1491-1493

Chapter 1491: A Favor 

“Unless…”  

Jeff paused deliberately, shifting the tone of the conversation. Anson naturally looked up, catching a faint glimmer of amusement in Jeff’s eyes.  

Anson raised an eyebrow slightly.  

Jeff continued, “Unless a top-tier superstar actor agrees to play the lead. Then it’s a whole different story. Someone like… Anson Wood. I mean, who could say no to Anson Wood?”  

Anson’s face lit up with sudden realization. “Oh, so that’s why you asked me for this favor.”  

Jeff shrugged, completely unbothered. “I thought you’d figured that out ages ago.”  

Anson chuckled lightly, neither confirming nor denying it. “You just said this project’s tricky. Even with Harrison Ford, Blade Runner bombed at the box office back in the day. It took years to turn things around. So, what—are you guys planning to repeat history? Don’t put too much faith in the superstar effect.”  

Jeff waved a hand dismissively. “We get it, trust me. The point is, the name ‘Anson Wood’ gives us a reason to take the risk. We know it’s a gamble—it could soar or it could crash—but we’re willing to roll the dice. What’s the matter? Don’t you have faith in this project?”  

He’d turned the tables on Anson.  

Anson froze for a second. Did he have faith?  

After all, in his past life, Children of Men only pulled in about $70 million worldwide—barely enough to break even on its $76 million budget.  

The original Children of Men boasted a stellar cast of seasoned actors: Clive Owen, Julianne Moore, Michael Caine—all big names in Hollywood, a lineup you could easily call star-studded.  

Michael Caine? Beyond being famous as Alfred in the Batman series, he’d snagged two Best Supporting Actor Oscars.  

Julianne Moore? She’d swept the top awards—Best Actress at the three major European film festivals, the Oscars, the Golden Globes, and the Screen Actors Guild. She was the last actor Anson knew of to pull off that grand slam, even outdoing Meryl Streep’s incredible legacy.  

Clive Owen? A classically trained British actor, honed on the stage for years before breaking out as a key supporting player in The Bourne Identity. In the last couple of years, he’d become one of the hottest names around, juggling invites for blockbusters, art films, and indie projects left and right.  

Still, it’s hard to say their star power directly boosted the movie’s box office. That said, you can’t deny it was a cast built for awards season.  

And that’s where the big question comes in: market positioning.  

On one hand, the movie’s dark, heavy tone might not scream “box office hit.” On the other, as a sci-fi film, it could struggle to break through the awards-season ceiling. Even aiming for Oscars doesn’t guarantee success.  

So why bother making it?  

That’s why Warner Bros. passed, and Universal picked it up. From that angle, Warner’s call was arguably the smarter, steadier one.  

But if it has to be made, how should a producer—acting as the product manager—position it?  

If Anson were the product manager, what would he do?  

It’s an interesting puzzle.  

Anson glanced up at Jeff, his eyes unfocused, clearly lost in thought. “What if we shot this like a doomsday prophecy?”  

Jeff blinked. “What do you mean?”  

Anson mulled it over seriously. “Think Saving Private Ryan meets The Passion of the Christ.”  

“Saving Private Ryan shows the brutality of war, with humanity blooming defiantly in that unforgiving ground. Children of Men could take that idea, tone it down a bit, and shift the focus—not on tugging heartstrings or sparking empathy, but on delivering an oracle. Something sacred, pure, and soul-shaking, like a divine moment.”  

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “Like The Passion of the Christ?”  

Anson nodded. “Exactly. Like you said, the story’s setup cuts off any chance for emotional connection right from the start. I’d cry for a mother who’s lost three kids, but I wouldn’t necessarily feel moved by the last holy child born to the world.”  

“So why not lean into that? Take it further. In a wasteland of blood and death, let’s chase a glimpse of divine revelation.”  

Jeff frowned slightly. “A religious movie?”  

