Chapter 25: Wild Pitches.
[Owen POV]
I adorned my Jack Kennedy disguise again as I came to the 4CLOVER office.
"There's something different about you." Claire narrowed her eyes at me as I entered my office, her watching me from the door.
After evolving, Shiryu gave me an air of regality in my disguise as Jack Kennedy. It was his conscious choice.
I think he thought he was Jack instead of me– although it's hard to argue with him since it was his skin, and also, he can't speak yet.
"There's several people you need to meet before the movie pitch." Claire gave me a list of resumes. "They are talents needed to run the studio. Cinematographer–"
I didn't even look at it. "Resumes don't tell me anything," I said, leaning back in my chair, interrupting Claire.
"Half of Hollywood has a golden reel and a rotten core. I need to meet them. Look them in the eye." I muttered.
Well, Elena would look them in the eye. I didn't have that power to judge, but she does.
Claire rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. "Fine. Then I'll put it this way. Just simply first. Rachel Morrison — cinematographer [future: first female Oscar nominee for Best Cinematography, Black Panther, Mudbound]. Everyone overlooks her, but her test shots are better than the 'masters.'"
She flipped the list for me, "Cinematographer Guillermo Navarro — mostly ignored outside of Mexico [future: Oscar winner for Pan's Labyrinth, Desperado, Night at the Museum], but the man bends light like it's a language.
"Writer Shonda Rhimes — nobody yet [future: creator of Grey's Anatomy, Scandal, Bridgerton], but I read some of her works. She has phenomenal writing skills."
"Director, Patty Jenkins — dismissed because she's unproven. [future: director of Monster and Wonder Woman] But she knows how to direct… sort of. She's still new."
"They have potential. That's why I picked them," Claire said simply.
I asked, "And you think they can take pressure? Deadlines. Producers screaming. Projects failing. Will they be able to handle it?"
"Um. That's not something I can guarantee. But I do trust my vision."
"Bring them in then. I'll know in five minutes if they're worth it. Vision and skill, sure — but more than that–"
I looked her straight in the eye, "I want to see if they're steady when the ground shakes. If they can create without tearing everyone else down. If success won't turn them into monsters."
Claire tilted her head. "That's not in their resumes."
"Exactly." I smiled. "That's why I don't read resumes."
"You… You're kinda pretentious." Claire sighed before smiling. "Alright. I'll ask them to come in. Just make sure not to disappear again. What are you working on anyway?"
"I'll show you during the project pitch. Are our guests here yet?"
"They are here. We can start at any moment now."
"Alright then. Let's do it." I stood up and went to the conference room with Claire.
Inside, the long oak table was already filled. George sat at one end, leaning forward with a half-smirk. Next to him, Lenny pretended to read a legal pad, though everyone knew he was doodling. Jessica sat straighter than both of them, her eyes sharp as she stared at me.
Payne lounged around. Stephen Chbosky was there too, invited as a friendly outsider to catch angles the rest of us might miss.
I invited them to gain some opinions about the pitches. They would be impartial judges, except for Jessica since she's trying to pitch a movie too.
Across from them were the heads of departments in my company, now working with the studio too.
Eliza Tran, head of marketing — once a junior copywriter at an ad agency who never got credit for the campaigns she ghost-built. [Future: crafted the viral marketing blitz for Cloverfield and later ran global campaigns for Disney.]
Claire found her and brought her in.
Marcus Bell, head of networking & relationships — a soft-spoken Black producer who'd been frozen out of agency circles in LA despite connecting half the industry behind the scenes. [Future: co-founded one of the biggest talent management firms of the 2000s.]
Claire also found him.
Anita Deshmukh, head of customer analysis — a statistician from UCLA who'd been laughed out of a studio internship for suggesting audiences could be studied like ecosystems. [Future: pioneer of modern box office analytics.]
I found this one.
David Leong, head of distribution strategy — dismissed by major studios as "too academic," but already mapping models for global rollout years ahead of anyone else. [Future: credited for breaking Asian markets open for Hollywood in the 2000s.]
My lawyer David found him, they were friends after he helped him with a legal issue.
And then there were the creators, the wildcards, the ones I'd asked to sit in just for this session. They weren't employees — they were guests. Their shows and films were still sketches, but their instincts mattered.
