The Maker: Hollywood

By the second week industry had expected the usual collapse. During this era, a massive opening weekend was usually followed by a steep drop-off—a ”burnout” where blockbusters see their numbers slashed 50% or 60% as the initial fever breaks and the casual audience drifts away.

But Star Wars didn’t just survive; It stabilized.

By the time the Sunday midnight screenings wrapped, the numbers staring back at the analysts were defying the laws of gravity. The film had hauled in another $307 million globally in its second week alone. When stacked against its opening $410 million, the total global cume hit a staggering $717 million, all in just 10 days.

The domestic hold was the stuff of legend. After an $180 million opening, it had only dipped a mere 15% in its second frame; repeat viewings had turned into a cultural rite of passage. Audiences weren’t just watching; they were returning with their parents, kids, and their most skeptical friends, determined to share the magic.

The shock was gone. In its place, the media landscape hummed with a new, breathless reverence.

[Deadline Hollywood]

THE BILLION DOLLAR SPRINT: STAR WARS SHOWS NO SIGNS OF FATIGUE

> Analysts are scrambling to revise their projections as Daniel Miller’s space opera crosses the $700M mark in record time. With the Asian markets just beginning to heat up and the European holdover remaining rock-solid, ’A New Hope’ isn’t just chasing the yearly box office crown—it’s chasing history. Many exhibitors are reporting sold-out shows for the third week in advance, a phenomenon usually reserved for the opening weekend.

[Variety]

THE MILLER ECONOMY: WHY HOLLYWOOD IS RETHINKING THE ’MID-BUDGET’ MYTH

> While Star Wars dominates the headlines, let’s not forget the engine that started it all. ’Juno’ had officially grossed $309M, solidifying its quiet, profitable march in the shadow of its galactic sibling. Between the two films, Miller Studios name currently commands nearly 40% of the global box office market share this month. It is a level of dominance usually shared by three major conglomerates, now held by a single independent production house in Burbank.

---

Toluca Lake – Daniel Miller’s Residence

The silence of the bungalow was a welcome contrast to the roar of the statistics. Daniel sat in his living room, the evening light casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. On the coffee table lay a tablet displaying the dizzying financial reports, but Daniel’s attention was fixed on something only he could see.

Floating before him was the translucent golden interface of the System.

He navigated to his inventory. The only item sitting there was an item that had been taunting him since he unlocked it.

[Money Voucher]

Unlike the Negotiation Voucher, which practically gave him a script for corporate warfare, the Money Voucher was different. It was stark, frustratingly vague and empty. No”Use” description, no fine print, nothing. Just the name staring back at him.

Daniel rubbed his temples. He didn’t need to check the bank statement; he knew the figures by heart. Between the Juno acquisition fee, the incoming backend points, and the massive 12 Angry Men OTT payout, he was sitting with roughly $42 million in liquidity.

He had earmarked $2 million for the immediate operational costs of Miller Studios—salaries for the expanding VFX team, Elena’s new logistics department, and the retainer for the legal team handling the Stan Lee partnership.

That left him with $40 million.

In any other life, forty million dollars was ”retirement money.” It was ”buy a private island” money. But Daniel wasn’t looking for an exit. He was set on breaking the spine of the Hollywood distribution monopoly.

Distribution is a war of attrition, Daniel leaned back into the sofa, the reality of the task weighing on him. It’s not just about renting a truck and shipping a hard drive to a theatre; it’s about the power to keep it on screen.

To open The Distribution Mill (TDM), the infrastructure demands were staggering; Booking agents in New York and London with personal ties to chains like AMC, Regal, Cinemark, and Odeon. A marketing department with the teeth to rival Apex Features, capable of buying Super Bowl ad space without blinking. And then there was P&A ( the upfront cost for Prints and Advertising), which for a global release could easily hit $100 million alone.

If he tried to go independent with $40 million, he would be bankrupt before the first trailer dropped. He would be forced to take out high-interest loans or, worse, go crawling back to Legendary or Apex for co-financing, defeating the entire purpose of independence.

He needed more than wealth. He needed a war chest- the kind of institutional capital that moved markets.

Daniel looked at the [Money Voucher] again. The risk was palpable. What if it were just a flat payout of a million dollars? What if it triggered a convoluted quest? Or worse, what if the money was illicit? Won’t that bring the IRS down on his head?

No risk, no reward, the mantra echoed in his mind. I didn’t come back to play it safe.

He reached out and tapped the icon.

[CONSUME ITEM: ’MONEY VOUCHER’?]

”Yes,” Daniel whispered.

The interface shimmered, the golden light deepening into a rich, golden hue. A new window popped up, and for the first time, the mechanics of the item were revealed.

[USED ’MONEY VOUCHER’]

[MECHANIC: RETROACTIVE GROSS ROLL]

[DESCRIPTION: The System will calculate the TOTAL GLOBAL BOX OFFICE GROSS of all productions directed by the User to date. It will then roll a random percentage between 0% and 25%.]

