The next day, Marcus tagged along with Alden to Summit Pictures for the marketing strategy meeting. He had to admit—Summit really was major league.
Their building was impressive. Classic Hollywood architecture with white columns and Art Deco details, the kind of place that looked like it had been making movies since the golden age. It had that timeless, powerful presence that screamed money and history.
After walking through the marble-floored hallways, Marcus finally entered the conference room with Alden. Several people were already seated around the table.
At the head sat an Asian-American man in his early 40s. Sharp suit, sharp eyes. The kind of guy who looked like he made million-dollar decisions before lunch.
Everyone turned to look at them as they entered.
"Who's this?" the man asked Alden.
Alden gestured to Marcus. "This is Marcus Crown. The filmmaker behind Paranormal Activity."
Recognition dawned on their faces. They'd heard from Alden that the director was sixteen, but seeing it in person was still a bit surreal.
"Nice to meet you, Marcus." The man stood and extended his hand. "Vincent Chen, VP of Acquisitions."
Marcus shook it. "Nice to meet you too."
The others nodded politely.
"Hope it's alright I'm here," Marcus said. "Alden mentioned I could sit in on the marketing discussion. I don't want to get in the way."
"Not at all," Vincent said with a welcoming smile. He gestured around the table. "This is Rachel Hoffmann, our Senior Marketing Director. Derek Mills, Digital Marketing. Patricia Valdez, Marketing Analyst. And Gary Cho, he handles theatrical distribution."
They all gave Marcus polite nods, though it was clear they didn't expect much input from a high schooler—even if he had impressed Stefan Kingswell.
The meeting began.
Rachel kicked things off, laying out their strategy. It was clean, polished, professional—the kind of campaign Summit ran for every horror release. TV spots, print ads, standard theatrical trailers. Generic but effective.
Marcus listened quietly, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. This wasn't how the original film had been marketed in his previous life. Not even close.
After about ten minutes, Derek wrapped up with the budget projection.
"We're looking at around seven to nine million for the marketing spend. Maybe more depending on how wide we go with the release."
Marcus visibly flinched.
With the 2x recoupment clause, that meant Summit would need to earn $14-18 million before he saw a dime from his gross profit share. And that wasn't even counting distribution costs.
"So, Marcus," Alden said, nudging him. "What do you think? Does this work for you?"
Marcus hesitated, then shook his head. "I don't think this strategy's gonna work for my film."
The room went quiet.
Rachel's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? We tailored this specifically for Paranormal Activity."
"Yeah," Patricia added, clearly offended. "We spent a lot of time on this plan. What's wrong with it?"
Marcus could feel the tension rising. He'd just walked into a room full of professionals and told them their work wouldn't cut it.
'Shit. I just stepped on a landmine.'
He couldn't really blame them for their approach. This world didn't have The Blair Witch Project or any major found footage film to reference. They had no blueprint for marketing something like this.
"Sorry," Marcus said, raising his hands. "I didn't mean to sound arrogant. I just genuinely think this strategy doesn't fit my film."
"Oh really?" Rachel's tone was sharp. "Then what would you suggest?"
"I've got some ideas, yeah."
Everyone looked surprised by his confidence.
Vincent leaned forward, genuinely curious now. "Alright. Let's hear it."
Marcus took a breath. "I shot this entire film on a handycam to make it feel real—like an actual couple documented what happened to them. It's found footage. That's the whole point." He gestured at their marketing materials. "But if we go with a polished, traditional campaign like this, we're breaking the illusion. We're telling the audience it's just another movie."
He looked around the table. "We need to market this film like it's real. Like we actually found this footage. We sell the idea that what you're watching actually happened. That's what's going to make it terrifying."
Vincent leaned forward, clearly interested. The marketing team still looked skeptical, but he asked, "Alright. How exactly do we market it like it's real?"
That was the million-dollar question. Easy to say, hard to execute.
Marcus was ready for this. He'd studied the Questclopedia thoroughly. "We release trailers that look like actual footage—raw, unpolished. We don't show the plot or any monsters. Just... unsettling moments." He paused. "And the posters should hint that the events really happened. Something vague like 'What you are about to see is real.'"
He looked around the table. "If we do that, people are going to get curious. They'll want to know what the hell they're about to watch."
Rachel and the others exchanged glances. It was smart, they had to admit.
"But... won't that be lying to people?" Patricia asked hesitantly. "If they find out we deceived them, couldn't that hurt the studio's reputation?"
It was a logical concern, but the question felt almost naive coming from someone on a marketing team. Rachel looked like she wanted to roll her eyes.
Marcus didn't judge Patricia for asking—it made sense if you'd never seen this strategy work before. This world didn't have The Blair Witch Project as a reference point.
"It's marketing," Marcus said simply. "The job is to get people in seats. Backlash is the least of our concerns—especially for a low-budget horror film. As long as the movie entertains them, even if they figure out afterward it's fake, most people will just shrug it off. They got their money's worth."
Vincent nodded, smiling. "That's exactly right. Reminds me of some classic Hollywood tricks. You ever hear about Chainsaw Massacre back in '74? Budget of a hundred grand, marketed as 'based on a true story,' made over thirty million."