Lena Waithe — a 12th assistant on a sitcom set, scribbling her own pilots in the margins. [Future: Emmy-winning writer of Master of None, creator of The Chi.]
Then, a lot of unknowns in the room. All of them had been brought here by Claire.
Lastly, it was Agustin and Elena. My sect member had the gift of calculation—he was here to keep track of the budget and marketing cost.
I counted heads. With Claire standing near the back, the number was even. That meant if the room split during the pitch, I'd be the one to break it. Exactly how I wanted it.
I took my seat at the center. "Thank you all for coming," I said, scanning their faces. Some wary, some eager, some already calculating. "Let's begin."
Lena Waithe suddenly raised her hand, interrupting before anyone else could speak. "I'm sure you didn't think of us pitching our ideas in front of other creators? What if someone steals it?"
Claire hurriedly said, "We're not doing that."
"How can I believe all you white people? I thought I'd be talking only with him today. I'm out." She pushed her chair back and left abruptly.
The room was stunned, though not entirely surprised.
"Well, my methods aren't conventional," I admitted. "It's fine to feel suspicion. If any of you want to leave, don't worry, I won't hold it against you. In fact, I'll grant Lena another private meeting later, just the way she wanted."
That seemed to calm the rest.
One of them, another Black woman, said, "It is unconventional. But I'm curious. Hard to find another opportunity to have a professional writer and director judge my idea."
George, sitting nearby, leaned toward her. "What's your name?"
"Jody Peele," she introduced herself with a warm smile. "I loved The Sixth Sense."
"Oh—thank you very much," George replied politely.
"First, we'll sign an NDA," Claire announced. "Nothing leaves this room. The company will keep that promise."
"I'll go first," Jessica said, standing up and pinning a sketch to the board. A mock poster—my drawing—of a young man holding a sword against a plant-like humanoid monster.
"The story is called O-Class," Jessica began. "It's about humans versus monsters…" She carried on for ten minutes, explaining arcs, themes, and scale.
When she finished, she asked, "Questions? Opinions?"
At first silence. Then Payne raised his hand, the discussion reminding him of college.
"Hi. Alexander Payne, working with Owen Chase on the new film."
Jessica's face brightened. "Yeah, I know! He told me about you."
"He's a great kid," Payne said before getting to his point. "You want him as the lead, right? Is he trained in martial arts?"
Jessica nodded. "Yes, Owen has a lot of experience in fighting—" she hesitated, "—martial arts tournaments."
"Oh. Makes sense then," Payne said. "But here's the bigger issue. What makes this project different from other blockbusters? Owen's great, but one star won't carry the whole picture."
"What do you mean?" Jessica asked.
George cut in. "He means visual storytelling. A novel can have strong writing, but on film, the wrong adaptation kills it."
"Maybe," George added, "you need one intense fight scene. Something real."
"Hard with CGI monsters," Payne mused. "But if you use animatronics or suits, then touch it with CGI after? Spielberg's Jurassic Park pulled that off."
"That would help, and lower costs," George agreed.
Jessica sat down later with a smile—the kind that only comes after being taken seriously.
The next to pitch was a man in his forties with nervous hands. He staggered forward.
"Who's he?" George asked softly.
"Jacklyn Turner," Peele whispered back. "Used to assist sitcom directors. Blacklisted six months ago. Word is, he reported one of them for harassing an actress. Network buried him."
George gave her a look of impressed surprise—she really did know everyone.
Turner cleared his throat. "I… I have an idea for a multi-camera sitcom… Forget it. It's not interesting."
I leaned forward. "No, Mr. Turner. Please share it."
Through Elena's sight, I glimpsed his mind. Storylines alive, layered, funny—funnier than he dared speak aloud. But he was beaten down, already planning to give up and retreat to Florida.
"Um… It's a story from the perspective of a young kid in the mid-70s," he managed.
And in that instant I realized: Isn't this That '70s Show?
George, Jessica, Payne, Chbosky, Peele, and I all perked up. Questions poured in. Encouragement followed. Turner grew livelier, finishing with a twenty-minute pitch that had the whole room grinning.
"It'll take at least ten—no, two million… no, half a million… twenty thousand is enough for a pilot," he stammered.
I gave him a disbelieving look, then whispered to Claire, "We've bought a soundstage, right?"
