Money was oxygen.
Talent without capital was just a beautiful corpse.
Avery understood this better than anyone.
The basement was quiet again, but this time it wasn't the silence of suppression. It was the silence of calculation. On the wall before her, the System projected a dense lattice of data—royalty streams, projected earnings, legal burn rates, production costs.
[Indie Film: "The Last Cigarette"]—Estimated Minimum Budget: $6.5M—Current Liquid Capital: $2.3M—Shortfall: Critical
Her viral song had given her breathing room.
Not a battlefield victory.
Just time.
Elias stood near the wall, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, already working like a man possessed. Documents floated around him—shell companies, fiscal firewalls, offshore buffers.
"You could crowdfund," Elias said without looking up. "Ride the sympathy wave."
Avery shook her head.
"Crowds pay emotionally," she replied. "I need institutions to bleed."
She turned back to the System.
The Entertainment Industry map unfolded—music, film, television.
Her gaze locked onto television.
Cheap to produce.
High returns.
Fast audience addiction.
And most importantly—
Desperate gatekeepers.
"System," Avery said. "Show me networks not owned or influenced by Titan Management."
The map reconfigured.
One dot remained glowing.
[Channel 9 – Independent Broadcasting Network]—Market Share: 6%—Debt Load: Extreme—Ownership: Private—Status: Near Bankruptcy
Avery smiled faintly.
"Underdogs always gamble bigger," she murmured.
Elias glanced over.
"You thinking TV?"
"I'm thinking dimensionality reduction," Avery replied.
She closed her eyes.
In her previous world, there were stories that didn't age.
Frameworks that redefined genres.
Stories so tight, so elegant, they became intellectual property monsters.
She opened her eyes.
"System," she said. "Prepare a narrative compression."
[Request Acknowledged.]
The Training Space activated.
Time dilated.
Hours folded into seconds.
In her mind, Avery stood in a fog-shrouded London street.
A tall man with cold eyes and sharper logic observed the world like a puzzle begging to be solved.
She stripped the story down.
No unnecessary romance.
No filler episodes.
Pure intellect.
Pure tension.
A genius against chaos.
When time snapped back to reality, her fingers were already moving.
She didn't sign her name.
She didn't use Avery Rivers.
She created a mask.
Author: A.R. King
A name with weight.
Neutral.
Impossible to profile.
The title sat at the top of the page.
SHERLOCK – Pilot Episode
She sent it out.
No pitch deck.
No meeting.
No begging.
Just the script.
And then—
She waited.
Channel 9's headquarters were nothing like Titan's glass towers.
The building leaned slightly to the left.
The elevators stalled twice a week.
The reception desk was held together by tape and hope.
Inside the top-floor office, Clara Wu stared at the city through tired eyes.
She hadn't slept properly in weeks.
Channel 9 was dying.
Advertisers were fleeing.
Ratings were collapsing.
Titan-owned networks were bleeding them dry, strangling content supply and talent access with quiet efficiency.
Her assistant knocked softly.
"Ms. Wu," he said. "Another bank call."
"Tell them I'll call back," Clara replied automatically.
He hesitated.
"There's… a script submission."
Clara sighed.
"Put it with the rest."
"It's marked 'urgent,'" he added. "And… it's strange."
She turned.
"How strange?"
"It doesn't follow any of the current formats," he said. "No idol drama beats. No emotional padding."
Clara frowned.
"Title?"
The assistant glanced at the tablet.
"Sherlock."
Something stirred.
"Leave it," she said. "I'll read it myself."
That night, long after the office emptied, Clara sat alone with the script.
She expected to skim.
She didn't.
Ten minutes in, she leaned forward.
Twenty minutes in, she forgot about the cold coffee beside her.
By page thirty, her heart was pounding.
This wasn't television as she knew it.
This was precision.
Every line had purpose.
Every scene advanced intellect, tension, and mystery.
The protagonist wasn't likable.
He was necessary.
When she finished, Clara sat back slowly.
Her hands were trembling.
"This…" she whispered. "This could save us."
She didn't see a show.
She saw survival.
Ratings.
Sponsorships.
A cultural moment Titan couldn't own.
She slammed the intercom.
"Find this 'A.R. King,'" Clara ordered.
Her voice cut through the empty building like a blade.
"I don't care if you have to dig up the whole city."
Her eyes burned.
"If we don't get this script," she said, "we close our doors by Christmas."
Back in the basement, the System chimed.
[External Interest Detected.][Source: Channel 9 Broadcasting][Urgency Level: Critical]
Avery looked at the notification.
Elias leaned over her shoulder.
"Channel 9," he read. "They're bleeding."
"They're perfect," Avery replied.
Another alert appeared.
[Offer Incoming – Preliminary Inquiry]
Avery didn't respond.
She let it sit.
Pressure worked both ways.
She turned to Elias.
"Prepare a shell entity," she said. "Production-only. No trace to me."
Elias smiled thinly.
"Already drafting."
"Good," Avery said. "We don't negotiate from hunger. We negotiate from mystery."
The System chimed again.
[Channel 9 Request Escalated.]—Exclusive Rights Inquiry—Profit Share Proposal—Fast-Track Production Option
Avery leaned back.
The Queen's Gambit was unfolding across industries now.
Music.
Film.
Television.
Different boards.
Same war.
"Marcus thinks he controls distribution," she said softly. "He forgot about ideas."
Elias glanced at the screen.
"And what happens when Titan realizes 'A.R. King' is you?"
Avery's smile returned.
"They won't," she said. "Not until it's too late."
Outside, the city lights flickered.
Inside Titan's tower, executives laughed, unaware.
And somewhere between a dying network and a nameless script—
Avery Rivers was about to turn television into her next weapon.
End of Chapter 13