He chuckled. "Same with Exorcist. Marketing claimed people were fainting in theaters, that possessions were happening because of the film. Total exaggeration. But it worked."
Alden and Rachel both nodded—they knew the playbook. In marketing, a little deception was part of the game.
Marcus had no idea what Vincent was referencing, but he pressed on. "Another thing—we should release the film to just a few theaters at first. Limited run. Then we record the audience reactions—people screaming, jumping out of their seats—and use that footage in the campaign. It'll show audiences this movie actually scares people. Proof it works."
The marketing team, who'd been skeptical at first, were now mentally taking notes. They'd clearly underestimated this kid.
"Keep going," Alden said.
Marcus was gaining confidence now that he had everyone's attention. "Next, we let people vote for where they want the movie to play."
"Vote?" Rachel looked confused. "How does that work?"
Marcus had done his homework. "There's a website called Eventful. They have this feature called 'Demand It!' where people can vote to bring events to their city. We use that—let audiences demand the movie comes to their theaters."
Vincent's eyes lit up. "That's brilliant. Gets people invested. They're not just watching a movie—they're part of bringing it to their town."
"Exactly," Marcus said.
"If we go this route, the budget drops significantly," Derek noted, already calculating.
Gary nodded, genuinely impressed. "It's smart. Really smart." He felt a twinge of embarrassment that a sixteen-year-old had come up with something better than their entire team.
Patricia looked mortified about her earlier question, but pushed through. "It's not just cheaper. It's... it's more effective than our plan."
Rachel and the others had no choice but to admit it. The kid's strategy was better, no matter how bruised their egos felt.
Rachel stood up and extended her hand. "You've got a solid strategy. I'm looking forward to working with you on this."
Marcus shook her hand, confused. "Wait—working with me?"
"These are your ideas," Rachel said, a slight blush on her cheeks. "You should help us execute them. We don't want to take credit for—"
"No, no, I can't," Marcus said quickly, pulling his hand back. "I've got way too much going on. You guys can handle it. Seriously, it's fine."
"But—"
"Really, it's okay!"
He still had the Netflicks project to build. He didn't have time to babysit a marketing campaign.
---
On the drive back, Alden kept glancing at Marcus in the rearview mirror. "You really impressed me today, kid. I've never seen a marketing strategy like that—especially not for a low-budget horror film."
Marcus felt embarrassed. He was just copying what had worked in his previous life.
"Let's not make a big deal out of it," he muttered.
After Alden dropped him off, Marcus headed inside to find Nathan already home. The table was set with food.
Marcus eyed him suspiciously. When Nathan played nice, he usually wanted something.
Especially now that Marcus had money.
"I see you heard about my big payday," Marcus said, pulling the check from his pocket and waving it. $185,000.
Nathan rubbed his hands together. "So where's my cut?"
"Your cut?" Marcus snorted. "What cut?"
"For helping you!" Nathan followed him to the table.
"Fine. Maybe I'll throw you a couple grand."
"Ugh, forget it." Nathan gave up and sat down.
Marcus looked at the plate—steak and eggs. He dug in.
"Listen, kid," Nathan said, his tone more serious now. "You need an accountant to handle your taxes. Trust me, you don't want the IRS breathing down your neck."
"Can't I just—"
"Absolutely not." Nathan's voice left no room for argument.
He sighed. "I know it hurts to give up your money. But you gotta pay taxes. I learned that the hard way."
He remembered when his films had made millions. He'd tried to dodge taxes. The penalties had nearly buried him.
"Is it really that serious?" Marcus asked, though he already felt the pain of losing part of his check.
"The IRS are vultures. They'll pick your bones clean and then send you a bill for the privilege." Nathan looked pained himself, then suddenly grinned. "You might not give me any money, but the taxman will get his revenge for me."
"Great. Thanks for that, old man," Marcus said dryly.
Honestly, Marcus wanted to sink every dollar he had into Netflicks. He needed to license shows and movies, build up a library. But if a huge chunk went to taxes, that whole plan took a hit.
'There should be public domain films in this world,' he thought. 'All the old classics. I can restore them and build a library that way.'
It was smart. Netflix had done the same thing in his previous life—grabbed public domain content that cost exactly zero dollars. Sure, they were old movies, but they attracted viewers.
He'd offer them for free with ads. Build traffic that way.
But then he thought about Paranormal Activity.
If it performed well—and he was confident it would—he'd be looking at serious money from his 9% gross profit share.
That alone made him feel optimistic.
It wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.
He was going to make Netflicks the dominant streaming platform in this world. And he had to move fast.
Right now, there was no streaming competition. None.
There was Blockbuster Cinema—the DVD rental giant. Marcus had done his research. They were crushing it in the rental market, with stores all over the country.
But they were getting complacent. Too reliant on renting physical DVDs. They weren't innovating.
With their money, they could've easily licensed content and launched a streaming platform. But they were cheap. Renting DVDs didn't require licensing deals—just inventory. So they stuck with what worked.
Marcus shook his head. 'Their loss.'
For his version of Netflicks, he planned to include DVD rentals and streaming. Rentals were still the dominant business model, so he couldn't ignore them. But streaming was the future. Eventually, he'd phase out the physical side entirely.
Streaming was where this was headed. He just had to get there first.