The party didn't last long. After eating, Scott led Ryan, Nicole, and Kingsley into the villa's study. The group had briefly discussed the matter beforehand and knew they were about to talk about something very important.
After two years of interaction, neither Scott nor Kingsley considered Ryan a child anymore. They were well aware of the boy's intelligence and maturity.
In Hollywood, it's the celebrities who shine in the spotlight, but behind the scenes are teams of several or even dozens of people working for them. These people often hold information unknown to the public, and if they ever have issues, the impact on the stars they serve can be immense.
For example, in his previous life, after Tom Cruise lost out on the Oscar for Best Actor, he blamed everything on Kingsley, believing she had been too focused on Nicole and neglected him, and he terminated his contract with her.
Enraged, Kingsley retaliated, dragging Tom Cruise down from the peak of his career. From then on, scandals about his alleged homosexuality, odd religious beliefs, and eccentric behavior never stopped. Even by the time Ryan was reincarnated, Cruise had yet to escape the whirlpool of scandal.
Perhaps because they met earlier in this life, Kingsley and Nicole had become close friends who shared everything. Her relationship with Ryan was also quite good, and her conduct was quite different from what Ryan had heard in his past life.
Scott Swift had managed Taylor's investments in the past life with remarkable order and success. In terms of reputation and credibility, he far surpassed his daughter. He was a disciplined stockbroker and investment manager.
However, in both his past and present life, Ryan had grown up in a cold environment. Aside from Nicole, it was difficult for him to fully trust anyone. Even someone who once vowed to never let go of his hand had eventually let go—so how could he trust anyone else?
People are easily blinded by immediate interests, and if he wanted to make it in Hollywood and defeat his enemies, he needed a strong team—one with minimal internal issues.
And how does one unite the people around them? Besides strong relationships, it comes down to having shared interests.
"You heard me right. I'm going to start a film production company," Ryan declared with a level of certainty he rarely displayed.
He waved off Kingsley, who seemed ready to ask a question. "Let me finish. I know none of us have the experience to run a film company. We lack industry connections and sufficient capital. But I'm not talking about a professional studio like Miramax or New Line."
At this point, Kingsley and Nicole had figured it out. Clearly, Ryan wanted to start a shell company like many other movie stars had done.
"That's right—we'll set up a shell company," Ryan said with a wry smile. "All we need is some funding to lease a studio in Hollywood or Burbank and hire a few industry professionals to sit in."
Such shell companies—or more precisely, empty shells—are ubiquitous in Hollywood. Many big-name stars have formed such companies, which lack equipment, production teams, office space, or even staff. Their sole function is to enter into profit-sharing deals with film studios, giving the stars more say in decision-making and a way to earn additional income.
For example, in his past life, Tom Cruise and Julia Roberts had both founded such companies. The most successful, however, were Brad Pitt and Drew Barrymore.
Drew, in particular, was born into an acting dynasty, with Steven Spielberg as her godfather and Sophia Loren as her godmother. Skilled at networking, she held astonishing sway in Hollywood. At just nineteen, she founded "Flower Films," which became a model in the industry. The company partnered with major studios to produce hits like Never Been Kissed, 50 First Dates, and Charlie's Angels, earning her tens of millions in profits.
That was the kind of company Ryan wanted to build. Though he didn't have Drew's vast network, he did have a unique advantage: he only needed to collaborate with studios on his own scripts. After a string of successes, he now had the confidence and capital to make that move.
Having lived two lifetimes, Ryan understood that haste makes waste. All he had right now was a modest amount of funding. How could he compete with others?
Start a film company to go up against the big studios? What a joke. Just dealing with distribution channels and overseas rights would be enough to crush them.
DreamWorks from his previous life was the perfect example. Ryan might have some artistic talent, but beyond that, his skills were mediocre at best. He certainly didn't think that he alone—or even with a few allies—could compare to the three titans behind DreamWorks.
Spielberg and his partners had tried to create a new era in Hollywood, but they were ultimately defeated by the combined suppression of the Big Seven studios and had to bow out.
Of course, the reasons were complex. The version Ryan saw in his past life only scratched the surface.