Anson shrugged lightly. “Look, we can’t deny a lot of films lean on faith in some way. But we’re not making a religious movie here. We’d focus on the story, the experience, and leave the thinking to the audience.”  

“End times. Death. Chaos. Violence. Blood. Those are the stars of the film. We’d give audiences everything they expect from a disaster flick—treat it like a straightforward survival chase—and then tuck the deeper stuff, the awakening, the impact, into the details.”  

Kind of like Gravity.  

On the surface, Gravity is a simple sci-fi flick about surviving in space. But dig deeper, and it’s a story of rebirth through death—the lead floating in space like she’s in a womb, or finally standing again after grabbing hold of gravity on Earth. Every detail comes together to show a miracle of life rising from the edge of oblivion.  

Alfonso Cuarón’s a director who takes his time, crafting every detail. He’s obsessed with the tech but also with dissecting his own work.  

Each film he makes leaves him sharper, and the next one’s always better. In Anson’s past life, after Children of Men, Alfonso spent six years perfecting Gravity. Now Anson’s wondering: if they gave Alfonso a spark of inspiration and a clearer framework, could he rewrite the fate of Children of Men?  

To be honest, Anson’s ideas weren’t fully baked yet. They were popping up on the fly, rough and incomplete—he was thinking out loud. But Jeff latched onto the core of it anyway.  

“You’re trying to make a commercial movie?” Jeff asked.  

Anson laughed outright. “I don’t like boxing things into ‘commercial’ or ‘artistic’ categories—it stifles creativity and imagination. But yeah, you’re right. I’d want the film to amp up the spectacle—more to look at in the action and fight scenes.”  

“That’s why you asked me to star, isn’t it?”  

“I’m obviously not Robert De Niro. You’re not expecting me to snag a Best Actor Oscar, are you?”  

Jeff burst out laughing.  

Classic Anson—always sharp, always grounded.  

“So,” Jeff said, “does this mean you’re in?”  

Anson shook his head.  

Jeff froze, stunned.  

Anson grinned. “There’s still a big problem. I’m not British. The story’s set in Britain—crystal clear in the script—and my London accent might not cut it for audiences.”  

“Oh, and the director. Would Alfonso Cuarón even want me as the lead? We’d need to ask him. This is his script, his vision. He’s got a picture of the character in his head, and I’m not sure I fit it.”  

“So that’s two issues. Sorry, my math’s a little off.”  

Jeff didn’t care, though. His eyes were still locked on Anson, intense and unyielding. “Those are side problems. I asked if you’re in.”  

Chapter 1492: A Sudden Twist 

“Five. Four. Three. Two. One.” 

“Off work, off work!” 

At the Sony Columbia office building, Elijah Banks had been glued to his watch, counting down the seconds to clock out right on time. 

For Elijah, nothing mattered more than leaving work punctually. The moment the clock hit quitting time, he was ready to bolt out of the office with ninja-like speed, switch his phone to silent, turn off all notifications, and let the company’s chaos fade into the background. Nothing—and no one—could stop him from enjoying his well-deserved downtime. 

But as he looked up, he spotted his friend Jenny sneaking around in the distance. Elijah waved her off frantically, keeping her at arm’s length. 

“I’m off work. Done. Not dealing with anything.” 

Jenny, however, grabbed his sleeve with a death grip. “You’ll regret this.” 

Elijah snorted. “Yeah, I’ll regret it alright—if I stick around and get roped into overtime. One hundred percent regret. Who knows, I might even want to strangle you.” 

Jenny shook her head. “Elijah, you know what I mean!” 

Elijah plugged his ears with both hands. “Blah blah blah, I’m not listening, I’m not listening! I don’t know anything, you didn’t see me, and I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Jenny yanked his arm down forcefully. “It’s about Anson.” 

Anson. 

That name hit Elijah like a lightning bolt. Despite himself, he couldn’t resist. He dropped his hands and gave Jenny a helpless look. “If you’re talking about Anson going to Warner Brothers, sorry, that’s old news. It’s lost all its juice. We all know it’s just one of Anson’s little tricks.” 

