The morning of the success party didn't begin with champagne; it began with a wire transfer.
Daniel sat in his new ho in Toluca Lake, the silence of the neighborhood a stark contrast to the rattling pipes of Tom's old apartnt. He had spent the first few hours of the day finalizing the second round of bonuses for the crew. The theatrical run of 12 Angry n had concluded at a staggering $29.5 million, and after the distribution fees and the initial advance, the Miller Studios coffers were overflowing.
He didn't just pay them what was fair; he paid them what was life-changing. Each of the core crew mbers—Sarah, Sam, and Benny—received an additional $50,000. It was a gesture that solidified their loyalty, but for Daniel, it was simply the right thing to do. He rembered the sll of the dilapidated dance studio and the taste of the cardboard sandwiches. Success was only sweet if the people who helped you bake the cake got a slice.
By late afternoon, the house was a hive of activity. Tom was in the guest room, wrestling with a tie, while a professional tailor adjusted Daniel's choice for the evening: a deep, maroon-colored three-piece suite. It wasn't the standard black-tie tuxedo. It was a statent piece—bold, sophisticated, and a subtle nod to the "blood, sweat, and tears" that had built his current standing.
"You look like you're about to annex a small country, Dan," Tom remarked, walking into the living room. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, his posture significantly more confident than it had been a month ago.
"I'm just making sure the crew doesn't lose face," Daniel replied, checking the set of his shoulders in the mirror. "Tonight isn't about . It's about Miller Studios. We need to look like we belong."
Parked in the driveway was Daniel's first major personal purchase: a Porsche Taycan in a muted, tallic Neptune Blue. It wasn't a screaming supercar ant for a teenager's bedroom poster, but it was sleek, electric, and carried an aura of understated power. It was the car of a man who appreciated engineering and comfort over raw, noisy attention.
"Ready?" Daniel asked, tossing the keys to the valet-to-be later and sliding into the driver's seat.
"Let's do it," Tom said, settling into the leather interior. "Chateau Marmont is waiting."
---
The night air at the Chateau Marmont felt different than it had only a few months ago. Back then, Daniel was a na spoken in hushed, mocking tones in the corners of dive bars. Tonight, the iconic castle on the hill was bathed in gold light, and every single person inside was waiting for a glimpse of the man who had turned ninety thousand dollars into a thirty-million-dollar earthquake.
Daniel pulled the Porsche Taycan to the curb, handing the keys to the valet.
As they stepped onto the red carpet, the wall of flashbulbs was nearly blinding. The paparazzi weren't just taking "filler" shots anymore. They were screaming his na, jostling for a clear angle of the maroon three-piece suit that fit Daniel with surgical precision. He didn't stop for long—just a few calm nods before heading inside.
---
The interior of the Chateau was a sprawling, opulent ss of Hollywood royalty and indie upstarts. But before the studio heads or the "Superhit" actors could reach him, Daniel was intercepted by his own.
The twelve jurors were all there. They weren't the rumpled, sweat-stained n from the dance studio anymore. Elias Thorne looked like a statesman in a tailored charcoal suit, his eyes bright with a pride that went beyond the box office numbers. Leo, Victor, and Caleb were huddled near the bar, looking like they were still trying to convince themselves this wasn't a dream.
"Look at this guy," Victor laughed, clapping Daniel on the shoulder. "From a storage closet in Van Nuys to the Chateau. I'm still waiting for soone to kick out."
"Nobody's kicking you out, Victor," Daniel said, smiling as he shook their hands. "I heard you signed with CAA today?"
"Yeah," Victor said, his voice dropping an octave, sounding a bit stunned. "They called twice before noon. I told them I had to check with my 'manager'—who is actually just my sister—to sound busy. It's... it's a lot, Dan. Thank you."
Sarah, the cinematographer, walked up and pulled Daniel into a brief, tight hug. She looked stunning in an erald gown, but her eyes were glassy. "I was just telling Sam... rember Moondance? How we had to pick and choose who got to go because we couldn't afford the flights? Seeing everyone here tonight... fully dressed, paid up, respected... it's everything."
"You earned every bit of it, Sarah," Daniel said. "And the next one? We won't be checking the budget for flights."
---
Daniel navigated the crowd, dodging a few overly-eager producers who wanted to "hop on a call," until he found the corner he was looking for.
Tucked away near the stone balustrade, far from the center of the dance floor, stood three people who looked like they were trying very hard to disappear into the masonry.
They were the ones Daniel had tracked down using the [Talent Hunt] ability. He had spent his charges carefully, scouring the fringes of the industry for the souls he knew were destined for greatness. These weren't stars yet. They were "background characters" and theater hopefuls, people who spent their days in casting offices and their nights waiting tables or doing bit parts in soaps.
As Daniel approached, he saw Sebastian Stan (22) shift his weight, looking at his drink as if it were an alien object. Beside him, Christian Bale (27) was staring at the crowd with an intensity that bordered on nervousness, his jaw tight. Florence Pugh (22) was the only one who seed to have a grip on herself, though her fingers were twisted tightly around her clutch.
Daniel didn't wait for them to notice him. He walked right into their circle.
"I'm glad you all could make it," Daniel said, his tone warm and intentionally low-key to keep the surrounding vultures away.
The three of them jumped slightly. Sebastian Stan actually let out a small, awkward cough.
"Mr. Miller," Sebastian said, his voice a little higher than usual. "Uh, hi. Wow. I... I didn't think you'd actually co over here."
"Why wouldn't I?" Daniel asked. "I invited you."
