Charles Waltham POV – Managing Director, Penguin Books
May 1976
The proposal from Lioncrest Holdings landed on my desk with a soft thud, forwarded by our children's division with a note attached: "Charles – Your young protégé is expanding his remit. Thoughts?"
I opened the folder. Nestled beside the polished manuscript for Lionel the Cat and the Pharaoh's Maze—another deftly plotted mystery—was a separate, startling document. "Ancillary Rights Proposal: Lionel's Museum Mystery Board Game." It included market analysis sketches, a breakdown of game mechanics tied to the book's plot, and proposed royalty structures.
over her spectacles. "The Stevens boy again?"
"We published a children's author," I said, sliding the folder to her. "It appears we've accidentally acquired a fledgling media company."
Eleanor read in silence, her expression shifting from professional curiosity to genuine astonishment. "This isn't a child's doodle. This is a product development plan. The way the game mechanics mirror the book's puzzles… it creates a feedback loop. You play the game, you want the book. You read the book, you understand the game better."
"Precisely," I said. "He's not asking us to publish a game. He's asking to license the Lionel rights back from us for this specific purpose. Lioncrest would develop it, paying Penguin a royalty. It minimizes our risk and grants them entrepreneurial freedom."
"It's audacious," Eleanor murmured, a hint of admiration in her voice. "And strategically sound. If this succeeds, it sets a precedent. The next 'Lionel' could be a stage play, an animated short..."
"And we're already in the picture as the primary publishing partner, with first-option clauses on book adaptations," I finished. "He's building a brand, and he's politely showing us where we fit in the architecture. Remarkable for a seven-year-old. Or rather," I corrected, looking at the formal Lioncrest letterhead, "remarkable for his minders."
"Shall we accept?" Eleanor asked.
"We'd be fools not to," I said, reaching for my pen. "Draft the licensing agreement. Standard royalty, but be generous on the audit terms. I have a feeling this is a relationship we'll want to nurture for a very long time."
Andrei POV
Two Weeks Later
The call from Mother was succinct. "Penguin agreed. The licensing deal is signed. Your father and I are… immensely proud, Andrei. To celebrate, and because it's time we started being seen, we're all attending the Ascot Charity Ball next weekend."
It was a strategic elevation. Previously, their social engagements were quiet dinners or industry functions. A high-profile charity ball was a debut, a signal that the Stevens family was stepping onto a broader stage.
The night arrived in a whirl of tailcoats and silk. Dad was a mountain of dignified black wool. Mum was a vision in emerald green, her economist's eyes missing nothing. Damien, thrilled by the grandeur, kept his fidgeting to a minimum. Daphne, deemed too young, was home with the nanny.
The ballroom was a galaxy of crystal and capital. I saw my parents transform. Dad's easy strength commanded respect; Mum's sharp warmth attracted conversation. I watched them navigate the room, a perfectly coordinated unit.
My own role was to be seen and not heard, the quiet, well-mannered son. I observed the ecosystem—the old aristocracy with their weary elegance, the new industrialists with their boisterous confidence, and the cultural figures, like a famous novelist holding court in a corner.
It was during a quiet moment near a potted palm that I saw him: Sir Edmund Chase, a legendary, now semi-retired film producer, his name attached to a string of beloved British comedies from the 1950s. He was speaking with my father. Daniel, seeing my approach, waved me over.
"Andrei, this is Sir Edmund Chase. Edmund, my son, Andrei."
Sir Edmund's eyes, faded but keen, looked down at me. "The young scribbler, I hear? Lionel the Cat has a new admirer in my granddaughter. Makes her think, she says. High praise."
"Thank you, Sir Edmund," I said, the perfect picture of a polite child.
"She said something about a maze in a museum," he continued, his gaze lingering on me. "Clever setting. You know, cinema is the same. You lead the audience through a maze of images, letting them solve the emotion before the character does. A good puzzle transcends its format."
It was a throwaway line from a veteran to a child. But to me, it was a bolt of lightning. A good puzzle transcends its format. He had articulated, in one sentence, the core of my "platform" strategy. The Lionel game was proof of concept.
The conversation moved on, but the connection was made. As we left the ball, the cool night air was a shock after the heated ballroom. In the car, Damien chattered about the horses and the ladies' hats. Daniel and Margaret were quiet, a shared look of satisfied exhaustion between them.
That night, a new notification glowed.
[ SOCIAL PROTOCOL: MILESTONE ACHIEVED. ]
[ Event: Ascot Charity Ball. ]
[ Outcome: Family social capital increased. ]
[ Key Contact Logged: Sir Edmund Chase (Film Production, retired). ]
[ Insight Acquired: 'Trans-Format Narrative Theory' validated. ]
[ Suggestion: Integrate cross-media principle into long-term strategic planning. ]
I lay in the dark, the sounds of the sleeping house around me. The day had seen two victories: a corporate contract and a social incursion. The Penguin deal built the commercial framework. The meeting with Sir Edmund, however accidental, had planted a seed in the very soil I aimed to conquer.
The path was no longer just in ledgers and library scans. It was in glittering ballrooms and the offhand wisdom of old men. The game was expanding, and for the first time, I had glimpsed the actual board.
A/N
The Lionel brand takes its first step beyond books with the game deal. More importantly, Andrei has made his first, tangential contact with the old guard of British film. How will he nurture this connection from afar, and what will be his next move to transform his "social capital" into something tangible for his ultimate goal?)