Redoing My Life (Modern Family)

"Welcome back to Entertainment Tonight... It looks like Hollywood's wunderkind has been very busy lately."

I was hunched over my laptop, wrestling with the climax of the Superman movie script. It was my fourth draft, and frustration was beginning to set in. The TV murmured in the background, providing some white noise, but when I heard my name mentioned, it immediately caught my attention.

[Footage of Vin Diesel and Daniel walking out of Vin's house, shaking hands, laughing.]

Mark Steines: "That's right, Nancy. Daniel was recently spotted with none other than Vin Diesel. And now it's official—there's going to be another Fast & Furious movie, titled Fast 5, and it's written by none other than... Daniel Adler."

Nancy: "That kid is everywhere, Mark!"

Mark: "Not a kid anymore! Mr. Adler has been having quite the run these past few years—winning an Oscar, grabbing other prestigious awards, releasing yet another bestseller, and let's not forget, launching his very own production company!"

Nancy: "It looks like he's making quite the golden touch everywhere he goes. He's even set to work with Leonardo DiCaprio in a mysterious upcoming project. Details are still tightly under wraps, but sources are calling it 'the next big prestige film.'"

Mark (chuckling): "A blockbuster franchise and a prestige film? Hollywood's most wanted right now. And—wait for it—he's only 19. Or is it 20? Either way, it's insane how young he is to be doing all of this."

[Cut to some red-carpet footage of Daniel.]

Nancy: "Absolutely, and speaking of big things, the next major film he's involved in is Batman Begins, the very first movie coming out of the newly minted DC Studios. With Adler as the CCO of the studios, fans are expecting a bold new take on the beloved comic book character. You know, Mark, I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot of him in the future."

Mark: "Agreed, Nancy. He's the future of Hollywood, and we can't wait to see what's next from this young powerhouse."

I turned away from the TV with a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

'Good press is always welcome,' I mused.

Returning my gaze to the laptop screen, the blinking cursor seemed to mock me. I sighed heavily. I needed to finish the climax of the Superman script, but the words just weren't flowing today.

"Come on, think like Clark," I muttered, my fingers hovering uselessly above the keys.

Still nothing. The cursor blinked back at me, unrelenting.

My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. I glanced at the screen—Paul Knight, head of development at Midas.

"Must be calling with updates," I surmised, answering the call.

"Hey, Danny, just calling to update you," Paul's familiar voice came through.

"Been expecting you, Paul," I replied, leaning back in my chair.

"Did you see the videos of Keanu I sent you?" Paul asked.

"I did. The man's a beast," I said, a grin spreading as I recalled the footage.

"He sure is. Our stuntmen/Directers have him learning all sorts of new martial arts," Paul continued.

"Doesn't Keanu already know a lot of martial arts?" I queried.

"He does, but they're pushing him even further—judo, jujutsu, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, arnis, tactical gun drills... the whole nine yards. Oh, and before I forget, Keanu asked if we could arrange for some real law enforcement or military guys to help him train."

I nodded. "Can we make that happen? Any military contacts?"

"Absolutely," Paul affirmed. "I actually know some former Navy SEALs."

"Perfect. Let's get them on board. Make sure Keanu has every resource he needs," I said.

"Oh, and one more thing," Paul continued, "we also need to get him some stunt driving lessons."

"Stunt driving?" I asked, surprised. "Do we need that? I thought we had stuntmen for that kind of thing."

"Well, our directors requested it—and you chose them, remember?" Paul reminded me, a hint of teasing in his voice.

I chuckled softly. "Alright, fair point. Have Emma look into it. So, update me on pre-production," I said, shifting back to business.

"It's going well," Paul said, then added with a sigh, "other than, you know, the issue with Willem Dafoe."

"Oh, did he say no?" I asked, my brow furrowing.

"No," Paul clarified. "Like I said yesterday, his schedule's a little tight, but he's trying to make it work."

"Keep talking to his people. If we have to adjust a few scenes to fit his schedule, we'll do it. I really want Dafoe on board," I said firmly.

I didn't want to make any changes to the cast.

"I'm on it. I'll personally make sure of it," Paul assured me.

"We are on track to start principal photography in October," he added.

"That's good news," I thought, feeling a small wave of relief wash over me.

