The sun slanted through the tall windows of the Star Talent Brokerage office, casting long golden streaks across the minimalist décor.
Helen sat at the head of the small conference table, cool and composed as ever. Amanda sat to her left, flipping through her planner, while Ben took the seat across from them—equal parts nervous and resolved.
Ben slid two crisp copies of the script across the table, one for each of them.
"It's a short read," he said calmly. "But it's not the script I want you to pay attention to. Not just the script."
Helen raised a brow and flipped open the pages anyway. Amanda followed, the same mild curiosity on her face.
As Helen's eyes scanned the opening lines and premise, her expression barely shifted. She was silent for a full minute, only the soft rustle of paper filling the room.
Three film students. A small town in Maryland. A legend about witches. They disappear while shooting a documentary...
Helen shut the script with a quiet thud. Her gaze was icy but not cruel—more clinical than dismissive.
"This is your pitch?"
Ben gave a small nod.
Helen tapped the cover. "Ben, let me be blunt. This is textbook film school material. Low budget. Minimal story structure. No emotional core, no character arcs, no stakes. The idea's been done in student circles for years. I've seen more engaging scripts used in lighting demos."
Amanda stifled a smirk. "Ouch."
Helen continued, tone sharper now. "Even if this were shot, at best it would be buried in some VHS bin at a college film festival. No studio's touching this. Not with a ten-foot pole. And no bank's financing it either—not unless you're offering your organs as collateral."
Ben didn't flinch. He'd expected this. He knew exactly how the script would land on paper—flat, flavorless, unremarkable.
Which is why he brought his ace.
"Maybe," Ben said evenly, reaching into his satchel, "but perhaps this can change your mind."
He placed a thick, neatly bound file in front of them—its label in all caps:
BLURRING THE LINE BETWEEN FICTION AND REALITY: A PROMOTIONAL CAMPAIGN FOR THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT
Amanda raised her brows. "Still trying to sell it after a no, huh?" she joked. "Old habits die hard."
Helen didn't respond immediately. She hesitated. She didn't like wasting time—especially not on pipe dreams—but something in Ben's calmness, the certainty in his voice, made her slide the folder toward her.
She opened it.
Silence.
Then another page turn.
And another.
Helen's posture shifted slightly forward. Amanda, sensing the shift, leaned over and started reading along beside her.
The plan wasn't just a pitch. It was a world.
Fake missing persons flyers with real Maryland police case numbers. Mock newspaper clippings designed in vintage print styles, seeded with rumors of local witch sightings going back to the 1800s. Radio call-ins, staged testimonials, even community bulletin boards plastered with flyers claiming to have "found" the missing tapes. A campaign built on ambiguity and whispered fear.
It was immersive. Terrifyingly plausible. Unlike anything she'd seen.
Helen didn't speak until she reached the last page—where Ben had underlined a single phrase:
"SELL THE MYTH. NEVER BREAK CHARACTER."
She closed the folder gently and stared at it.
"This..." she finally said, her voice quiet, "is either genius... or madness."
Amanda was still flipping through the materials, visibly impressed. "I mean, this isn't just a marketing plan. This is like... performance art. You could build a whole urban legend from this."
Helen leaned back, her fingers steepled in thought. Her skepticism hadn't vanished, but now it was mixed with something else—an uncomfortable awareness that she might be looking at something new. Something that didn't fit into the usual boxes.
"Ben," she said carefully, "I still think the film is garbage. But this campaign… this is lightning in a bottle."
She paused. "In fact, it's almost a shame you're using it to promote something so… underwhelming."
Ben smiled faintly, but said nothing. He'd heard worse.
Helen stared at the campaign materials a while longer, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was reading. She closed the folder with a gentle but final snap and looked up at Ben.
"It's a crazy propaganda method," she said at last, her voice measured. "Absolutely insane. But it's also… feasible."
Then she held up a finger. "But—"
Ben raised his brows, waiting.
"This kind of publicity will ignite public opinion like a brushfire," Helen said. "Once it's exposed, you're going to have media watchdogs, journalists, and angry moviegoers lining up to tear you to pieces."
Ben only smiled. That half-smirk of someone who'd already thought this through.
"Infamy," he said casually, "is sometimes the fastest way to fame."
