Chapter 868: Stallone's Daughters!

Beverly Hills, Century City

Heath Ledger, dressed in a sharp, dark suit, stepped out of the Fox Building. The Californian sun blazed down, but it failed to lift the shadow hanging over him. Despite the brightness around him, the actor's face carried an unmistakable gloom, a stark reflection of the toll his recent years of excess and substance abuse had taken.

Heath had hoped to score big today, to breathe life into a new project. But the pitch at Fox had been a total flop. His script was shot down with barely a moment's consideration.

Frustrated but determined, he made the rounds of nearly every studio in Hollywood, except for three: Pacific Pictures, Davis Studio, and Disney Pictures. He knew better than to even set foot in those places. Everyone in the industry was well aware that Martin Davis, a ruthless player behind the scenes, had a tight grip on those companies. Davis' tangled web included both Pacific Pictures, his own empire and a studio owned by his mistress. Disney, meanwhile, was cozying up to Davis in a lucrative partnership. Heath, though still a respected actor, had made more than a few enemies in his time, and none more powerful than Martin Davis. The bridges were not just burned, they were reduced to ashes.

Standing near the ominous, imposing structure known as the Death Star building, home to Creative Artists Agency (CAA) Heath decided to make one last attempt. CAA had once represented him, and while things had gone sour between them in the past, he knew many of the agents there. CAA was infamous for packaging film deals. If he could get them on board, maybe, just maybe, he could revive his failing dream.

But hope turned to disappointment. Minutes later, Heath capme out from CAA's offices, his head lowered in defeat. Even they weren't interested. Chess-themed projects were just too niche, too risky.

Descending the elevator, Heath silently berated himself. The script he was peddling had been a poor investment, one he had impulsively bought for $20,000 while under the influence of some bad advice and worse substances. Now, $20,000 seemed like an absurd amount of money to have wasted. He could've done something far more useful with it, like, he mused bitterly, buying a lifetime supply of laundry detergent.

As he reached the ground floor, his phone buzzed in his pocket. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

"This is Heath Ledger."

"Hello, Mr. Ledger. My name's Clyde, business president of Iris Pictures. I understand from screenwriter Alan Scott that you hold the film rights to *The Queen's Gambit*?"

Heath's heart skipped a beat. It was true. He had bought the rights from Alan Scott, and suddenly, this random call felt like a lifeline. "Yes, that's correct," he said, trying to mask the excitement in his voice.

The man on the other end was all business. "I'd like to discuss this project with you. Are you free to meet?"

Heath's mind raced. He glanced at the bustling cafe on the ground floor of the Death Star building. "I'm available now, actually. How about meeting at the cafe here?"

Clyde agreed, and Heath headed into the cozy little cafe. He found a quiet corner booth and settled in, anticipation buzzing in his chest.

Meanwhile, outside the Death Star building, a sleek black SUV pulled into the parking lot. From it stepped Ivan, clad in a crisp suit, his gold-rimmed glasses giving him an air of meticulous calculation. With him was his assistant, Luke, who jogged to keep up.

As they approached the cafe entrance, Ivan slowed and turned to Luke with a pointed warning. "You're not exactly a film expert. Best if you keep quiet in there."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Noted, boss. From this point on, I'm officially mute."

With a brief nod, Ivan entered the cafe, immediately spotting Heath Ledger waiting. He made a quick call to confirm their meeting spot, then approached Heath, all smiles and handshakes.

After exchanging pleasantries, they got down to business. Heath studied Ivan's business card, raising an eyebrow. "Iris Pictures… I have to admit, this is the first time I'm hearing about your company."

Ivan remained unfazed. "We're new, only established in the first half of this year, but we have strong backing from international investors. We're here to make an impact."

He quickly shifted gears, taking control of the conversation. "I spoke with Alan Scott about acquiring the rights to *The Queen's Gambit*, but he informed me you'd already secured them. That brings us here today."