No doubt about it—that had been the hot topic around here lately, not just today. 

Inside Sony Columbia, two factions led by Amy Pascal and Michael Lynton were locked in a tug-of-war, battling over Spider-Man. Anson, the central figure in the franchise, was at the heart of it all. This wasn’t exactly a secret within the company anymore. 

Whether people cared or were directly involved with the project didn’t matter—Spider-Man was Sony Columbia’s biggest upcoming venture. One move could shake the whole company. Everyone, from top to bottom, was digging for updates and glued to the drama. The rumors and chatter just wouldn’t die down. 

The reason? Money. 

The third and fourth Spider-Man films were already greenlit. No matter what happened, Sony Columbia was fully committed to pushing the project forward. If Anson kept playing Peter Parker, his paycheck would become the bargaining chip. 

Unless Spider-Man 2 flopped so hard it was unrecognizable—like failing to break $100 million in North America or $300 million worldwide, an epic disaster that could turn everything upside down—Anson joining the “$20 million club” was pretty much a done deal. 

This was a consensus across all of Hollywood. 

After all, it’s Spider-Man. 

For other movies, a $20 million salary might still be up for negotiation depending on the project’s specifics—different films, different possibilities. But Spider-Man and Anson’s image were tied together. Twenty million was a no-brainer, and William Morris Endeavor, his agency, wouldn’t let Sony Columbia wiggle out of it. It was set in stone. 

But $20 million wasn’t the real issue. That was just the baseline. 

What if Anson demanded $30 million or even $40 million? What if he asked for $20 million plus a 10% box office cut? What if he wanted an executive producer role with control over key departments in the production? 

So, what was Sony Columbia’s upper limit? 

Where could they negotiate, where was the line they wouldn’t cross, and at what point would they just ditch Anson and reboot the series with someone else? 

That was the real question—or at least one of them. 

Behind the surface-level money talk, the true battle was between the two CEOs. Anson’s future and the fate of Spider-Man could tip the scales for who’d steer the company, affecting everything down the line. That’s why the internal gossip was buzzing nonstop. 

But then, out of nowhere, Anson made a move no one saw coming— 

Warner Brothers? 

Wait, Warner Brothers? Of all the studios in Hollywood, it had to be the deep-pocketed, swaggering Warner Brothers? 

This was… well, hilarious. 

At first, Sony Columbia was abuzz but unfazed. Most people figured it was just Anson throwing out a smokescreen—waltzing in through the front door, bold as brass, in broad daylight. It screamed trap. 

It was all leverage. Anson was stirring up public buzz, lighting a fire under the talks to boost his negotiating power. That’s it. 

But things started feeling off. 

As time dragged on, whispers turned into doubts, then worries, then full-on unease. The longer Anson stayed at Warner Brothers, the louder the Hollywood rumor mill churned, and the noisier it got inside Sony Columbia. A storm was brewing. 

Jenny tugged at Elijah again. “I know. But did you hear Anson spent a full seven hours at Warner Brothers today?” 

Elijah froze for a second but quickly regained his composure. “Ha, yeah, I already knew that. Don’t care.” 

He bolted for the elevator as he spoke. 

Jenny trotted after him with quick little steps, slipping into the elevator beside him. She leaned in with a conspiratorial look. “Just now, word got out—Anson and Warner Brothers were discussing a project about…” 

Elijah stared at the descending elevator numbers, chanting “off work, off work, off work” in his head, willing himself not to take the bait. 

Jenny didn’t get a response, but she wasn’t deterred. She whispered a name in his ear: “Bruce Wayne.” 

Elijah went rigid, blurting out, “Holy crap.” 

Now it was Jenny’s turn to play it cool, raising an eyebrow at him with a smug grin. 

Elijah’s face was pure skepticism. “No way that’s real, right?” 

Jenny gave a light shrug but stayed silent, her smile saying everything. 