In the future, Hollywood would be ruled not by film giants but by media giants. Ryan had only ever heard of media groups acquiring film studios, never the other way around.
What's more, after the turn of the century, box office revenue alone would no longer be enough to sustain a film company. Entertainment would become the second-largest industry in America, just behind manufacturing, only because large media conglomerates had built a full industrial chain around it.
"Ryan, you spaced out again," Nicole said, gently pinching his ear.
Snapping back to reality, Ryan pushed aside those impractical thoughts. He didn't have grand ambitions right now—cooperation was key. Those who try to go it alone rarely succeed.
"Where was I?" Ryan scratched his head.
"Setting up a shell company," Kingsley reminded him.
"Ah, right. We'll set up a film company and enter into profit-sharing partnerships with other studios to co-produce my work."
It had to be said—Ryan was only half-versed in the business side of things.
"Also, I want to use our share of the investment to have some say in key decisions—especially when it comes to casting." Ryan emphasized.
Hollywood is a ruthless place. Once he signed a contract, the money-hungry types wouldn't care whether he and some pretty boy were bitter rivals. If the film could make money, they'd cast his nemesis without hesitation.
Ryan didn't want the scripts he wrote in advance to end up starring Tom Cruise.
Beyond shared interests, this was another reason he wanted to start a company.
"I think you guys have faith in my work…" Ryan smiled.
"Yes, we do trust you," Kingsley sighed lightly. "But honestly, what I really want to start is a talent agency."
"I think it would be a wise investment," Scott nodded. He knew a bit about Hollywood, and this strategy of borrowing a shell to lay an egg was a common tactic among celebrities.
"Alright, I'm on board too." Since it was just about investing in Ryan's projects, the risk was minor compared to the potential returns. kingsley temporarily shelved her plans for an agency.
"Nicole, what about you?"
"Darling, you know I always support you." Nicole squeezed his hand firmly.
Next came the issue of funding. Ryan currently had access to about $6 million—his earnings from Terminator 2 and the latest royalty payment from his publishing deal. Nicole didn't have much on hand either—about a million. As for Kingsley and Scott, they scraped together a million each.
"I hate the IRS!" Ryan cursed after they finished discussing the equity split.
"Actually, everyone hates them," Scott chuckled. He understood exactly why Ryan was upset. After personal income tax, his Terminator 2 salary and book royalties had been slashed down to just over $6 million—anyone would feel the pain.
"There's no other way to avoid taxes?" Ryan asked, unwilling to give up.
"Ryan, I've already set up a foundation for you to minimize your taxes. That's about as good as it gets," Scott shrugged. The IRS was the bane of every financial manager's existence.
"Alright then." Ryan nodded. "Scott, I'll leave setting up the company to you. For now, you'll manage operations. There won't be much business anyway. And Pat, find a few industry professionals."
"No problem. In fact, some people I brought onto your team are already from the industry," Kingsley said. Then she seemed to remember something. "The company's first project—don't tell me it's The Bodyguard?"
"Bingo!" Ryan snapped his fingers. "Exactly. That one's for you to negotiate. And don't forget to ask for a cut of the soundtrack sales!"
Profit-sharing deals were common among Hollywood stars, so Kingsley didn't object. After all, Ryan's past successes inspired confidence—and a belief that his next project would also succeed.
As for the company's name… DreamWorks? Better not. That name was basically a ticket to bankruptcy and buyout. Of course, maybe one day, if Ryan got tired of the company, he'd sell it off to one of the big players, just like George Lucas did.
In the end, after some discussion, they decided to call it Jenkins Pictures. That way, they could also take advantage of Ryan's growing fame.
And just like that, the shell film company was established. Aside from a ready-to-go script and limited funds, it had nothing of value. Maybe one day it would go bankrupt like so many other celebrity ventures.
In the heart of the movie industry, dozens of shell film companies are born and go bust every single day.
As for Jenkins Pictures' future plans? Sorry—Ryan Jenkins had no long-term vision. His only goal was to plagiarize a few blockbuster franchises, hold onto the rights, and one day sell the company for a huge payday.