[PAYOUT: The resulting percentage of the Total Gross will be awarded to the User as a lump sum.]

Daniel’s breath hitched. He quickly did the mental math.

12 Angry Men- $29.5 million globally including its long tail.

Juno was sitting at $309 million.

Star Wars was at $717 million.

That was a combined gross of roughly $1.055 Billion.

If he rolled a 1%, that was $10 million. Nice, but not game-changing.

But if he rolled a 25%... that was nearly $250 million. That was empire-building money.

He stared at the screen. The numbers blurring like a high-speed slot machine reel.

Come on, Daniel thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. Give me the capital to burn the gatekeepers down.

The reel slowed.

5%...

8%...

22%... (Daniel flinched)

11%...

It clicked one final time and locked into place.

DING!

[ROLL COMPLETE]

[PERCENTAGE OBTAINED: 13%]

[CALCULATION: $1,055,500,000 (Total Gross) x 0.13]

[PAYOUT: $137,215,000]

[PROCESSING...]

Daniel sat frozen. One hundred and thirty-seven million dollars!

A second notification chimed, answering the question that had been gnawing at him.

[SYSTEM NOTE: FUNDING SOURCE SECURED]

[ORIGIN: LEGACY ROYALTY SETTLEMENTS & ANONYMOUS ”ANGEL INVESTOR” DIVIDENDS VIA SHELL HOLDINGS.]

[STATUS: LEGALIZED. The paper trail is ironclad. The funds have been deposited into your primary holding account. You are responsible for all applicable capital gains taxes in the current fiscal year.]

Daniel let out a long, shaky exhale. The System wasn’t just dumping cash in a duffel bag; it was pumping it into the global financial bloodstream. He would have to pay a massive tax bill—probably close to $40 million of it would go to Uncle Sam—but that still left him with nearly $100 million in clean, liquid.

Combined with his existing $40 million (tax money taken out from this already), he was looking at a war chest of $140 million post-tax.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. It was a notification from his secure banking app.

DEPOSIT RECEIVED: $137,215,000.00

SOURCE: ARCHIMEDES HOLDINGS LTD - DIVIDEND PAYOUT

Daniel stared at the number. The sheer magnitude of it was terrifying. This wasn’t just ”director money.” This was ”studio head money.” This was enough to lease office space in New York and London. Enough to poach marketing executives from Disney and Warner Bros. It was enough to buy a slate of indie films at Sundance to populate the first year of The Distribution Mill.

He didn’t scream. He didn’t jump. He just sat there, the blue light of the phone reflecting in his eyes, feeling the weight of the responsibility settling onto his shoulders.

”Okay,” Daniel whispered to the empty room. ”Now we can fight.”

---

Miller Studios – The Next Morning

The transition from ”creative genius” to ”corporate raider” required a new skin. Daniel sat in his office in a charcoal suit, no tie, looking every bit the modern mogul.

Elena Palmer, his new PA, walked in with a tablet and a steaming cup of coffee. She looked impeccable, efficiency radiating off her like heat.

”The headhunters came through,” Elena said, placing the tablet on his desk. ”I’ve got three leads for Head of Distribution. They’re all currently ’available’—which we both know means ’pushed out for being difficult’ or ’ hate their old bosses.’”

”Difficult is good,” Daniel said, picking up the tablet. ”Compliant people don’t disrupt industries. Who’s first?”

”Dave Calloway”.Elena said. ”Ex-Universal. Knows international markets better than anyone, but he’s got a reputation for burning through marketing budgets. The man loves a billboard.”

Daniel swiped. ”Next.”

”Sarah Jenkins. Ex-Apex. Vance’s Number Two for five years. She knows the domestic chains inside out, but she’s... cautious. She’s the one who passed on 12 Angry Men.”

Daniel paused. ”She did?”

”Grapevine says she thought courtrooms were dead, she believes more in data than gut”. Elena added.

”Hard pass,” Daniel said. ”Who’s third?”

Elena tapped the screen. ”This one’s interesting. Marcus Blackwood. No relation to Julian. He was VP of Distribution at Vanguard for six years. Engineered the release strategy for their biggest horror franchise—the one that made $200 million on a $10 million budget.”

”Why is he available?” Daniel studied the photo. Blackwood looked to be in his late forties, all sharp jawline and tired eyes.

”He resigned three months ago,” Elena said. ”Rumour is he had a screaming match with the CEO over Cheese Louise. Blackwood wanted the release pushed because the test screenings were a disaster. CEO overruled. Blackwood quit on principle before the movie even hit theatres.”

Daniel paused. A man who walked away from a VP title because he wouldn’t sign off on a disaster? That wasn’t ”difficult.” That was a spine.

”Bring him in,” Daniel said.

---

The meeting with Marcus Blackwood took place two hours later. Blackwood walked in wearing a casual blazer and jeans, looking like a man who enjoyed his unemployment a little too much. He had the relaxed, cynical air of someone who had seen how the sausage was made and decided to become a vegetarian.

