"I'm a Celebrity" Set. UPN Studios.
Winstanton leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eye. He had the audience right where he wanted them: confused, skeptical, and listening.
"Well," Winstanton said to the crowd. "Don't just question me. Let's chat with the man himself."
Zane Blackwood sat comfortably on the sofa, angling his body toward the audience.
"Boss," Winstanton laughed. "They still don't believe you started from scratch. What do you say?"
Zane waved his hand dismissively.
"Simple," Zane deadpanned. "It means you are bad at your job. As the boss, I'll have to deduct your salary."
Pfft!
Winstanton clutched his chest in mock horror. "No! You can't! I have five kids to feed! My goldfish needs braces!"
Zane facepalmed. "Could you act any worse?"
The audience burst into laughter. The tension broke. The "rich kid" was funny. The "rich kid" was human.
Backstage, Donna Langley watched with sharp eyes. She was the CEO, but she knew the first rule of survival: Always greet the King.
'Those inspirational stories about ignoring your boss to work hard?' Donna thought, checking her makeup in a compact mirror. 'Lies. That gets you fired. The boss wants respect, not a robot.'
The NBA Fail.
On stage, the tone shifted.
"Mr. Blackwood," Winstanton asked, leaning forward. "Is it true that after high school, you entered the NBA Draft?"
The audience perked up.
"That's right," Zane nodded. "1995 Draft. No point hiding it."
"And?"
"And they didn't want me," Zane shrugged. "Too short. Undrafted."
In the audience, Condy snorted. "Undrafted? That's putting it nicely."
James whispered back, grinning. "I made the D-League. Zane got cut in the first round. They took one look at his jump shot and sent him home."
Winstanton pressed on.
"After that, you were depressed. Your mother passed away. You were 18. Alone."
The studio went quiet.
"Yes," Zane said softly. "My father died when I was young. My mother raised me. Losing her... it broke me for a while."
He paused, letting the silence hang for a second.
"Then I started trading stocks."
"Netscape," Zane said, his voice firm again. "I made over $2 million. That was my first pot of gold."
Gasp.
$2 Million.
For the average American living paycheck to paycheck, that number was astronomical.
"Two million?!" the young girl in the audience squeaked, grabbing her friend's arm. "Did you hear that?"
Her chubby friend stopped chewing his gum. His jaw dropped.
The Chain Store King.
"With that money," Zane continued, "I opened a store. Maybe you've heard of it. The SpongeBob SquarePants Chain."
Heads nodded. Everyone in Los Angeles knew the yellow sponge.
"But you really struck gold with Toy Story, didn't you?" Winstanton interrupted.
Zane raised an eyebrow. "You did your homework."
"I did," Winstanton declared. "And I also know that a certain Oscar-winner used to work for you."
"Charlize Theron," Winstanton announced to the crowd. "She was one of his first employees."
Whoa.
The audience murmured. Charlize Theron? Working for this guy?
'He's connected,' the audience realized. 'He's not just rich. He's Hollywood royalty.'
The Reveal of the Mastermind.
Winstanton stood up. He walked to the edge of the stage. It was time for the big reveal.
"Dear friends," Winstanton boomed. "You know Wald Pictures. You know the movies."
He listed them off like a menu of hits. "Hard Candy.""Juno."
"Don't tell me you haven't seen them," Winstanton teased. "Or I will lose face."
He pointed a dramatic finger at Zane.
"The writer? The producer? The man behind all of them? It is him."
"And Static?" Winstanton added. "He directed it. It made hundreds of millions in Europe."
Boom.
The skepticism evaporated.
This wasn't a lucky stock trader. This wasn't just a toy store owner.
This was a Creative Genius.
The audience looked at the 20-year-old on the sofa with new eyes.
"Juno?" a woman whispered. "I loved that movie." a teenager gasped. "That movie scared me for weeks."
"Does such a person exist?" someone muttered. "He's too young. It's impossible."
The whispers grew louder. Shock. Awe. Disbelief.
Zane sat there, watching them connect the dots.
He waved his hand dismissively, like he was swatting a fly.
"Hey," Zane said casually, leaning back. "All that? That's unimportant."
The audience froze. Unimportant?
"If Juno is unimportant," Winstanton asked, voicing everyone's thought, "then what is important?"
Zane smiled. It was the smile of a man holding four aces.
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