The Maker: Hollywood

Three blocks down from the Miller Studios lot in Burbank was a renovated industrial warehouse, which once housed an aerospace parts manufacturer in the fifties. Now, it stood empty, while the morning sun cut through the high, grid-paned windows to illuminate thousands of square feet of polished concrete.

Marcus Blackwood stood at the centre of the vast, open floor. He wore a casual blazer over a t-shirt, hands in his pockets.

”It’s quiet,” Daniel said, walking up beside him—the sharp click of his boots echoing on the concrete.

”Won’t be soon,” Marcus said, scanning the space. ”In two weeks, this place will smell of coffee, printer, and panic. It’ll be perfect.”

Daniel said, looking up at the exposed steel beams. ” The Distribution Mill (TDM). I don’t want some pompous nonsense. ’The Mill’ sounds perfect. People would think we actually do something instead of just slapping logos”

”The Mill.”Marcus nodded slowly, tasting the name.” It’s smart, sounds blue-collar, and fits the whole ’Normalism’ thing you’ve got going.”

He walked over to a designated corner where construction crews were already framing a series of glass-walled offices.

Marcus jabbed a finger towards the corner. ”That’s the War Room. I’m thinking wall-to-wall screens, Daniel. Real-time box office feeds from London, Tokyo, Seoul, and New York. If some kid in Des Moines spills a Cherry Coke on a projector during the 7 pm slot, we’ll see it before the manager even smells sugar.”

”You’ve got it,” Daniel said. ” $100 million, fully liquid. Split it- fifty for acquisition and P&A (Prints and Advertising) on the first slate, and the rest for infrastructure. And Marcus? I want us off the grid. I’m not paying Bezos for hosting our own secrets, so no cloud renting bullshit. I want to be in charge of our data.”

Marcus studied him. A decade at Vanguard meant dealing with CEOs who flinched at spending money on anything that didn’t have a merchandising deal. But Daniel?. He spoke about a hundred million like they were bricks. He really was an architect.

”You ever think this is insane?”, Marcus asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. ”A global distribution house with not even a full team? Against forty years of Legacy. You do know that Big Five won’t just bend over?”

”The Big Five are ocean liners,” Daniel said, turning to leave. ”They take ten miles just to turn around. But us? We’re a speedboat, Marcus, a speedboat with a nuclear engine. Now go get your desk sorted. The interviews start in an hour.”

---

The conference room on the second floor of the main Miller Studios building had been commandeered for the day. Elena Palmer, Daniel’s new PA, sat at the end of the table, her laptop open, a timer running in the corner of her screen.

”We have twelve candidates for the three cores,” Elena briefed, her voice crisp. ”Head of Domestic Booking, Head of International Sales, and VP of Marketing Strategy. I’ve narrowed it down to the ones who actually do something, no paper pushers. Most of them are currently serving notice periods or are ’consultants’ looking for a way back in.”

Daniel sat at the head of the table, Marcus to his right. ” Alright, send the first one in.”

”Diana Rigg”, Elena stated, ”Distribution”

The door opened, and a woman in her late forties walked in. She looked like she had survived a war, which, in the context of booking films into AMC and Regal chains during the holiday season, she essentially had.

”Mr Miller. Mr Blackwood,” she said, while sitting down without waiting to be asked. She placed a folder on the table. ”I don’t know who was calling the shots on Juno, but they cost you the Midwest. You were under-booked by 15% in Kansas and Ohio. The per-screen averages suggest you could have expanded two weeks earlier.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. ”Apex handled the booking.”

”And Apex plays it safe,” Diana countered. ”They want the density numbers to look pretty for the board; they’re too terrified to bet on a hit. You want to run an indie distribution? You don’t go to the chains with a request. I know the buyers at Regal by their first names. I know which ones are hiding mistresses and which ones hide from IRS. I can get you the screens.”

Daniel looked at Marcus. Marcus gave a subtle nod.

”Why leave Paramount?” Daniel asked.

”Because they started using a bloody algorithm to book screens,” Diana spat the word ’algorithm’ like it was poison. ”But an algorithm can’t tell you why an indie drama spikes on a rainy Tuesday in Seattle, it doesn’t feel the room”. Straightening her shoulders, she continues. ”I am not like those clowns who need to be spoon-fed by a damn machine. I’m smarter, I’m better.”

”You’re in,” Daniel said. ”Elena, send the contract.”

Next was the VP of Marketing.

A man walked in wearing sneakers and a hoodie that cost more than Daniel’s suit. Leo Kosta. A young, hyper-energetic guy with a reputation for viral guerrilla marketing.