”Mr Miller,” Blackwood said, shaking Daniel’s hand. ”I have to admit, I was surprised to get the call. I assumed you’d just let Legendary handle the heavy lifting for the rest of your life.”

”Have a seat, Marcus,” Daniel said.

Blackwood sat, eyes tracing the ceiling. ”Nice place. That VFX farm downstairs looked great, must be burning a lot of power.”

”It is,” Daniel admitted. ”I heard you tried to stop the Cheese Louise trainwreck.”

Blackwood let out a dry chuckle. ”I tried to tell them that an R-rated animated mystery needs a solid script, not just a flashy poster. They disagreed. They thought marketing alone could save it. I decided I didn’t want my name on the tombstone.”

”That’s why you’re here, Marcus”, Daniel said, leaning forward. ”I’m launching my own arm: The Distribution Mill.”

Blackwood blinked, his cynical mask slipping. ”You’re serious? Daniel, you have it easy now. You make the art, Legendary sells the popcorn. Why wade into the muck of booking agents and P&A spend? It’s a low-margin, high-stress nightmare.”

”Because I am done asking permission”, Daniel said. ”And I am not giving 35% of the gross to someone who didn’t bleed for the film.”

Blackwood’s gaze hardened. ”Do you have any idea about the capital that it takes? To open a competent distribution house, you need booking leverage; You need to be able to look AMC in the eye and threaten to pull out if they don’t give you prime screens. You can’t do that with one indie hit every two years. You need a slate, Daniel. You need a goddamn war chest.”

”I do have the slate,” Daniel said. ”There are two Star Wars films coming. I’ve got the Universe in development, and I am planning on a book series that has the potential to be the biggest IP of the next decade.”

”And the cash?” Blackwood’s skepticism evident in his voice. ”To float a global release operation, you need nine figures, Daniel. Indie profits won’t cut it. You need cold, hard cash.”

Daniel opened his phone and slid it across the desk.

Blackwood looked at the screen. He saw the balance. $177217890.00 (Current balance roughly).

Blackwood’s eyes widened. He looked at the phone, then back at Daniel. He didn’t ask where it came from. In this town, the less you know, the better you are.

Blackwood went quiet. The cynicism draining out of him. When he spoke again, it sounded like a general looking at a new army.”That’s... substantial,”

”This is the capital,” Daniel said. ”I want to build a machine, Marcus. But not the Vanguard model. I don’t want to flood the market with garbage. I don’t want to fill some quota. What I want is a curated pipeline. Films from Miller Studios, with some three to four high-quality indies a year. Every movie will be an event, Marcus. We won’t be those clueless suits who will stick to flashy posters; we’ll be something more, Marcus. We’ll pioneer an era where creativity, grit and heart will be valued over commerce .”

Blackwood sat back with a slow smile. ”An asylum where the inmates have the keys.”

”Exactly,” Daniel said.

”And you want me to be the Warden.”

”Head of Distribution,” Daniel corrected. ” You will have full autonomy on the logistics. Build the team, pick your agents, and do whatever it is that needs to be done. Tell me the market’s limit, and I’ll break it.”

Blackwood went quiet. He stared at the Star Wars poster, tracking the lines of a franchise that shouldn’t have existed, yet changed everything.

”I was going to go to Italy next week,” Blackwood murmured. ”Away from this hellhole, to forget about this damned industry.”

”Italy isn’t going anywhere, ” Daniel said. ”But this? This is the chance to rewrite the rules, Marcus. Vanguard, Apex, Legendary and the Big Five- they’re dinosaurs. They just don’t know meteor has already hit.”

Blackwood let out a genuine laugh. He stood up and extended his hand.

”I’ll need a corner office. And a budget for a London team. The UK market is going to be crucial for whatever’s next.”

”Done,” Daniel said, taking his hand.

”When do we start?”

Daniel glanced at the calendar. Star Wars was in its third week. Marvel acquisition was looming, Harry Potter manuscript was on Tom’s desk.

”We start now,” Daniel said. ”Welcome to TDM. Don’t worry, the papers are already filed.”

As Blackwood walked out to meet with Elena for the onboarding, Daniel turned his chair to face the window. The Los Angeles skyline shimmered in the distance. He had the trifecta- money, talent and infrastructure.

The ”Phase 4” on his whiteboard wasn’t just a plan anymore.

He tapped the desk, feeling the hum of the building beneath him. The System had provided him the spark, but the vision was all his. He wasn’t just conquering the box office. He was buying the whole theatre.

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

[ORGANIZATION UPGRADE: DISTRIBUTION ARM ESTABLISHED]

[REPUTATION BONUS PENDING...]

Daniel swiped the notification away.

---------------------

A/N: Today’s chapter was also edited by king_louis!

Actively looking for anyone volunteering to edit the previous chapters and make the story slightly better :D

Read ahead on Patreon: /AmaanS