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The morning sun lit up Michael's large dining room.
He sat at the head of the long table, a hot cup of black coffee in front of him. In his right hand, he held a lit cigar.
Evans sat across from him, looking over a stack of papers.
Michael took a slow drag from the cigar.
He let out a long sigh, exhaling a thick cloud of white smoke toward the ceiling.
He looked down at Evans.
"What is the stance of the studios on the 12 Angry Men script?" Michael asked calmly. "Since I leaked those fantasy novel pages, they should see how hyped my works are. They should know that me writing a movie script will be incredibly profitable."
Evans stopped looking at his papers.
He looked up at Michael with a flat expression. "They thought about it. And they still rejected it."
Michael's eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "Really?"
"Yes," Evans said, shaking his head. "They told me that selling a novel is much simpler than selling a film. The film business is different. They absolutely do not want to negotiate backend revenue with a writer. It goes against their rules."
Michael let out a short, cold scoff. "Huh! They don't want my scripts, but they want the adaptation rights for The Fault in Our Stars?"
Evans nodded. "Exactly. I thought they would wait for a while to see how your other show perform. But the moment they rejected 12 Angry Men, they started begging to buy The Fault in Our Stars. They want the romance money."
Michael turned his head.
He looked coldly at the printed 12 Angry Men script sitting on the edge of the dining table.
His dark eyes narrowed.
"Lets sell this script to an animation company," Michael said, his voice hard. "In Japan."
Evans's eyes went completely wide.
He dropped his pen on the table. "Really? You want to make an anime out of this script?"
Michael solemnly nodded. "I have good relations in Japan because of working with Mr. Miyazaki. So it won't be problems in asking percentage of revenue of the anime movie."
Evans opened his mouth to argue, but Michael cut him off immediately.
"And stop negotiating with these companies," Michael commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Blacklist everyone. Every single studio that rejected the deal."
Evans stared at Michael in shock. "Are you serious, Mike? You want to blacklist all of Hollywood?"
"Evans, I do not lack money," Michael said simply. "Just one of my books can help me live my life lavishly forever. I am doing this because life is too short to sit around and think about why I am doing this. Do not ever contact them again. And if they contact you, tell them Michael Owen wants absolutely nothing to do with them."
Evans sat back in his chair, rubbing his face with his hands. Then, he let out a loud laugh. "You are a crazy person, Mike. You know that, right? You are starting a war with billionaire movie studios."
Michael smirked, taking a sip of his coffee. "They started a war with me. I am just changing the battlefield. Besides, it keeps you busy."
"Busy?!" Evans groaned loudly. "Mandy is going to kill me! I told her I would have a calm, quiet week to help with the baby. Now I have to call the biggest executives in the world and tell them to go to hell."
"Buy Mandy a bigger house with the thirty percent cut I just gave you," Michael joked, tapping the ash from his cigar. "She will forgive you instantly."
"I already bought her a diamond necklace yesterday," Evans smiled proudly. "Don't push my luck."
"How is my niece doing anyway?" Michael asked, leaning back. "Is she still crying every time she looks at your ugly face?"
Evans rolled his eyes. "Ha ha. Very funny. For your information, she sleeps like an angel. And she definitely inherited my good looks."
"Poor child," Michael sighed dramatically. "We will have to start saving money for her plastic surgery right now."
"Shut up," Evans laughed, throwing a crumpled piece of paper at Michael, which bounced off his chest.
Michael chuckled, the cold anger from earlier completely gone. He took another sip of coffee and then looked at the calendar on his phone.
"Tomorrow is Christmas," Michael said, his voice dropping slightly. "Is my present for Emma ready?"
Evans stopped laughing and reached into his leather briefcase.
He pulled out a thick, official-looking document folder.
"Yes," Evans said seriously, sliding the folder across the dining table toward Michael. "They just gave me the contract this morning. It is all signed and perfectly good to go."
Michael placed his hand flat over the folder.
He took one final, slow drag from his cigar.
"This is going to be fun," Michael said, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, brilliant light. "If they are not going to give me a chance, I will not let them in my fortress."