"Rented," she corrected. "We'd need to build one if we want to own one. I planned to talk to you about it today."
Soundstages were always full. Building in Pasadena was cheaper than buying. Claire's wheels were already turning.
The pitches rolled on. A woman pitched Monster-in-Law. A heavyset man pitched the Phone Booth.
Jody Peele closed with A Winter's Call, a sobering drama about Black poverty in the 1940s, drawn from her grandmother's story.
Finally, Claire turned to me. "You're the last one."
I glanced at Agustin. He sent the numbers into my head like a ledger on fire.
'$240 million, project and marketing. Could blow to $300 depending on strategy. Without another hit in six months, the company risks collapse.'
'Six months is long enough,' I thought.
I set a small radio on the table. "My pitch is simple: a teen musical. Listen before you judge."
I pressed play—Breaking Free, then We're All in This Together.
"The teen and tween market is a void right now," I explained after the song finished playing.
"Disney makes movies for kids or for adults. Nothing between. That leaves a gap."
"The market is hungry for teen stories, stories about first love, rebellion, friendship, identity. No one's claimed that space yet."
Not until Buffy came out, which would ignite the teen market. Then, Dawson Creek, Charmed, and a lot more stories aiming for young adults would be created.
The room fell quiet, the songs still echoing in their heads. I pitched them the story, with a few tweaks to the original concept.
It would still be a teen story, but layered enough for all generations to enjoy.
George and Jessica exchanged glances before leaning forward, curiosity flickering in their eyes.
"Is that Owen Chase singing?" George asked.
Jessica's voice carried a note of concern. "Is Owen already signed on for that project?"
"Wait—did you two already meet?" she blurted, astonished.
"Yes. We met a couple of days ago," I said evenly.
Jessica's jaw slackened. She muttered, half to herself, "He should've told me… I've been worried for nothing."
I could tell she'd assumed Owen had already checked "Jack Kennedy" and figured out there wasn't a demon behind the name. I'd been prepared to send Elena in disguise as Jack if needed, but that wouldn't be necessary now.
I shifted the focus back to the table. "By the way, I planned to pick two projects here today to greenlight."
Everyone turned toward me.
"But…" I smiled faintly, "I like them all. So I'm going to greenlight everything that was pitched today."
Gasps went around the room. My CEO's jaw dropped. The department heads began murmuring protests, but I raised my hand and the chatter died.
"Of course, manpower is still an issue," I continued calmly. "We're a new studio, and our creative workforce isn't fully built yet. So I'll do this in phases."
"Some projects can go straight into production—like Phone Booth. But for Jessica's O-Class, my musical, and the sitcom, production will take longer. I'll arrange another meeting once the schedule's locked."
The tension in the room lingered as people finally took in what I just said.
Jessica muttered, "Are you insane?!"
—
Inside my office, after the meeting. There was a lot of excitement from the creatives after the meeting.
However, I had to face an angry CEO in my office after it was done.
Claire was waiting– Her arms were crossed, her expression sharp.
"Jack," she began, "I know you're young and idealistic. Honestly, that's what I like about you—you're open to advice."
Her tone hardened. "But greenlighting everything at once? That's a terrible idea. Your studio will collapse in a couple of years! Even the distribution company will be dragged down! What were you thinking?"
I stayed silent, letting her vent.
She paced. "I'll admit, they're great ideas. But just building our own soundstage will take six months. The musical set alone—months of prep! And O-Class? The practical effects alone will cost millions. We don't have a Spielberg in our midst to watch over the whole thing!"
She meant we didn't have a studio head yet. I was still acting studio head for now since I planned to put another person in charge of the studio. Someone worthy of it.
"Claire," I called softly.
She ignored me. "You'll run out of money. It's reckless!"
"Claire," I repeated.
"Why not stretch the schedule to three or four years? Why rush everything into one?"
I raised my voice, the words sharper than I intended. "Because I might not live after a year."
Her face froze. She turned toward me slowly, her eyes searching mine. "What?"
I looked away, silent.
Her voice trembled now. "What do you mean you only have a year?"
I exhaled. Since the cat was already out of the bag, I felt the need to be honest with her.
"I have limited time. I'm not going to tell you what's wrong. But right now, I need someone to help me make this happen—not shut it down."
