Here is another bonus chapter for you. All thanks to — ShadowSovereign 790
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Then, almost instinctively, he asked, "By the way… The computer… It'll handle serious programming, right? I read on some forums that Apple developed a new graphical OS that's supposedly comparable to Windows architecture?"
Marvin nodded. "Anything you can throw at it. Graphical applications. Networking. Operating systems. Whatever you decide to build."
Mark's grin returned. "Perfect. I've got... maybe six ideas already."
"I believe you."
Before either of them could continue, a familiar voice echoed across the gymnasium.
"Marvin!"
Both boys turned.
Lindsay stood near the center of the floor, waving a Polaroid camera over her head. "Get over here! We're taking graduation pictures!"
Around her, half a dozen classmates were already laughing and trying to squeeze into the frame.
Marvin smiled. "Looks like we're being summoned."
Mark adjusted his backpack. "...You think I can be in the picture too?"
"Of course."
As they started walking, Mark quietly drifted half a step closer to Marvin.
He wasn't trying to be manipulative.
It simply felt like the safest place to stand. Mark grinned, his posture straightening. He quickly did the social math in his head. ‘If I stand right next to Marvin in the graduation photos, the proximity to his fame might actually elevate my status when high school starts.’
Marvin noticed immediately.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘Some things never change,’ he thought.
Marvin caught the calculation in Mark's eyes and smirked.
‘Who says Mark hasn't changed?’ Marvin thought. ‘He's finally learning how to play the game.’
Mark still understands one very important rule.
Stand next to interesting people, and interesting opportunities have a habit of finding you.
---
The executive boardroom at Walt Disney Studios in Burbank had seen decades of victories.
Framed posters lined the walls—animated classics, live-action hits, billion-dollar brands before anyone had started calling them that. Every frame was a reminder that empires weren't built one film at a time. They were built by finding stories families returned to generation after generation.
This morning, however, nobody seemed interested in admiring the walls.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Folders lay open across the polished conference table. Coffee had gone untouched. Every executive present knew exactly why they had been called in.
The atmosphere currently suffocating the long table was far from magical. It was tense, calculating, and fraught with the internal politics of a kingdom in transition.
As the operational leaders of several recent, highly successful key projects, Reed McCas and Robert Eisner had been granted an exception to sit in on this specific strategy meeting.
The person currently holding the floor, however, was none other than Disney's formidable CEO, Michael Eisner.
He glanced down at the quarterly reports for barely a second before setting them aside.
"The Parent Trap."
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't have to be.
Everyone in the room straightened instinctively.
"Robert," he barked, his eyes locking onto his named nephew. "We've got a successful family film, excellent audience scores, and two years of momentum slipping away." He looked toward Robert. "So tell me why we still don't have a sequel in development. We have a massive, profitable property sitting idle while the principal cast ages out of demographic.”
Robert Eisner swallowed hard, instantly noticing the deep displeasure etched into his uncle's face. He knew how to navigate these waters. He cleared his throat. "We tried."
Michael raised an eyebrow.
"We've approached Marvin three separate times."
"And?"
"He said no every time."
A few executives exchanged brief glances.
Michael didn't. "He doesn't want to act in it?"
"He doesn't think he should."
Robert slid a folder across the table. "His exact point was pretty simple. The audience bought him as a clever twelve-year-old. They're not going to buy him sneaking around summer camp playing the same kid at fifteen."
A faint chuckle escaped someone farther down the table.
Robert wasn't finished. “And... he's right."
That finally drew Michael's attention.
Robert leaned back.
"He's grown nearly half a foot. His voice has dropped. Every public appearance over the last year has pushed him into a different image. Whether we like it or not, people don't see him as the cute kid from two summers ago anymore."
Someone near the end of the table nodded. "The hunting photos didn't help."
The other Disney directors present around the table nodded slowly in agreement, mentally recalling Marvin's current, handsome public image—Indeed, trying to force him back into the exact same comedic role might be commercially counterproductive.
