Standing in the front courtyard of his villa, watching the four script assistants hurriedly leave, Adrian couldn't help but reveal a slight smile. Thinking of their shocked expressions as they left, he knew that half of his momentum-building effort had been successful.
These scripts were carefully selected after much contemplation and refinement, especially the four different types sent out earlier: a campus comedy, a romantic love story, a thriller romance, and a horror film. Of these four scripts, three were of the kind that had standout features and could make money, but not a lot.
Then, when the other party sent people over to negotiate, he threw out two more scripts with even greater potential value—American Pie and Scream. Both films were exemplary of low-budget, high-grossing success and had countless sequels. With the professional acumen of these people, it was impossible not to spot it, not to mention he added some suggestive annotations.
So, what would the major film companies do next?
Adrian shook his head and stopped concerning himself. After all, he had achieved half of his purpose. As long as these four films were shot and made money, the other half of his purpose would almost be achieved.
He felt slightly regretful and dissatisfied, as one of the original four scripts, which he sold to an assistant at Warner, was The Bodyguard, originally expected to be released two years later starring Whitney Houston. If Adrian remembered correctly, this film had a box office of 100 million US dollars just in North America—impressive for the early '90s!
Unfortunately, it wasn't his own investment, and he sold it for a mere 35,000 US dollars, causing him a bit of frustration. Of course, such emotions were thrown aside by Adrian a few minutes later.
To quickly start building his reputation, he couldn't sell only scripts that made small money alone; it was necessary to include a box office hit among the first few. As long as the producer put in a bit of thought, along with what Adrian wrote discreetly at the back, Warner could absolutely rake in money.
Of course, the main reason was that Adrian had many money-making scripts in hand, and he didn't need to care about just one. Earlier, during these frantic three months of writing, he had specially taken the time to register with the Screenwriters' Guild, not because the Guild could offer help when needed, but he valued the Guild's feature of storing and safeguarding script outlines for two years for a fee.
Most screenwriters would submit their outlines to the Guild for safekeeping, while film companies also often checked the Guild to see if there were noteworthy scripts, or if there were similarities to newly received scripts.
Adrian put all ten busy script outlines from these months into it and would continue to submit outlines or complete scripts in the future. This way, even if similar ideas arose, he could rely on the Guild's records to stand invincible.
As for those who "once" were scriptwriters and what changes might have occurred in their lives because of it, sorry, that wasn't within Adrian's consideration. When he was still Zhang Haoxuan, he once saw a theory in a science fiction novel that left a deep impression and resonated with him—Flock Theory!
This Flock Theory was not about herd mentality. The author imagined a scene: billions of sheep living in a world covered in ice plains, arranged in an isosceles triangular formation to survive together on the ice plain; the sheep at the front always got to enjoy grass or water first when they encountered it, while the sheep at the back could only eat grassroots and drink leftover water.
No sheep could survive alone outside the flock. On the cold ice plain, it was uncertain when they would find the next place with grass or when a blizzard might strike. Only moving together, supporting, and relying on each other, could they survive.
The sheep in the back of the flock struggled hard to gain the same rights as those in front—simply the ability to eat tender grass and drink clean water. The sheep in front firstly needed to maintain their current position, ensuring they weren't pushed to the back, then tried their best to move forward.
Some sheep, because they stood in the back, struggled their whole lives without getting closer to the front of the flock. And some other sheep, when born, naturally stood behind their parents in a position much farther forward than the other sheep.
There was no fairness in this world.
Now he was reborn, or it could be viewed as God or some other mighty power adopting him as a son, placing him in a more forward position, and giving him a pair of extremely sturdy horns. So why shouldn't he continue to press forward?
Perhaps he would establish a foundation in the future to help frustrated scriptwriters, perhaps secretly support the Screenwriters' Guild in striking for their rights—after all, the 2008 strike is profoundly influential, and before that, a few planned strikes aborted in their infancy, of which he was aware back when he was Zhang Haoxuan—but to ask him now to give up accumulating funds and fame through plagiarism, that's impossible.
Shameless? Of course, no denying that. However, I don't care.
"I'll be going out for a while, Mrs. Galen. No need to wait for me for dinner," Adrian tidied up a bit and started to leave. He had an important meeting this afternoon.