Elijah’s breath caught in his chest. The elevator hit the ground floor just then. He hesitated, unsure whether to step out, but ended up rooted to the spot, watching the doors slide shut again— 

Warner Brothers. Bold, insane choice. 

Everyone knew Warner Brothers’ ambition. Everyone knew their toughness and guts. No question, they were Hollywood’s top dog right now. 

That’s exactly why Anson going to Warner Brothers made sense to anyone paying attention. He was dangling a threat over Sony Columbia’s head to gain leverage for his Spider-Man talks. Classic “scare the tiger” move. 

But was Anson sure this was smart? 

To Elijah, at least, it felt like Anson was playing with fire. 

Taking on a giant like Sony Columbia solo was already a risky move—some might even call it suicidal. Now, dragging Warner Brothers into it? Warner was clearly using Anson as a pawn to jab at Sony Columbia. 

A small fry like Anson could easily get burned if he wasn’t careful—losing the little he had and the big prize too, ending up with nothing. 

Sony Columbia and Warner Brothers were both beasts you didn’t mess with. 

But. But? But! 

Bruce Wayne??? 

Was the world going nuts, or were they just too slow to keep up? 

Chapter 1493: Storm on the Horizon 

Bruce Wayne?  

Wait, what?  

So, while Sony Columbia was still playing tug-of-war internally over whether to re-sign Anson, he’d already flipped the page. With a casual wave, he walked away without a second thought, leaving no trace behind. No hesitation, no regrets—he’d jumped straight into Warner Bros.’ arms, securing his next move and stepping back gracefully.  

But hold on—Bruce Wayne?  

Going from Peter Parker to Bruce Wayne, from a scrappy high school kid to a billionaire, from Spider-Man to Batman—what kind of leap was that? It was wilder than anything you’d find in a superhero comic. No amount of brain-racking or imagination could bridge that gap.  

How on earth did this happen?  

The shock hit so hard it stole Elijah’s breath. His ears buzzed, and the world felt like it was spinning 360 degrees at warp speed.  

Elijah could barely trust his own hearing. “Bruce Wayne?” He knew repeating it sounded dumb, but he couldn’t stop himself.  

Jennie nodded. “Batman.”  

Elijah sucked in a sharp breath, his racing heart threatening to explode.  

Jennie smirked, clearly delighted with the bombshell she’d dropped and the chaos it caused. “It’s true. Jeff Robinov personally talked Anson into it. And Warner Bros. told him to name his price—whatever he wants.”  

Elijah’s mind flooded with a million thoughts, but all that came out was, “Holy crap.”  

He turned to Jennie. “How many people know?”  

Jennie shrugged. “The secretaries know. Oh, and Russ in HR found out too.”  

Elijah groaned. “If Russ knows, then the whole company knows.”  

Jennie grinned. “I just heard they’re holding an emergency meeting on the 23rd floor. How many people do you think will show up?”  

Elijah didn’t answer. He just reached for the elevator panel, found the “23” button, and pressed it.  

…  

Silence. Total, suffocating silence. The conference room was so quiet it felt eerie—like the stillness was breeding panic.  

It was past regular hours. Summer dusk lingered outside, the fiery sunset painting the Hudson River in brilliant oranges and reds. But inside Sony Columbia’s 23rd-floor meeting room, the tension was still running high.  

Eyes darted toward Michael Lynton, but his calm face gave nothing away. As always, he was a blank slate. No one dared speak. Even breathing felt too loud—everyone was holding it in, letting the oppressive quiet spread through the air.  

They all knew a storm was brewing. While they sat there in hushed stillness, the damage and fallout were already rippling outward. The stark contrast made the atmosphere in the room feel strange, almost impossible to pin down.  

Shock. Disbelief. A gut punch.  

Chaos unfolding in slow motion.  

One twist, one unexpected turn, and the entire plan had flipped upside down.  

