Pangu Pictures. Office.
Link had his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear, standing perfectly still. The sunlight outside the window was almost blinding.
On the other end of the line, Jennifer Connelly's voice carried a hint of guilt.
"…He said Miramax has a major awards-season project next year. A real Oscar push. Scorsese producing, Anthony Minghella directing. The female lead—custom-written for me."
Band, listening from the side, went pale instantly.
Scorsese.
In Hollywood, that name carried more weight than cash.
"What else did he say?" Link pulled the phone down from his shoulder, a trace of tension in his voice.
"He said…" Jennifer hesitated, lowering her voice. "He said you're very talented—but too young. That Pangu is a small boat with shaky foundations, liable to capsize at any time. And Miramax… is an aircraft carrier."
She paused, as if waiting for an answer.
"Link , he gave me a week to decide. I just want to know—should I really stay on a small boat, waiting for an uncertain future?"
The office fell silent. You could hear your own heartbeat.
Link didn't answer right away. Instead, he chuckled softly.
"Jennifer, Harvey is offering you a role—a role that puts you shoulder to shoulder with Scorsese. That's a great opportunity."
There was silence on the line. She hadn't expected him to acknowledge the other side first.
But Link continued, "What I'm offering you isn't just this one role. It's a future where we keep working together."
He turned toward the window, sunlight spilling across his face, his voice slow and steady.
"On Harvey's ship, you'll always be just a passenger. When the trip's over, you get off. On my ship, you're the first mate. We decide together where the ship goes—and we can even change course together."
On the other end, a barely audible breath.
Images flashed through her mind—those long days they'd spent breaking down the script together. By now, she was deeply attached to the character Alicia.
Link pressed at just the right moment. "Alicia is waiting for you, Jennifer. Can you really make her wait that long?"
A long silence.
"I understand," Jennifer finally said, her voice calm and firm. "I'll wait for your news."
She hung up.
Band exploded immediately, pacing the office like a cat on a hot tin roof.
"What do we do? What do we do?! She's still on the fence! We need to hold a press conference—now! Even if the team isn't locked yet, we need to make noise! Otherwise, in a week she'll be on Harvey's pirate ship!"
Link set the phone down and walked over, pressing a hand on Band's shoulder and forcing him into a chair.
"Lawrence, calm down."
He walked to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, paused—then put it back down.
"Harvey wants us to panic. He wants to force us into rushing a half-baked project, then watch it blow back in our faces."
Band froze, his face still flushed.
"Then what do we do? Just sit around and wait?"
"No." Link smiled, his eyes cold. "We play him with an empty-fort strategy."
He began issuing orders.
"Right now, contact Sarah. Give her an exclusive—say Pangu Pictures is preparing an awards-season epic. Core team locked, script finished, currently in talks with investors. Let all of Hollywood know we're holding cards."
Band's eyes lit up.
"Next, find writers in our foundation who've had beef with Harvey. Have them dig up his history of squeezing employees dry. Get a few solid reporters to help jog his memory. Make sure he's too busy putting out fires to focus on us."
Band was already rubbing his hands together, energized.
Link grabbed his coat and put it on.
"Lastly, contact that old-school Academy voter—Mr. Vance."
Band blinked. "That stubborn fossil? Doesn't he hate unconventional filmmakers like us?"
"Exactly," Link said calmly. "Because he hates us, people will believe him. Invite him on as a consultant. Let him nitpick. Once that rumor's out, everyone will believe we're genuinely polishing the script."
It clicked for Band. His eyes slowly widened.
He slapped his thigh. "Brilliant!"
Link smiled faintly and continued, "By noon tomorrow, I want to see Sarah's column in The Hollywood Reporter. Within seventy-two hours, I want Harvey making headlines in outlets run by his rivals. As for Mr. Vance—I'll go see him myself."
He grabbed the brick-sized cell phone on the desk and headed for the door.
"And don't forget—have Howard draft the contract and send it to Jennifer and her agent before the end of today."
"Add one line at the end."
"'There will always be a seat on Pangu's ship—for its first mate.'"