Amanda let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "Crazy. This man is crazy."
Helen narrowed her eyes. "You're not worried about burning bridges this early in your career?"
"I don't intend to sign my name," Ben said, shrugging. "And I'm not part of the Directors Guild anyway. As far as anyone's concerned, this film came from nowhere."
He tapped the closed folder gently. "If people get angry, well… that just means the marketing worked."
Helen took a deep breath, visibly wrestling with a dozen what-ifs in her head. "It's good," she admitted, almost reluctantly. "It's too good. But this kind of campaign could seriously damage the reputation of the distributing company. It could blow back on everyone involved."
Ben leaned back in his chair, casual as ever. "Helen, let's be honest. When has a Hollywood distributor ever passed on easy money because of a moral line?"
"There's no such thing as a bottom line in this town. Only a profit margin."
Amanda, flipping through the plan again, chimed in, "He's got a point. They'll throw interns under the bus before they lose a dime."
Helen frowned, considering. Ben pressed the point.
"You must know a small distribution company," he said. "Something off the radar. Or—hell—just register a new one. Create a shell company and put that in the crosshairs."
He leaned forward, more animated now. "Artisan did it back in '99. Let the actors and director take the heat. The company stays clean, makes millions, and vanishes behind the curtain."
"I'm not interested in repeating their exact strategy," he added. "But the principle? That works."
Helen folded her arms, the wheels clearly turning. "It's well-prepared," she admitted. "Too well-prepared to ignore."
There was a moment of stillness. Then she sat upright.
"It seems," she said, "we need to make this official."
Ben blinked. "Official?"
"A brokerage contract," Helen clarified. "Real backing, real representation. We'll handle the casting, the packaging, and the eventual sale—once it's ready."
Amanda's smile widened.
Ben nodded slowly, not needing time to consider. "I'm ready. My old agent dropped me last week anyway."
Helen arched an eyebrow. "Convenient timing."
He signed the papers that same afternoon.
But Helen wasn't done. "One more thing."
"Let me guess," Ben said, "bank loans?"
"Exactly. They're slow, bureaucratic, and their paperwork kills secrecy. This project needs to stay in the shadows until it hits theaters."
Ben opened his mouth to ask about financing, but Helen cut him off again.
"Forty thousand dollars is manageable," she said. "I'll lend it to you privately—for now."
Ben blinked. "Seriously?"
"On one condition," she added, raising a finger. "The lead actors must be chosen from talent under the Star Talent Brokerage banner."
"No problem," Ben said, without hesitation. "They just need to be young, believable, and good at improvising fear. Nobody's going to care about their names."
"Notoriety is still notoriety," she said. "And I have a feeling this film is going to leave a mark. One way or another."
Helen smiled for the first time that meeting—cold, calculating, but impressed.
Ben agreed without hesitation. The actors didn't need much in the way of experience—just authenticity, youth, and the ability to look terrified on shaky camera.
"But they'll need to sign NDAs," he added quickly. "Before the film's official release, they can't show up in front of any media or audience. Total silence."
Helen nodded. "I was thinking the same. We'll have them take a sabbatical somewhere remote—Africa, maybe. That way, even if someone goes digging, they'll find nothing."
Without another word, Helen walked to her office printer, brought back a freshly printed agent contract, and slid it across the table.
Ben signed it with a grin.
What followed was a longer discussion about publicity timelines, contingency plans, and industry navigation. Ben was green when it came to the deeper gears of Hollywood, and Helen filled in the gaps with practiced clarity.
"The distribution company is the lynchpin here," Ben said seriously. "We need the right one, not necessarily the biggest, but one that's hungry."
"And even with a perfect promotional strategy, don't expect a gold-plated deal," Amanda warned. "These companies squeeze you, even when you hand them lightning in a bottle."
Ben raised his hands in mock surrender. "I've seen how stingy these distributors are. Believe me."
He leaned forward, a thought hitting him. "So… which company are we actually talking about?"
Helen picked up her coffee, sipped it coolly, and said, "Twentieth Century Fox."
Ben blinked. "Fox?"
"My parents have a working friendship with George Lucas," Helen added casually, as if mentioning an old family dentist. "I could try to have him put in a word with someone at the distribution department."
