A high-level meeting was taking place at 20th Century Fox.
The room was filled with smoke, and five men sat around a circular table, all with grim expressions.
Present were Co-Chairman and CEO Bill Mechanic, Co-Chairman and President Tom Rothman, COO Jack Howard, Head of Production Jim Gianopulos, and Producer Grant Hill, who was also overseeing "Titanic."
Jack Howard was the first to speak, his frustration evident. "James is asking for too much. This is already affecting the normal operations of 20th Century Fox!"
The company's financial situation was not looking good. Supporting James Cameron's production had drained their funds, and now he was demanding an additional $20 million. The only way to accommodate this would be to take out a bank loan.
Any other director who repeatedly made such unreasonable demands would have been fired long ago. However, this project was being personally overseen by Bill Mechanic, who had taken a firm stance on its importance. That made things complicated.
Tom Rothman, the company's second-in-command, took a slow drag from his cigar before turning to Grant Hill. "Grant, tell us—what the hell is he doing?"
Grant Hill looked uncomfortable. "James… he's a great director, but he's borderline obsessive."
Jack Howard scoffed. "Obsessive? I think you're just enabling him! What exactly does James want? To bankrupt 20th Century Fox?!"
Grant hesitated, stealing a glance at Bill Mechanic. If it weren't for Bill's unwavering support of Cameron, he would have already wrested control of the production.
"Alright, we can discuss this without shouting," Bill Mechanic interjected calmly, maintaining order while making it clear that his authority was not to be challenged. "Jim, what's your take?"
Jim Gianopulos was a highly valued executive, trusted by Rupert Murdoch himself. He pondered for a moment before saying, "No matter what, we can't continue giving James unconditional support."
"But he's asking for $20 million right now!" Bill Mechanic snapped, refusing to let Jim deflect the issue.
Jim sighed, clearly irritated. "There are only three possible solutions, and I think we all know what they are."
Tom Rothman's eyes gleamed. He saw an opportunity.
This meeting wasn't just about discussing problems—it was about power struggles. As company president, he had long coveted Bill Mechanic's position. With "Titanic" plunging the company into chaos, Rothman saw his chance.
"What three solutions?" he asked, smiling at Jim with barely concealed ambition.
Jim hesitated but then relented. "First, we take out a bank loan. Second, we secure external financing. Third…"
"What's the third?" Rothman pressed eagerly.
Jim took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. "We replace the director."
The room fell silent.
Tom Rothman's smile widened as he studied Bill Mechanic's expression, which had darkened considerably.
James Cameron wasn't just another director—he was Bill's personal gamble. Replacing him wasn't just about swapping directors; it was about challenging Bill's authority.
Bill Mechanic narrowed his eyes. "You want to replace Cameron?"
Jim nodded. "At this point, it's the best option. The company's financial struggles and the indefinite delays on 'Titanic' all stem from James Cameron. If we don't solve this problem, throwing more money at it won't help."
Tom Rothman chimed in, clearly enjoying the moment. "Jim may sound harsh, but he's not wrong. 'Titanic' has dragged on for too long. It was supposed to release next summer, but at James's pace, we'll be lucky to make the Christmas slot."
Grant Hill nodded. "He's right. At this rate, there's no way it'll be ready by summer."
Jack Howard frowned. "Then let's replace him. James has caused too much trouble already. We can't keep this up."
One by one, they all agreed: Cameron had to go.
Bill Mechanic didn't respond immediately. Instead, he lit a cigar and took his time, deep in thought.
As CEO, he had the power to override them all and continue supporting Cameron. If the film succeeded, he would be the hero. But if it failed…
If he replaced Cameron now, it would be a temporary setback. He could recover. But if he let Cameron ruin the project, he would be the one getting fired.
Was this the moment to go all-in?
Or was it time to retreat?
He exhaled a slow stream of smoke and asked, "You all want to replace him?"
Everyone nodded.
Tom Rothman looked smug.