I could hear the rustling of papers on Paul's end.

"Oh, and on the financial side," Paul began, "I'm pretty sure we won't go over budget. We're capping it at $30 million. Since we're shooting in New York, their tax credit program is a goldmine if you know how to use it. We're getting back 30% of our production spend—locations, crew salaries, post-production, the works. And since we're filming in one of their priority zones, we might even push that percentage higher. That's a huge buffer for our budget."

I nodded, feeling reassured. I stood to make quite a lot of money from this film. The actors had agreed to an upfront payment, which was manageable, but I knew that if the movie overperformed, when it came time to make a sequel, there would definitely be renegotiations. Still, the future looked promising.

"Good, good," I said, satisfied. "We need to quickly jump into The Revenant after this. That's the big one."

"Yes, the prestige project," Paul agreed. "Definitely a big one." He chuckled. "Thank God you got Leo on board. Who knows, we might even get him that elusive Oscar."

"Even better outcome," I said with a smile, envisioning the potential accolades and publicity the movie could bring.

"Alright, Danny, I'll call you later," Paul said. "Going to call my Navy SEAL buddy and get this moving."

"Take it easy, Paul. No need to stress it," I replied before ending the call.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Margot walk in, her hair slightly tousled, wearing her typical casual attire—leggings and a loose shirt—holding a glass of something healthy-looking, probably a smoothie.

She had been busy lately, especially with two films: Bonnie and Clyde, where she played Bonnie, and Clash of the Titans, though her role in Clash of the Titans was much smaller. Somehow, the shooting dates for both films ended up being too close for comfort, putting her on a constantly tight schedule.

"Still having writer's block?" she asked, sipping on her smoothie and giving me a soft, sympathetic smile.

"Yeah, a bit," I replied.

Margot took a seat next to me, her eyes roaming over the clutter on my desk—papers, draft pages, files, even some old napkins with scribbled notes.

"You know," she said in a teasing tone, "maybe you should tidy things up. I heard that helps."

I looked at the desk; it was indeed very messy.

"What's this?" she asked, picking up a random file from the pile. She squinted at the title: John Wick Productions.

"Wait..." She started flipping through the file. "This says you started another production company?" She looked up at me, her eyes wide in surprise.

I blinked. "You really don't know about this?"

"Know about what?" she asked, still half-buried in the file.

I let out a laugh. "My dear, this is how I'm going to make a lot of money. This is how studios make money."

"Explain," she said, leaning in.

"It's a shell company," I said.

"Why do you need a shell company?" she asked.

"Alright," I said, rolling my chair closer to her. "I'll break it down for you."

Margot nodded, clearly intrigued.

"See, before we begin production, we create a whole new company like John Wick Productions. It, of course, has no connection with Midas; they are, on paper, separate."

"Let's just say that John Wick makes a lot of money at the box office—like $800 million."

"That sounds great—you already made a huge profit," Margot said.

"Now, half of that money goes to the theaters as their cut, so we're left with $400 million for Midas and Stardust Studios, since they're distributing the film."

"Okay, that makes sense," she said, following along.

"Out of that $400 million, Stardust takes a distribution fee of 15%. So that's $60 million to Stardust, and we're left with $340 million that flows to John Wick Productions," I explained, holding up the file Margot had found.

"Now, after taxes, that would be even less," I added.

"How do you plan on avoiding that?" she asked.

I smiled. "We just have to do some accounting magic—we need to do some Hollywood accounting and show that the movie actually lost money."

"Wait, what?" Margot asked.

"So, John Wick Productions has $340 million in revenue, right?"

"But now, it has to pay out expenses—and this is where things get creative."

"Creative or illegal?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I grinned. "Creative, not illegal. For example, John Wick Productions has to pay Midas for things like soundstage rentals. Midas charges them $50 million for renting studio space, even if it really costs way less."

"$50 million?" Margot repeated, her eyes wide.

I continued. "And it doesn't stop there. For post-production—editing, special effects, all of that—Midas charges another $60 million, even if the actual cost is much less."

Margot blinked, looking stunned. "Wait, you're just... overcharging yourself?"

"Exactly." I nodded. "It looks like John Wick Productions is spending a fortune, but it's all just money moving between pockets."