A ripple of restrained laughter moved through the room.
Michael allowed himself half a smile. "No... they certainly didn't."
The newspapers had printed them for weeks.
Marvin standing beside professional hunters, a traditional bow resting casually in one hand.
There was nothing remotely childlike about those photographs.
Robert continued.
"The good news is he isn't standing in our way."
Michael gestured for him to continue.
"He told us the property is ours to develop. He'll approve a sequel even if he has nothing to do with it."
"That's more generous than most writers."
"It is."
"But," Robert added, "he also thinks we're asking the wrong question."
Michael folded his hands. "Go on."
"He said trying to recreate the original would feel forced."
Carter finally joined the discussion. "The divorce, the separated parents, the twins switching places... that story's finished."
He shrugged. "You can repeat it."
"But audiences will know you're repeating it," Michael finished.
"Exactly."
"He thinks the core concept should be completely rewritten. To keep the franchise fresh for the family demographic, the protagonist should be a young girl discovering her twin.
"So what did Marvin suggest?"
"A new generation."
Robert opened another folder.
“He thinks the core concept should be completely rewritten. To keep the franchise fresh for the family demographic, the protagonist should be a little girl discovering she has a twin."
Michael's fingers tapped once against the table.
"Interesting."
"He even suggested someone."
"Who?"
"Elizabeth Olsen—the youngest of the Olsen sisters—to play the dual role of the daughters.”
"The little sister?"
Robert nodded.
Michael leaned back in his chair.
Now that...
...that was an interesting idea.
Everyone in Hollywood knew the Olsen family.
The twins were a proven brand.
But Jarnette Olsen was another matter entirely.
Michael had negotiated with enough stage parents to know the difference between ambitious and disciplined.
Jarnette belonged firmly in the second category.
She wasn't dazzled by studio logos.
She wasn't intimidated by executives.
She understood contracts, leverage, and timing better than many producers.
The older Olsen sisters had appeared in lucrative Disney television shows before. He had always thought of their parents—specifically their mother, Jarnette—as among the very few genuinely level-headed, dangerous guardians in Hollywood. They were a shrewd, far-sighted family who understood leverage better than most executives.
"What about Elizabeth?" Michael asked, looking up from the folder. "Have we gotten in front of the family yet?"
Robert nodded. "We have."
"And?"
He gave a small, resigned shrug. "Jarnette wasn't hostile. Just... cautious."
Michael wasn't surprised. "Cautious how?"
"She doesn't think Elizabeth's ready to carry a studio picture." Robert rested his forearms on the table. "We've met and formally discussed it," Robert replied, sounding frustrated. "It's just that Elizabeth's mother, Jarnette, believes her daughter is still slightly too young for the pressure of a massive Disney leading role. She was incredibly hesitant to let her enter the entertainment industry full-time right now, so the initial negotiations stalled. She'd rather let her grow up than throw her into a lead role because Disney came calling."
A few executives exchanged knowing looks.
Michael drummed his fingers lightly against the tabletop.
"She's not wrong."
"No," Robert admitted. "She's not."
There was a brief silence before Carter glanced down at his notes.
"There is one thing in our favor."
Michael looked over.
"Elizabeth's already working with Marvin."
That caught his attention.
"The Fox picture?"
Carter nodded.
"Elizabeth actually has a small, supporting flashback role in Marvin's new film, *Hide and Seek*. A few flashback scenes, nothing substantial. But she's been on set with him. So he has already vetted her acting ability on a set.”
"Apparently."
"*Hide and Seek?* So she’s already comfortable working with him,” Michael leaned back in his chair, thinking it over.
Marvin wasn't known for handing out roles as favors. If he'd cast Elizabeth—even in a minor role—he must have seen something worth developing.
That carried more weight than a dozen auditions.
"Keep the conversation alive," Michael said at last.
"No pressure."
"Don't try to bully the family into signing."
Robert nodded.
"We'll stay in touch."
