Chapter 24: The Studio

While the Apex Media executives and A-list celebrities were busy settling into the unparalleled luxury of Sapphire Cove, Jude’s mind was already moving on to his next maneuver...

He had stayed on the island just long enough to ensure the gala was operating flawlessly before boarding the Dreamliner and flying straight back to the mainland.

At that exact moment, on the other side of the city, a young woman named Harper was standing outside the gates of Apex Studios.

Harper was twenty-two, fiercely creative, and had spent the last three years getting her indie film scripts repeatedly rejected by every major studio in the city.

Just yesterday, Jude had accidentally bumped into her at a downtown coffee shop while she was sketching storyboards.

Guided by his *Absolute Appraisal* skill Jude had made a decision.

He had appointed Harper as the new President of Original Content for Apex Studios.

True to her indie roots, Harper hadn’t bothered to buy a corporate pantsuit.

She showed up for her first day wearing a vintage denim jacket, a faded band t-shirt, and scuffed boots.

As Harper walked through the front doors of the studio’s main administrative building, she immediately ran into a familiar face.

It was Gregory, a senior executive producer at Apex.

Gregory was an arrogant gatekeeper who had thrown Harper’s scripts into the trash on three separate occasions, once telling her she had the creative depth of a puddle.

Gregory was sipping an espresso when he spotted her. He nearly choked on his drink.

"You have got to be kidding me," Gregory sneered, marching over to block her path. "How did you get past the front gate? I told you last month, we do not accept unsolicited garbage from amateurs."

Harper stood her ground, her jaw tightening. "I’m not here to drop off a script, Gregory."

"Oh, really?" Gregory laughed, a mocking sound. "Let me guess, you’re here to beg for a job as a production assistant? Go fetch coffee somewhere else. This is a multi-billion-dollar studio, not a charity for failed art students. Security is going to drag you out of here in about thirty seconds."

"Actually, I’m here to work," Harper said, keeping her voice calm.

Gregory rolled his eyes. "Work? You? Did you forge a security badge? Because I oversee all departmental hires, and I would sooner burn this building to the ground than let you anywhere near a soundstage."

"Please, step aside!"

A voice echoed across the lobby.

The studio’s Director of Human Resources, a sharply dressed woman clutching a clipboard, was sprinting toward them. She looked out of breath.

"I am so incredibly sorry for the delay, Madam President," the HR Director gasped, ignoring Gregory as she bowed her head toward Harper. "I should have been waiting for you at the gate."

Gregory froze.

"Madam... President?" Gregory choked out, looking between the HR Director and the girl in the denim jacket.

"It’s fine, Sarah," Harper smiled at the HR Director.

She then turned her gaze back to Gregory, offering a knowing look. "I’ll see you in the boardroom, Gregory. Try not to be late."

Harper walked past him, following the HR Director toward the executive elevators.

The girl he had just mocked was the new President of Original Content?

How was that even possible?

Ten minutes later, inside the executive boardroom, Harper sat at the head of the table.

The studio’s veteran executives were seated around her, their faces barely concealing their disdain.

The news of her appointment had spread like wildfire, and none of them were happy about answering to a twenty-two-year-old girl in a denim jacket.

Gregory, having recovered a fraction of his bravado, sat directly across from her. He cleared his throat.

"Madam President, since you are so eager to work, we actually have a major creative deadlock that requires your immediate sign-off," Gregory said.

"I’m listening," Harper said, opening her notebook.

"We have a hundred-million-dollar budget allocated for our Q4 flagship release," Gregory explained, leaning forward. "The board is split between two projects. Project A is a high-octane superhero sequel. It’s safe, it has built-in merchandise, and it guarantees a box office return. Project B is a sci-fi thriller. It’s original, extremely dark, and incredibly niche. Which one are we greenlighting?"

Harper’s eyes lit up. This was exactly why Jude had hired her!

"The superhero market is oversaturated," Harper said confidently, tapping her pen against the table. "Audiences are experiencing fatigue with generic sequels. The sci-fi thriller is a risk, yes, but it allows for ground-breaking creative direction. It pushes the medium forward. We greenlight the thriller."

The boardroom descended into mocking silence.

A few of the older executives exchanged amused glances. Gregory let out a sigh.

"With all due respect, Madam President," Gregory said, openly sneering now. "You have no understanding of the market. Originality doesn’t pay the bills. A superhero sequel is a guaranteed billion-dollar IP. A niche thriller is a financial black hole. If we follow your direction, the studio will lose tens of millions."

The other executives nodded in agreement.

"The girl doesn’t know what she’s doing," a senior marketing VP muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

Harper felt her face flush hot with humiliation.

She was the President, but she had zero actual authority in this room...

They were humiliating her to prove she didn’t belong.

Before Harper could attempt to defend her position, her cell phone buzzed on the table.

It was a text from Jude Lawson.

*How is the first day going?*

Harper quickly typed back, her fingers shaking slightly: *Not great. The board is stonewalling me on my first greenlight. They think I’m a joke.*

Jude’s reply was instantaneous: *I’m in the lobby.*

Harper let out a sigh of relief. She stood up from the table. "Excuse me for a moment. We will resume this discussion shortly."

Down in the main lobby, Jude was admiring the movie posters lining the walls.

Having just flown back from Sapphire Cove, he was dressed in relaxed trousers and an unbuttoned shirt.

Gregory, who had stepped out of the boardroom to grab another espresso, spotted Jude near the elevators.

Gregory was already in a foul mood from dealing with Harper, and seeing a guy in beachwear loitering in the executive lobby pushed him over the edge.

"Hey, you!" Gregory barked, marching over to Jude. "What do you think you’re doing? The holding pens for background extras are in Building C. Get out of the executive lobby before I have you banned from the lot."

Jude turned around. He looked at Gregory with an unimpressed expression.

"I don’t think you have the authority to ban me," Jude said softly.

"I am the Senior Executive Producer of this studio!" Gregory yelled, his face turning red. "I can have you blacklisted from the entire industry! Now get out of here, you cheap—"

Jude raised his left hand to check his phone.

As he did, the sleeve of his shirt slid back, exposing his wrist.

The overhead lobby lights caught the brilliant gleam of a platinum, diamond-encrusted Audemars Piguet Royal Oak.

It was a custom timepiece that retailed for well over half a million dollars...

Gregory’s tirade died instantly in his throat.

His eyes locked onto the watch.

A guy wearing cheap linen didn’t sport an AP Royal Oak unless the linen was bespoke and the casualness was a byproduct of untouchable wealth.

"Mr. Lawson!"

Harper’s voice rang out across the lobby as she jogged out of the elevator banks.

She threw her arms around Jude, relieved to see her only ally.

Gregory felt his legs turn to jelly. The new President was hugging this guy...

"Madam President," Gregory stammered. "Who... who is this gentleman?"

Harper pulled back, offering Gregory a smile.

"Gregory, allow me to introduce you to the man who signed your paychecks," Harper said. "This is Jude Lawson. He owns the studio."