”Billboards are dead, Mr Miller.” Leo announced before he even reached the chair. ”Nobody looks up nowadays. They look down, their phones; that’s where the real money is. If you want TDM to matter, don’t waste time buying ad spaces. We should create memories that people won’t forget. The posters were great for Star Wars, but imagine if we had projected the Death Star onto the moon? No? Okay, maybe not the moon, but the Empire State Building? That would be humongous; just think of the reach it would’ve had! Those legal guys in Vanguard called my ideas public nuisances, cowards all of them. They don’t understand high engagement.”

”I don’t need stunts, Mr Kosta,” Daniel said calmly. ” Can you sell a movie without lying about what it is?”

”Nobody expects the truth, which makes it the ultimate hook,” Leo replied. ”You sold Juno as a normal movie, and the honesty did the rest. I can take that vibe and turn it into a movement. Just know that I’m expensive - and for good reason.”

”We can afford you,” Marcus said. ”But if you get us sued, it comes out of your pockets.”

”Deal.”

The interviews lasted four hours. A”Blitz”—rapid-fire, instinct-driven. Daniel wasn’t looking for resumes; he was smelling for hunger. He wanted the ones who found themselves stifled by the studios. He wanted pirates who knew how to sail without maps.

By 2:00 PM, the core team of The Distribution Mill was locked in. Five names— collectively carrying over a hundred years of industry experience and a chip on their shoulder the size of a planet.

”This isn’t an office, it’s a war room,” Daniel said, his eyes scanning the five of them. ”We aren’t just distributing anymore. We are dismantling. Welcome to the Mill.”

---

The War Room lasted two days before the reality of the siege set in.

Daniel, alongside Marcus, sat in a private dining room at The Palm in Beverly Hills. Across from them sat Richard Sterling, the CEO of Cinemex Global, one of the largest theatre chains worldwide. Sterling was an old school guy—expensive cigars, tailored suits that hid his bulk, and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

”Daniel,” Sterling said, cutting into his steak. ”I’ve got to hand it to you, Star Wars is a phenomenon. My concession stands are running out of popcorn buckets. You’ve made us all very rich.”

”Glad to hear it, Richard,” Daniel said, taking a sip of water. ”That’s exactly why we’re here. We would like to discuss the future”

”Future’s bright, Daniel”, Sterling beamed. ”I assume you’re here for the sequel? Or perhaps another Legendary project? Give me the word, and the 2028 prime holiday slots are yours.”

”Actually,” Marcus interjected, leaning forward. ”We’re here to talk about The Distribution Mill. Our new independent distribution arm.”

Sterling’s smile faltered slightly. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. ”Ah. Yes. I’ve heard rumours. A boutique label? For your... smaller projects?”

”For everything,” Daniel corrected.”Every Miller production, Acquisitions and the whole slate.”

Sterling chuckled in a patronizing sound. ”Daniel, a bit of advice from someone who was booking screens while you were in diapers; Independent distribution is a graveyard. Without the leverage of a slate that includes at least ten blockbusters a year, you get squeezed. I can’t give prime screens to a ’boutique’ distributor. I already have Disney and Warner for those.”

”So you’re saying TDM is a second-tier priority?” Marcus asked, his voice hardening.

”I’m saying,” Sterling said, taking a sip of wine, ”that I can offer you limited runs. Art house screens. Maybe a wide release if the tracking is spectacular, but the split... well, the split would have to be 60/40 in my favor for the first two weeks.”

It was a spit in the face. A standard blockbuster split went 60/40 to the studio. Sterling was trying to big-league them.

Daniel placed his fork down gently. The clink echoed in the quiet room.

”Richard,” Daniel said, his voice calm, almost friendly. ”I think you’re misunderstanding something. You’re looking at me as an indie director. The thing is, I am the supplier of the only product that is currently keeping your Q1 earnings from tanking.”

Sterling frowned. ”Star Wars is distributed by Legendary.”

”The first one is,” Daniel corrected. ”But my contract for the sequels gives me approval over the distribution strategy. And the next project, which I haven’t announced? It’s fully owned by Miller Studios.”

Daniel leaned in. ”Here’s the deal. The Mill gets ’Most Favored Nation’ status with Cinemex. We get the Disney package. Same screen guarantees. Same revenue splits. 60/40 to us.”

Sterling let out a nervous laugh. ”You can’t be serious. You’re holding one of the biggest sequels of Hollywood over my head. For what, a distribution deal for a startup?”

”I’m just telling you that if TDM isn’t treated like a Major, then Miller Studios won’t choose Cinemex.” Daniel continued, ”The next Star Wars? It goes to AMC or Regal. And you get to explain to your shareholders why the biggest movie of the decade isn’t playing in their theatres.”