"If she isn't ready this year, maybe she'll be ready next year. Offer her a higher profit if you have to, but try to convince her. We need a new face for the franchise."
Michael closed the folder and reached for another. "Now..."
He looked directly at Robert. "Has Marvin changed his mind about writing the sequel?"
Robert didn't even need to think about it. "No."
"Not even for the right price?"
Another shake of the head. "I offered to reopen the conversation."
"And?"
"He thanked us."
Robert couldn't help smiling. "Then he said no."
A few quiet laughs circled the room.
Michael sighed through his nose. "At least he's consistent."
"He is," Robert agreed. "He doesn't think he can give the project the attention it deserves."
"Busy?"
"More or less." Robert nodded. "He's finishing the third Harry Potter novel, another original book, and his own studio has quietly moved into pre-production on its first independently financed feature."
"The vampire picture?" Carter asked.
Robert nodded once.
"The one Harvey mentioned."
A few people around the table exchanged glances.
Harvey Weinstein hadn't revealed much during their conversations beyond the broad premise. Not a slick vampire action film. Not another supernatural romance.
Just an unusually bleak European-style story about loneliness, childhood, bullying, and an ancient vampire girl.
It sounded... unconventional.
Whether unconventional translated into brilliant or commercially disastrous remained anyone's guess.
Not an action movie.
Not a romance.
None of them had been able to decide whether it sounded brilliant...
...or completely impossible to sell.
Michael tapped his pen against the table. "Anything else?"
Robert hesitated before answering.
"Only indirectly."
"What does that mean?"
"Marvin's legal department has been unusually busy over the past few weeks. Our people have confirmed he's registered several original screenplays through both the Writers Guild and the U.S. Copyright Office."
"Titles?"
Robert shook his head.
"No confirmed list."
"How many?"
"At least four."
That finally drew genuine interest around the table.
"Four?" one executive repeated.
"What are they?"
"No one knows."
Michael studied him. "No one?"
Robert shook his head. "That's all anyone has been able to verify. Whatever they are, they're locked down tighter than anything I've seen from an independent studio."
"Meaning?" Michael asked.
"Every physical copy is numbered. Everyone allowed to read one signs a strict confidentiality agreement. Distribution is limited to an extremely small circle inside Marvin's company. Even CAA representing actors haven't seen more than the project currently entering development. "Whoever reads those scripts signs confidentiality agreements. Copies are numbered. Access is limited to a handful of people inside his company.”
Robert nodded.
"The vampire film," Carter said.
"Exactly."
Michael leaned back.
"So nobody knows what the other three are?"
"Not with certainty."
There were rumors, of course.
Hollywood always produced rumors.
Some claimed Marvin had written another family picture.
Others insisted he was developing a courtroom drama.
One particularly imaginative producer swore Marvin had somehow written an enormous science-fiction epic that no studio except his own could afford to produce.
None of it could be verified.
"What about our contacts?" Michael asked evenly. "Agents. Attorneys. Guild people."
Robert exchanged a brief look with Carter before answering.
"We could probably learn more if we pushed."
The room fell quiet.
"But?"
"But we'd be crossing a line."
Robert chose his words carefully.
"The Writers Guild treats registrations as confidential. Scripts under NDA are even more sensitive. If word ever reached Marvin that Disney was trying to pry into material he'd deliberately secured, we'd damage a relationship that's worth far more than satisfying our curiosity."
"And the Guild wouldn't appreciate it either," Carter added. "Neither would the agencies. This town runs on trust almost as much as contracts, favors, and red couches."
Michael considered that for several seconds.
He wasn't interested in gossip.
He was interested in leverage.
Leverage disappeared the moment people stopped taking your calls.
"So," he said at last, setting the pen back on the table, "we assume he has four scripts sitting in a vault."
"Yes."
"And we wait."
Robert nodded.
"Until he decides to make the first move."
Michael gave a slow, almost reluctant smile.
"Damn kid."
Every few months he seemed to add another valuable piece of intellectual property to his library.