"Okay, but I'll make two sandwiches and leave them in the fridge. You just need to pop them in the microwave for a round and you'll be good to eat," suggested Mrs. Galen kindly, while tidying up the living room.
"Thank you." Adrian nodded before heading out and driving to the city.
The profession of screenwriting in modern times was not as lowly as before, but it wasn't significantly elevated either. Otherwise, why would there have been a huge strike in 2008? Good scripts, good directors, and good actors are three main factors in making a good movie, but when have you seen a screenwriter demand profit sharing? Even those earning 500,000 a year in the Screenwriters' Guild haven't done that.
Although being a screenwriter allowed him to step conveniently into Hollywood's doors, he would definitely not stop there.
"Seriously, I can't believe you arrived before me, Claude." Adrian sat down in front of Claude with a teasing expression, then nodded to the approaching waiter, "A latte, please."
Not waiting for Claude to speak, he continued with a teasing tone, "Had a good time?"
Although he entrusted all his assets to Claude to manage, and he was busy copying scripts these three months, he still took time to look at the financial reports sent by his private accountant. Facing those fluctuating curve graphs, Adrian had only one thought: Claude got addicted to playing!
"Hey, how can you say that? After all, you've quadrupled the funds you gave me," Claude said with an innocent look.
"When you quadrupled it, you could have pulled out, then started again after the fluctuations passed," Adrian said bluntly, "Don't forget our agreement, even if playing, be mindful of circumstances."
Even though he said so, Adrian felt a bit frustrated; after all, this was a verbal agreement, and as he said, he could only accept it if Claude played it all away. Fortunately, he hadn't mortgaged the villa to keep some turnaround money, Adrian thought with a twitch of his lips.
"Rest assured, I always keep the agreement in mind. You trust me so much, of course I can't let you down," Claude smiled, raising his hands.
"My accountant tells me we have at most three months left."
"For me, it's at least four months, maybe more," Claude confidently stated, with a bit of pride, evidently gaining a lot in these three months.
"Alright, Ed, just speak directly. Why did you call me out?" he said while sipping his coffee.
"Simple, I need to acquire a film company and then direct my debut work," Adrian's fingers tapped lightly on the table.
Claude nearly spat his coffee out and quickly put down his cup, looking at Adrian with astonishment.
"Warner, Universal, Fox, and Disney each bought a script from me and are competing for the rights to two scripts. So, you don't have to be so surprised," Adrian said calmly.
"I thought... I thought..." Claude unconsciously gestured a few times.
"You thought I was just joking then? Come on, Claude, I was very serious," Adrian raised an eyebrow, "When have I ever joked while officially asking you for help?"
After a long exhale, Claude shrugged: "I know, but... Ed, you've changed quite a bit."
"Everyone changes. I've told you, from the day I got electrocuted, I was no longer who I used to be." Adrian waved his hand at this point, "Alright, let's not talk about that. I initially planned to spend 500,000 to establish a new film company, but I don't have that much time and energy to start from scratch, so I plan to acquire one. It doesn't need to be too big, priced around 3 million, with complete departments and basic networking."
Claude stirred the coffee in his cup with a spoon, observing Adrian for a long while without speaking, finally sighing: "It's really strange, Ed, while logic tells me this idea is crazy, intuition tells me you might succeed."
"When did you become so hesitant, Claude?" Adrian couldn't help but frown.
"Alright, alright," Claude raised his hands, "So, what do you want me to do? Open a new account and transfer the money directly, or help you find a film company up for sale?"
"It would be best if you could help me, but I need you to set aside 4 million," Adrian considered and said, "Besides acquiring the film company, I need to purchase the adaptation rights for several novels and invest in my first film."
"If we proceed as you say, your film's first investment would only be a few hundred thousand..." Claude's words were cut off by Adrian: "Alright, Claude, I know you care about me, but please trust me."
"Alright," Claude nodded, "But if you leave me only 20 million to work with, I can't guarantee to earn you back 60 million."
"Then adjust it to 50 million, excluding your fees," Adrian said immediately.
"So be it." Claude finished his coffee and stood up, "I look forward to your miracle; this time it's genuinely."