The silence stretched. Sterling stared at Daniel. He looked for the bluff. He found no hesitation.

Instead, he found the eyes of a man who had nothing to lose.

”You’re playing a dangerous game, Miller,” Sterling whispered.

”It’s only dangerous if you don’t know the odds,” Daniel replied. ”Do we have a deal?”

Sterling looked at Marcus, who was grinning like a shark. Then, looking back at Daniel, He sighed, the fight leaving him. He knew the numbers. He couldn’t afford to lose the Miller slate.

”I’ll have legal draft the paperwork,” Sterling grumbled. ”Most Favored Nation it is. But you better fill those seats, Daniel.”

”Deal,” Daniel said. He signalled the waiter. ”Check, please.”

---

Toluca Lake – Stan Lee’s Residence

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the garden of the Toluca Lake house. The air smelled of jasmine and old paper.

Daniel sat on the patio with a glass of lemonade. Stan Lee was flipping through a portfolio of oversized art prints across him.

”It’s clunky,” Stan said, pointing to the image on top. ”But it’s got character. I always told Kirby the suit should look like a tank, not a damn wetsuit.”

Daniel looked at the concept art. It was the Mark I armor for Iron Man. It was bulky, welded together from scrap metal. A visual representation of the desperation and genius of Tony Stark built a god out of garbage in a cave.

”It’s perfect, Stan,” Daniel said. ” Before he becomes the futurist, he has to be the mechanic. A guy with a wrench trying to fix his own mistakes.”

Stan nodded, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. ”Tony was always my favourite problem child. The man who has everything but can’t save himself. You think people would like him? He’s not like Steve.”

”That’s why they’ll love him,” Daniel assured him. ”Flaws are interesting, perfection is boring.”

Daniel set his glass down and pulled a thinner folder from his bag. ”But before we build the suit, Stan, I want to talk about publishing.”

Stan looked up, surprised. ”Publishing? You mean the comics?”

”Yes,” Daniel said. ”We own the rights now. I want to relaunch the classic runs. The original Tales of Suspense, The Amazing Spider-Man, and The Avengers. But not just reprint them. I want to package them.”

”How?”

”’Miller Studios Presents: The Stan Lee Collection,’” Daniel pitched. ”Using the momentum from Star Wars and Juno, we put a sticker on every cover: ’From the Director of Star Wars comes the Universe that started it all.’ We’ll hook them by my name, and your stories will keep them.”

Stan Lee hesitated, running a hand through his hair, he asked. ”You’d really put your name on my old stuff? Daniel, look at you, you’re the hottest director in the world right now. You don’t need to be peddling forty-year-old funny books.”

”I’m not peddling Stan. I’m spotlighting,” Daniel said earnestly. ”There’s a whole generation who’ve never read a panel. It’s just merch for them. I want to show them something real, the humans under those masks. If I tell them, ’This is where I get my inspiration,’ they’ll read it. And once they are hooked with the comics, movies would follow.”

He leaned forward. ”We release the Iron Man origin months before we drop the movie teaser. This creates a feedback loop where the comics sell the movie, and the movie sells the comics.”

Stan looked at the concept art of the iron suit, then at the young man sitting across from him. He saw the strategic brilliance, yes, but he also saw the genuine love. It wasn’t just a business for him.

”You think it’ll work?” Stan asked softly. ”Will the kids even read newsprint?”

”Kids will read anything if you tell them it’s cool,” Daniel smiled. ”And right now, we decide what’s cool.”

Stan laughed, a hearty, chest-deep sound that scared a bird off the garden fence. ”You’re a dangerous man, Daniel Miller.”

He closed the portfolio and patted the cover. ”Alright. Let’s do it. But on one condition.”

”Name it.”

”You write the foreword for the first Omnibus,” Stan said, his eyes twinkling. ”Tell them why a fancy director cares about a guy in a metal suit. Let them know the truth.”

”I will,” Daniel promised.

They sat in silence for a moment, watching the sun dip below the horizon. In the outside world, box office records were being smashed, distribution deals were being brokered, and an empire was being built. But here, in the garden, it was just two storytellers looking at a drawing of a hero.

”Iron Man,” Stan mused, testing the name on his tongue as if it were new again. ”It’s got a ring to it.”

”That it does”, Daniel spoke with a bit of awe in his voice.

He grinned. ”Let’s build it.”

As Daniel drove away from Toluca Lake that evening, The Mill was powering up, his bank account was loaded, and the theatre chains had bent the knee. But nothing made his heart beat faster than a simple sketch of a bulky, iron suit.

The galaxy was conquered. The Distribution network was done. Who’s next?

——————

A/N: Today’s chapter is also edited by @king_louis

Read ahead on Patreon: /AmaanS