Claire's hands were trembling slightly. "Is there no chance you'll survive?" she asked quietly. "Is that why you're always disappearing? Because you're sick?"
I gave a small, tired smile. "Well… there's a chance I'll survive. But I'm not optimistic."
The office felt smaller, the weight between us thicker than ever.
"So," I said gently, "let's spend the next one year and five months building a legacy, alright?
I'm already looking for someone to take over when I'm gone. Maybe I'll marry her to make it official. But for now—I need you to calm down. Let's do the best we can with what we have."
If I couldn't survive, then Elena would inherit my legacy. She didn't know about my plans yet, though.
Claire rose from her chair, walked over slowly, and gave me a comforting hug.
"Alright. I understand now. I still think it's stupid, but I'll try my best to help you."
I patted her hand. "It's fine. You may think it's stupid, but I'm confident we can pull this through."
Telling her this wasn't manipulation. It was preparation—so that when the time came, Elena could step in more easily.
After Claire left, I invited another guest into the office. To my surprise, Jessica walked in alongside him.
George asked, "Jack, aren't you ever going to come meet your aunt?"
"No," I replied simply.
Jessica blinked. "Why not?"
"Because—even though I like you—I don't really trust the people I share blood with," I told her honestly.
"Just stay away and let me keep the memory of you being kind to me intact. I don't want to learn more and ruin that."
Jessica and George exchanged a startled look.
Jessica's voice softened with concern. "Jack… what exactly happened with your family?"
She realized then she didn't know the real story.
"Well, I don't have much attachment to them anymore, so I might as well tell you."
I told her about my mother's affair, how my father thought I was a bastard child and isolated me early on.
Every time I grew attached to a maid, he either slept with her or deported her—then told me to my face I didn't deserve happiness.
I lived like a ghost in that house. Even when I was sick, no one came.
Jessica's eyes turned red, brimming with tears.
"You want to know the worst part?"
George swallowed. "What?"
"I did a DNA test before I left—just to see if his resentment was justified."
"And?" George asked, tense.
"I really was his blood. I was his biological son." I said it with a soft smile.
Jessica broke down crying. George had to hold her as she sobbed.
"Please, don't cry." I handed her a napkin, still smiling. "I don't care about them anymore. I'm living a wonderful life now."
I changed the subject abruptly. "Anyway. I invited you here, George, to offer you the role of acting studio head for Lucky Clover."
George's eyes widened. Jessica froze mid-sob.
"What?" she muttered.
I nodded. "Yeah. You heard me. I need an acting studio head, and Owen tells me you can do it."
"Me? But I'm already working on O-Class," George said, overwhelmed.
I leaned back. "True, and being a studio head isn't something to agree to lightly. But let me reassure you of some things."
"First, I'm not a corporate suit. You won't be chained to quarterly profit reports. This isn't Disney. The pressure here is less."
I smirked. "Second—creative control. You'll be managing projects."
George frowned. "That's the part I'm most worried about."
"It is worrying. But you have Owen Chase—and his dreamscape technique."
George and Jessica stiffened. Jessica stammered, "O-Owen told you about that?"
"Yup. And he said you've used it. So why not be acting head? Help guide projects, make sure they're not garbage. I don't care if they're profitable—just make them good."
George fell silent, then finally nodded.
"Alright. I'll do it. But I'm bringing my production company with me."
"Even better. We're short on talent."
We shook hands. He left soon after.
"I think I can drag directors into the dreamscape without them realizing. They'll just think it's a dream," I muttered.
The dreamscape wasn't magic—it wouldn't guarantee box office success. But it could help polish stories until they shined.
I spent the rest of the day in meetings with department heads. They voiced concerns, but as boss, my word stood.
The studio was officially established. We didn't even have a proper set or soundstage yet, but I felt hopeful.
—
Two weeks passed in a flash. I went to the H.O.R.D.E. concert with everyone from the building and even saw Michael Jackson perform.
Then came the Toronto International Film Festival. I—as Owen Chase—was supposed to attend with George.
"You don't have to go," George said.
"Why not?"
"Because there's a lot of nudity and weird shit at the festival. Jessica doesn't want you there."
Even Jack Kennedy stayed away. Only Claire went on my behalf to scout films for distribution.
But after the festival wrapped, I got a shock.
"I won at the Toronto International Film Festival?"