Ben's expression lit up like someone who'd just won the lottery.
"George Lucas?! The George Lucas?"
He practically leapt out of his chair. "You're serious? Star Wars George Lucas?! He's a USC legend!"
Helen gave him a side-eye. "Yes. That George Lucas."
Ben let out a stunned breath. "You said small company last time—Fox doesn't exactly scream small."
Helen smirked. "Well, it's all relative."
Amanda snorted. "Babe, you might want to breathe."
Ben chuckled, then switched gears, suddenly calculating. "Look—if we're going to a big player like Fox, then we need to be smart. Even if they offer a buyout… the real money's in the box office."
Helen raised a brow. "Go on."
Ben straightened, more serious now. "We're okay with a lower buyout price. Say five hundred thousand minimum. But we need a percentage of the gross."
Amanda raised her eyebrows. "Now we're negotiating, huh?"
Ben nodded. "Standard distribution deals cut 30–40% of gross for the filmmakers. We're not asking for that. But we want 20%—tiered."
Helen narrowed her eyes. "That's ambitious."
Amanda looked at him, amused. "That's too high, baby. Calm down."
Ben grinned but pressed on. "Not less than 15% if the box office crosses $150 million. For anything below $50 million, they can keep most of it—we'll settle for 1%."
"And," he added, "for every $10 million increase past $50 million, our share goes up by 1%. Capped at 20%. So it scales with success."
Helen considered that for a long moment.
Amanda interrupted "You really think this will make that kind of money?"
Ben's face was calm. "With the campaign we're building? It could explode. And if it doesn't… well, then they're barely paying us."
Helen didn't immediately object. She tapped her pen on the folder, thinking. "Still… convincing Fox won't be easy."
Ben leaned forward. "What if we give George Lucas a piece? We're only taking 20% capped right. Fox would surely agree."
That made both women pause.
"Excuse me?" Amanda blinked.
"I mean it," Ben said. "Just a symbolic backend cut. Not huge—maybe 5% percent of the box office gross, maybe less. Something contractual, quiet. That way, if he recommends the project, he's got a little skin in the game too. If the film only makes $50 million, he will get more than we do, so he won't refuse"
Helen's expression shifted—half frown, half impressed. "You want to tie George Lucas to the success of your found-footage horror film?"
Ben didn't flinch. "He's the reason they'll listen. Fox trusts him. If he's got a cut, even a tiny one, they won't treat this like another student film."
Amanda gave a soft laugh. "You're actually serious."
Ben nodded. "Completely. It's a business. We give him a sliver of the backend. He's already rich—it's not about the money. It's about making sure this gets in the right hands and taken seriously."
Helen leaned back, arms crossed. "You realize this only works if he actually likes what you're doing."
"Yes, for that we may have to rely on you, my agent Helen to get it across his table and have him read this seriously."
Helen gave a long exhale. "You've got guts. And a surprisingly decent instinct for politics."
Amanda smirked. "You're just handing out percentages now?"
Ben shrugged, eyes glinting. "If that 5% gets us through the front door at Fox, I'll call it a bargain."
"Alright," Helen said finally. "I'll run the numbers and see how realistic this looks for our pitch. But no promises. George will take a look at the plan of yours as a favor. But he won't give ground easily."
Ben smiled, "Thank you"
Amanda leaned back, crossing her arms. "You know, with the way you convinced us, you are sounding more like a producer than a director."
Ben smiled. "I just want a fair piece of what I'm building."
Helen nodded approvingly, "This is better than the way you went promoting Buried at the Forrest Gump set."
Ben shrugged, grinning. "Guess I'm learning fast."
Helen raised an eyebrow. "Let's just hope this works. I'll check with my parents and see when George might be available for a meeting."
"In the meantime," Amanda chimed in, flipping open her planner, "we should get started on the prep work for The Blair Witch Project."
She glanced over at Ben with a grin. "I'll begin arranging casting auditions for the leads—we'll need fresh faces, believable ones. You should start scouting possible shooting locations. Forests, abandoned cabins, something eerie but practical."
Ben nodded. "Already got a few places in mind. I'll take a drive up north this weekend, see what's out there."
Helen gave a faint smile. "Just don't get lost. We can't afford any real missing filmmakers."