They’d double- and triple-checked the news. They’d run through every scenario in their heads. But it still didn’t settle the unease.  

Things had clearly spiraled out of control.  

Outside the room, Elijah and Jennie pressed against the wall, straining to hear something—anything. But all they got was that choking silence.  

Nothing.  

There was no point in sticking around. They turned to leave, but just then, Elijah grabbed Jennie and shoved her back the other way in a hurry.  

Jennie whipped her head around, whispering, “What? What’s happening?!”  

Elijah just mouthed, “Amy, Amy, Amy.”  

Jennie got it instantly and held her breath. A second later, a deafening shout erupted from the meeting room.  

“Traitor!”  

They couldn’t tell who it was, but the voice thundered with raw fury.  

“Goddamn traitor! I hate backstabbers—spineless trash feeding off us while screwing us over!”  

“How dare he?!”  

“Superstar, huh? Everyone calls him a superstar, and he actually believes he’s some shining light? That kid’s been in Hollywood for what, a year or two? Without us, he’d still be a nobody—a pretty face with zero substance!”  

“So now he thinks he’s a freaking star, glowing all on his own? Or maybe he thinks he can piss on us and we’ll just smile and take it?”  

“If he’s got the guts to stab us in the back and waltz over to Warner Bros., he’d better be ready for our wrath. Let’s show him Sony Columbia’s got teeth. Let’s see if Warner Bros. is willing to go to war with us over some overhyped vase!”  

“Arrogant. Cocky. Smug. Stupid.”  

“People keep saying he’s smart. Yeah, right—take away that face, and he’s got nothing!”  

“No more talking. Next step: replace him. Whether we reboot or keep the story going, we can figure that out later…”  

The rant went on, unstoppable, seething with rage.  

Even through the glass walls, you could feel the vibrations—like volcanoes erupting one after another inside the room.  

They were losing it.  

Sony Columbia had always thought they held the upper hand in negotiations. Signing him or not, setting the terms—it was their call. Even with William Morris backing Anson, they figured they were still on top.  

But now? Anson hadn’t even bothered to negotiate. No back-and-forth, no testing the waters. He just turned and left without a shred of hesitation.  

It wasn’t just betrayal—it was a slap in the face.  

Fury shattered their restraint in an instant.  

Then the meeting room door started to close, cutting off the outrage. Right before it shut completely, a voice—maybe Amy’s—tried to take control, but it was quickly drowned out by the storm. The door clicked shut, and the sound vanished.  

Buzz, buzz, buzz. The glass door muffled everything into a dull hum, like noise bubbling underwater. No more words came through.  

Elijah and Jennie exchanged a look, unease flickering in their eyes.  

Michael Lynton’s faction was out for blood. Amy Pascal’s crew was hanging on by a thread. All signs pointed to a shake-up at Sony Columbia—one they couldn’t stop.  

So what did that mean for them, the employees?  

The loyal middle managers who’d stuck by Amy—would they get swept out in the purge? The hardworking staff who’d backed her all this time—would they get labeled, sidelined, or even fired?  

Were they about to lose their jobs?  

Inside the room, Amy looked helpless.  

The anger was volcanic, overwhelming. Everyone was too heated to care about reason, strategy, or the bigger picture—none of it mattered now.  

Even “weighing the pros and cons” was off the table. “Sony Columbia’s pride and dignity outweigh everything” was the new mantra.  

Amy almost laughed at the absurdity.  

What she wanted to say was this: Even Warner Bros. was willing to throw big money at Anson. They were taking a risk—not just with the backlash of turning Spider-Man into Batman, but with Sony Columbia’s inevitable retaliation. And they’d done it at the worst possible time, when everyone in Hollywood knew Sony was gearing up to talk sequels with Anson. Any studio stepping in now was a direct challenge.  

Yet Warner Bros. went for it anyway.  

That alone showed Anson’s worth. Warner Bros. wouldn’t dare pull this unless they believed he was worth it.  

(End of Chapter)