*Still want to hold your ground, old friend?* he seemed to say. *If you had listened to me earlier, we wouldn't be in this mess.*
"Titanic's" initial budget had been $85 million. Now it had ballooned to $160 million. And Cameron still wanted another $20 million? Was he insane?
Tom Rothman leaned forward, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "So, Bill, what's it gonna be? Do we fire James Cameron?"
---
Meanwhile, across town, a young man named Dunn sat in his dingy motel room, staring at the ceiling in frustration.
He had been fired.
Without a chance to explain, he had been thrown off set and left to fend for himself.
His current home was a rundown motel filled with struggling actors and filmmakers chasing the Hollywood dream. But the place was filthy, damp, and noisy—completely unlivable.
He had exactly $500 to his name.
Hollywood dreams? They felt like a cruel joke.
Lying spread-eagle on his bed, Dunn sighed. "Man, it's not that I didn't try. Hollywood is just too damn ruthless."
He was sure he had been set up—probably by some low-level production assistant.
His mistake? Getting too close to Kate Winslet. Some people just couldn't handle it.
"I was too naive."
He reached for a pair of sunglasses from his nightstand.
These weren't just any sunglasses—they were what had led to his rebirth. Back in his previous life, he had bought them from a street vendor… and then gotten hit on the head with a brick, waking up in 1996.
As he slid them on, the world around him shifted.
*Wait… what's this?*
On the inside frame, he noticed a tiny button. Out of curiosity, he pressed it.
A digital interface appeared before his eyes, a holographic overlay that only he could see.
The interface was intricate but well-organized—centered entirely around Hollywood.
It had three main sections: Production, Directing, and Acting. Under each, there were dozens of numerical stats, likely representing the industry's key players.
In the upper right corner, an icon blinked. He tapped it.
**"Newbie Gift Pack: Would you like to claim it?"**
Dunn hesitated, then tapped "Confirm."
A new message popped up: **"Congratulations! You have received: Mirror Possession (1), Contract Theft (2)."**
*Contract Theft?*
Dunn tapped on it, and a description appeared:
**"Contract Theft allows you to steal any existing or pending Hollywood contract. You gain an additional use every time you win an Oscar."**
His eyes widened. *Stealing contracts? That's insane!*
Then, a thought struck him.
*James Cameron.*
The man had fired him without a second thought. Now, he had the chance to return the favor.
Dunn smirked, activated "Contract Theft," and searched for James Cameron.
There it was—his "Titanic" director contract.
With a few taps, he erased Cameron's name and signed his own.
Dunn Walker.
*Let's see how you like being fired, Cameron.*
"Are you sure you want to use the 'Contract Snatch' skill?"
"Confirm."
The interface changed again, and a long list of contracts appeared in the center, with numbers below indicating a total of 18,536 pages.
"Did it really just list every ongoing contract in Hollywood? That's way too many!"
Thankfully, Dunn spotted a search bar in the top left corner. He typed in "James Cameron," and the overwhelming list instantly shrank to a much more manageable size.
James Cameron currently had 12 active contracts.
Among them were agreements with his agent, assistant, and business partners... and, of course, contracts with 20th Century Fox for *Titanic*—including his producer contract, director contract, and screenwriter contract.
Dunn grinned. These were all confidential business agreements, yet he could casually browse through them like an open book. Whether this "Contract Theft" ability was real or not, just having this search function was already incredible.
He first checked Cameron's producer contract—it was straightforward: a $3 million fee.
The director contract was much more complex. It included a base salary of $5 million plus 10% of the global box office earnings.
The screenwriter contract was the simplest, paying only $350,000.
Between these three options, only a fool wouldn't choose the director's contract.
Forget the $5 million salary—just think about that 10% cut of the global box office.
If *Titanic* really made over $1.8 billion worldwide...
Dunn smirked and, without hesitation, selected the director's contract. He erased James Cameron's two signatures and confidently wrote in his own name—Dunn Walker.
**patreon:belamy20**