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Hollywood Tycoon: Rebirth in 1998

Dashiell046
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Synopsis
In 2026, Alexander "Alex" Carter is a self-made billionaire investor with deep connections in Hollywood. But his success is cut short when a corporate betrayal leads to his assassination. Instead of dying, he wakes up in 1998—inside the body of his younger self at 24, a failed film school graduate struggling in Los Angeles. Armed with knowledge of future entertainment trends, blockbuster movies, rising stars, and investment opportunities, Alex vows to rewrite history and build an empire that dominates Hollywood, finance.
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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: Rebirth In The City Of Dreams

A sharp pain exploded in Alex Carter's head. His world was fading, his vision blurring into darkness as a cold barrel pressed against his temple.

"Goodbye, Alex," a familiar voice sneered.

A deafening gunshot rang out.

Then—nothing.

No pain. No death. Just silence.

Then, a sensation—he could feel his body again. His lungs filled with air. His fingers tingled as if waking from a long sleep.

A distant buzzing sound filled his ears, growing louder. Slowly, Alex opened his eyes, expecting to see the afterlife—if such a thing existed.

Instead, he saw a cracked ceiling fan spinning overhead. The musty smell of stale pizza and cigarette smoke filled his nostrils. His body felt...different. Lighter. Younger.

Panic gripped him as he bolted upright, eyes scanning the dimly lit room. His heart pounded as he took in the sight of a tiny studio apartment—his old apartment.

A battered desk sat in the corner, covered in stacks of VHS tapes and film school textbooks. An ancient CRT television hummed with static. On the nightstand, an old Nokia phone vibrated.

Alex staggered out of bed, rushing to the cracked mirror above his dresser.

The reflection staring back at him was not the 52-year-old billionaire he remembered.

It was him—his 24-year-old self.

A face free of wrinkles, his dark hair thick and ungrayed. His body was lean instead of the well-fed frame he had grown into in his later years. He touched his cheek, then his chest, running his fingers over smooth, unscarred skin.

"What the...hell?" he whispered.

Memories flooded his mind. This was 1998.

And somehow, he had gone back in time.

Alex sat heavily on the edge of his bed, gripping his head as his mind whirled.

I was assassinated. Betrayed. Left to die.

Yet, here he was, over two decades in the past, in his struggling younger body, in a crummy Los Angeles apartment he hadn't set foot in for years.

It was insane.

He reached for the old Nokia phone and flipped it open. No touchscreen. No internet. Just primitive text messages and calls.

A notification blinked:

March 12, 1998.

It was real.

Not a dream.

Alex exhaled shakily, his mind racing. This was the year he had failed—the year his Hollywood dreams died, forcing him to abandon filmmaking and pursue finance instead.

But now, he had a second chance.

A slow grin spread across his face.

This time, I won't just survive. I'll dominate.

At 24, he had been broke. A struggling film school graduate with no connections and no future.

But in this timeline? He knew exactly how Hollywood operated. He knew which movies would become hits, which actors would rise to stardom, and most importantly, what mistakes the industry would make.

Pulling out an old notepad, he scribbled down names, trends, and opportunities.

Then he flipped through his wallet, finding a contact card from his last internship. A name stood out: David Ross, assistant director at Paramount.

In 2026, Ross had been a top-tier executive. But in 1998? Just a mid-level AD.

Grabbing a bus, he made his way to Paramount Studios.

Security was tighter than he remembered, but Alex had one advantage—confidence.

"Hey, I'm here for David Ross," he said to the receptionist.

The woman arched a brow. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Not officially. But tell him Alex Carter is here. He'll want to hear what I have to say."

The receptionist hesitated, then picked up the phone. Moments later, a familiar voice barked through the speaker:

"Who the hell is Alex Carter?"

Alex grinned. "Someone who knows how to make your job easier."

A long silence. Then—

"...Send him in."

Ross was a balding man in his 30s, wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and a stressed expression.

"You've got two minutes," Ross snapped.

Alex sat down, keeping his posture relaxed but his tone firm. "David, I know you're under a lot of pressure. Paramount is juggling multiple productions right now, and they're cutting budgets. That means you're stuck dealing with late-night calls, scheduling disasters, and a revolving door of assistants who don't know what the hell they're doing."

Ross squinted. "You do your research?"

Alex shrugged. "I pay attention."

Ross leaned back, folding his arms. "And you think you're different?"

"Yes." Alex leaned forward. "I don't just want a job—I want to solve problems. You need an assistant who can think on their feet, keep things organized, and make sure everything runs smoother without you having to babysit. That's me."

Ross studied him for a long moment, then smirked. "You're either full of shit or exactly what I need."

Alex smiled. "Give me a week. If I screw up, you won't even have to fire me—I'll walk away myself."

Ross tapped his fingers against the desk, then sighed. "Fine. We need a studio assistant. Pays crap, but you'll be around the decision-makers. You in?"

"Absolutely."

By the time Alex left Paramount, he had secured a job as a studio assistant—a low-level position, but a foot in the door.

His next moves were already forming in his mind:

Get close to rising Hollywood stars before they explode.

Use his knowledge to influence film decisions subtly.

Invest in the right tech companies.

As he walked the streets of Los Angeles, the setting sun casting long shadows, he grinned to himself.

He had been given a second chance.

And this time, he wouldn't just play the game.

He would own it.