"We just... we're not exactly the 'Chateau Marmont' crowd," Christian Bale said. His British accent was thick, and he looked genuinely baffled. "I'm Christian. We t briefly at a workshop three years ago, but I didn't think you'd rember. I've mostly been doing bit parts in period dramas that nobody watches."
"I rember," Daniel said. "And I don't care about your resu, Christian. I care about what I saw in that workshop. You have a fire that most of the people in the center of this room have lost."
Christian blinked, his mouth opening slightly before he closed it, looking floored.
Florence Pugh cleared her throat, her husky voice trembling just a fraction. "Mr. Miller, I'm Florence. I... I've seen 12 Angry n four tis. I had to sneak into the theater for two of them because I'm a bit short on cash this month. That scene with Juror Eight and the knife... I've never seen anyone use silence like that. It's the reason I'm still trying to do this."
"Call Daniel," he said, turning to her. "And if you liked the silence in that movie, I think you're going to love what I have planned next."
He looked at the three of them. They were staring at him with a mixture of awe and disbelief. To them, Daniel Miller was a myth—the guy who beat the system. Being invited to his party was one thing; having him stand there and tell them he liked their work was another entirely. It was like a struggling indie musician suddenly having a seat at the table with a legend.
"Listen," Daniel said, leaning in. "I know the trades are talking about my next project. The budget is going to be massive. Legendary Pictures just gave us the green light for Star Wars."
Sebastian Stan's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Wait... the $100 million project? The one everyone's calling 'the craziest jump in history'?"
"That's the one," Daniel said. "And I'm not casting A-listers. I don't want people who have already 'made it.' I want the people who are hungry. I want the people who are going to define the next thirty years."
He looked at Sebastian. "Sebastian, I have a role for you. A farm boy who becos sothing more. Soone who thinks his world is small until it isn't."
He turned to Christian. "Christian, there's a pilot. A rogue. A man who pretends he doesn't care about anything until he finds a reason to fight."
Finally, he looked at Florence. "And Florence... I need a princess who doesn't need saving. A leader who can stand up to a galactic empire without blinking."
The silence in the small circle was heavy. Florence looked like she was about to cry, but she forced a laugh instead, a quick, breathless sound. "You... you're serious? You're offering us... screen tests for Star Wars?"
"I'm offering you the chance to prove right," Daniel said. "I'll have Tom send over the sides on Monday. Don't worry about the 'industry' tonight. Just enjoy the food. You belong here as much as anyone else."
"Thank you," Christian whispered, his intensity replaced by a profound, humble gratitude. "Really. Thank you, Daniel."
Daniel gave them a final nod and started to move back toward the crowd. He could feel their eyes on his back—the sheer, life-altering shock of the mont radiating off them. He knew exactly what they were feeling. Their world had just tilted on its axis. Tomorrow, they'd wake up in their small apartnts, but they wouldn't be "struggling actors" anymore. They would be the people Daniel Miller had chosen.
---
As he moved back toward the bar, Daniel found Tom, who was watching the exchange from a distance.
"You really know how to make soone's night, don't you?" Tom asked, handing Daniel a fresh drink. "Those kids look like they just saw a ghost."
"They saw a door opening, Tom," Daniel said, looking at the trio. They were talking frantically now, Sebastian Stan gesturing with his hands while Christian Bale leaned against the wall, looking like he finally had permission to breathe. "And they're the only ones who can walk through it."
"The jurors want to talk to you again," Tom said, nodding toward the other side of the room. "Elias is holding court with a producer from Daylight Studios, but he keeps looking over here. He's like a proud father, Dan."
Daniel walked over to the original crew. The jurors were the heart of Miller Studios. They were the proof of his success.
"Daniel!" Elias called out, his voice booming over the music. "I was just telling this gentleman here that if he wants to see real directing, he needs to watch the bathroom scene in Act Two. He wants to do a cao in a superhero flick. I told him he has to talk to you first."
"I'm just the director, Elias," Daniel joked. "Your career is yours."
"Not this one," Elias said, his hand landing heavy and warm on Daniel's shoulder. "We all know who built the ship, Dan. We're just happy to be on deck."
The night went on, a blur of "charming" conversations and industry networking. Daniel was the perfect host—witty, approachable, but possessing a firm undercurrent that let everyone know he wasn't looking for a boss. He was looking for partners.
As the party began to wind down, Daniel stood on the balcony of the Chateau, looking out at the sprawling, glittering carpet of Los Angeles.
His "Face Card" was indeed doing work. He had noticed several famous actresses and influencers glancing his way throughout the night, and the paparazzi photos from the red carpet were already blowing up on Instagram. The "aloof, handso director" persona was a hit, but to Daniel, it was just another tool.
Tom walked up, exhaling a long plu of cigar smoke. "The Horizon guys are happy. The OTT bidding war is up to $18 million. And the Star Wars rumor? It's officially the only thing anyone is talking about. You've done it, Dan. You're officially the most talked about man in LA tonight."
"Good," Daniel said, looking at the moon. "Because we're about to do sothing much bigger than a success party."
"Yeah?" Tom asked. "What's that?"
Daniel looked at the three actors in the corner, then back at the city. "We're going to give them a reason to believe in movies again."
He took a business card from his pocket—one that a high-level executive from Legendary had practically forced into his hand—and tucked it away.
"On Monday, we start the screen tests," Daniel said. "I want the sets ready. I want the costus roughed out. We're going to show them that 12 Angry n was a prologue."
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A/N: You already know the goals for the week.
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