She shook her head, astonished. "That's... wow. So you're creating expenses out of thin air just to make the movie look like it's losing money?"

"Bingo," I said, smirking. "It's called Hollywood accounting for a reason. In the end, John Wick Productions reports $260 million in expenses. So even though the revenue was $340 million, after those expenses, it only shows $80 million left as profit. And that's before we use more tricks, like depreciation, to make that profit vanish entirely."

Margot leaned back in her chair, eyes wide, shaking her head. "I had no idea it worked like this. And all this is legal?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Questionable ethics? Sure. But legal? Absolutely. The idea is to shift as much profit away from John Wick Productions as possible, so on paper, it looks like there's nothing left to tax."

She looked genuinely stunned, her gaze fixed on the papers. "And what about the actors, the crew... do they get anything from that profit?"

"Depends on their contracts. If they signed for net profits, they're out of luck—because we're showing no profit. But if they were smart or had a good lawyer, they'd have signed for a percentage of gross profits. In that case, they'd get paid based on the $800 million box office, not what's left over."

"So, basically... you get to keep all the money while paying out as little as possible."

I nodded, leaning back and shrugging a bit. "That's how you stay afloat in this business, Margot. You make the system work for you. And here's the kicker—Midas gets paid from all those inflated charges: studio rentals, post-production, marketing... all of it. And there's still more."

She stared at me. "More?"

"Yeah. Ancillary revenue. Merchandising, DVD rights, international distribution—all of that is handled separately from John Wick Productions. We control those directly, so they don't get reported under the production company's books."

"For example, let's say merchandising makes $100 million. DVD, streaming, and TV rights bring in another $50 million. International rights add another $100 million. So while John Wick Productions shows no profit, Midas makes like $500 million off the movie by the end of it all."

Margot leaned back, her jaw slightly dropped. "That's insane... I had no idea."

I chuckled, shrugging. "It's all part of the game. You either learn to play it, or you get played. It's how we're going to keep funding all these projects."

She looked at me with an almost accusatory glare. "You're screwing over actors, you know that, right? People like me."

I raised my hands defensively. "Hey, there's a reason some actors take upfront fees. Plus, the smart ones have lawyers who can negotiate a cut of the real profits—the real profits, beyond all the accounting gymnastics."

Margot arched an eyebrow, not looking entirely convinced. "Yeah, well, I think I need to talk to my own lawyer." She folded her arms, but there was a teasing glint in her eyes. "Seriously though, if you ever try to screw me over, I'll come for you."

"Look, I have no intention of screwing over actors or writers. But avoiding a bit of tax? Yeah, I'm guilty as charged." I shrugged. "Besides, that's how the system works. It's been like this for decades, and it'll keep being this way until someone with actual power decides to change it."

She stared at me, her expression softening after a moment. Finally, she shook her head. "Just, please... don't end up in jail, Daniel."

I chuckled, a bit more lightly than I felt. "Don't worry. The system is built for people like me to get away with this stuff. I'll be fine."

"Also, you already helped me evade taxes when you bought that damn vase," I said.

Margot laughed, then fell quiet for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought. After a beat, she looked at me again, her eyes softer this time. "Alright, enough of that," she said with a smile. "How about we get out of here for a while? Maybe go to the park, take a walk? It might help clear your mind."

I returned her smile, appreciating the offer. "Yeah... yeah, let's do that. I could definitely use it."

"Good," Margot said, standing up and leaning over to kiss me on the cheek. "I'll go get ready." She walked out of the room.

I stayed behind, watching her leave. Letting out a sigh, I stood up myself, stretching out the tension in my back. Just as I was about to head out, I noticed my phone vibrating on the desk.

It was a message from Lucy.

Harvey Weinstein's office called. Wants to talk.

I frowned. Why on earth would Weinstein be trying to get in touch with me? I quickly typed back:

Why?

A moment later, my phone buzzed with her reply.

They didn't say why.

I narrowed my eyes, my gut instinct already putting me on edge. I tapped back a quick response:

Tell them I'm busy.

I muttered to myself as I walked out of the room, "the fuck is he contacting me for"

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Beginning of the short Harvey Weinstein plotline.

Also Happy New Year

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You can read up to chapter 155

p.a.t.r.eon.com/Illusiveone (check the chapter summary i have it there as well)