.
He'd handed over the first thirty chapters. Enough to demonstrate quality, not enough to be useful without him.
"Of course," Cerf said. "What are your terms?"
"I'd like to start with what you're offering."
"For a debut author, we'd go to ten thousand dollars for the rights. That's a generous offer for someone without a track record."
Adam picked up his manuscript, nodded politely, and stood up.
"Sorry to bother you." He turned toward the door.
"Mr. Duncan—"
Cerf was on his feet before Adam reached the handle.
"I have an appointment at HarperCollins this afternoon," Adam said, without turning around. "If you'd like to revisit the conversation, I'm happy to reschedule."
"There's no need for that." Cerf's tone shifted into something more collaborative. "Ten thousand was an opening figure. We can certainly discuss what you're actually looking for."
Adam turned back. "Then let's be direct about what I'm not looking for. I'm not selling the full copyright. The book rights — print, distribution — those are negotiable. Film rights, television rights, and merchandise rights stay with me."
Cerf looked at him.
The manuscript in Adam's hand represented something Cerf had recognized in the first twenty minutes of reading it — a world with genuine expansion potential. The kind of intricate, atmospheric universe that, in the right hands and with the right timing, could generate revenue in multiple directions simultaneously. Star Wars had demonstrated what that looked like at scale. Lord of the Rings had begun mapping the literary version of it.
Lord of the Hidden wasn't either of those things. But it occupied similar territory — vast internal mythology, ensemble cast, the kind of moral complexity that rewarded dedicated readers and built genuine fandoms.
The adaptation potential was significant. The merchandise potential downstream from a successful adaptation was the larger number.
Cerf wanted all of it. Adam was offering him a piece.
"Print and distribution rights are where we make our investment back," Cerf said carefully.
"And you'll make it back," Adam said. "But the other rights aren't on the table. That's not a negotiating position, it's the condition."
Cerf studied him. The kid was eighteen, maybe nineteen, sitting across from one of the more experienced acquisition editors in New York, and he wasn't nervous. He was patient. That was unusual.
"What's your price for print and distribution?" Cerf asked.
Adam sat back down.
"Now we're having the right conversation," he said.
End of Chapter 55
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