The conversation hung in the air, a critical moment for Heath Ledger. He could feel the weight of it, the crossroads between the fading shadows of his troubled past and the uncertain hope of a new opportunity.

Heath Ledger leaned back in his seat, taking a measured breath. "Yes, I do own the rights," he said, his voice even, but his mind was already racing. This new company, Iris Pictures, was fresh and likely inexperienced. A plan began to form. If they were desperate enough to buy the rights, maybe he could leverage that into a directorial role. It could be his ticket to reviving his career, dragging it out of the pit it had fallen into. If he became the director, he could control the project and reshape his fading reputation in Hollywood.

Across the table, Ivan studied Heath with a calm intensity, already well aware of the actor's precarious situation. He got straight to the point. "Mr. Ledger, is there any chance you'd be open to selling the rights to Iris Pictures?"

Heath didn't bite. He had something bigger in mind. "What if we strike a different kind of deal?" he suggested, leaning forward slightly. "I've been studying directing for years now, gaining real experience. Let's collaborate. I transfer the rights to you, but in return, you hire me as the director. It's a win-win. You get the rights, and I bring my vision and expertise to the project."

Heath's mind was whirring. He knew his situation was dire, but this could be his lifeline. If he could successfully direct this film, his career could make a dramatic comeback. And if he failed? Well, at least he'd pocket a director's fee. There was little to lose, but much to gain.

Ivan's expression didn't change. "Iris is only interested in the rights for film and television adaptation," he stated flatly, dismissing Heath's proposal.

A flicker of frustration crossed Heath's face, but he masked it quickly. Impatience and impulsiveness had landed him in trouble more times than he cared to remember. This time, he forced himself to stay calm.

"Alan Scott sold you the rights for $20,000," Ivan continued, his voice smooth and businesslike. "Iris Pictures is willing to offer you $25,000."

Heath's silence spoke volumes, he wasn't ready to give up his directorial aspirations. Ivan saw right through him. He recalled the detailed investigations they had run on Heath and Bruce's strict instructions to get the deal done. With that in mind, he upped the offer. "$30,000."

Heath shook his head firmly. "Not unless I'm directing."

Ivan's patience snapped. "Then there's nothing more to discuss." He reached for his briefcase, ready to walk out.

Panic flashed in Heath's eyes. He couldn't afford to let this slip away. As Ivan started to rise, Heath blurted out, "Look, I'm just making a suggestion."

The desperation gnawed at him. He could barely afford groceries, let alone the medication he needed. He was running out of options and time.

Ivan paused, letting the silence hang for a moment before making his final offer. "$40,000." He reached into his wallet, pulling out a crisp $20 bill and placing it on the table. The gesture wasn't just practical, it was a subtle reminder of the money at stake.

Heath did a quick calculation in his head, envisioning the bags of drugs he could buy with $40,000. It was more than enough to keep him afloat, at least for a while. Before Ivan could make good on his threat to leave, Heath conceded, "Okay, $40,000."

But he wasn't going to take any chances. "I want the agreement signed immediately," he added urgently. "And I need the payment in full, upfront."

Ivan eyed him carefully but nodded. "Fine."

Both men knew that securing the copyright transfer wouldn't be as simple as a handshake. The agreement was a legal minefield, requiring more than just two signatures. Both Heath and Ivan began making calls, trying to wrap everything up before the day ended.

By late afternoon, as the sun dipped westward, Heath held $40,000 in cash in his hands. The first thing he did was set aside a quarter of it and contact his supplier, eager to restock on his "necessities."

Next, he called Gemma Ward, telling her to come home early. They'd have plenty of "fun" later that night, thanks to his windfall.

What Heath didn't realize was that this entire deal was a façade. Within a week, Iris Pictures quietly transferred the rights to Davis Studio, which had been the real buyer all along. Martin Davis, the shadowy figure behind the scenes, wasted no time greenlighting the project. He ordered the studio to find a screenwriter who could adapt the novel into an eight-episode TV series.

Martin knew this show needed a different approach. Chess, by nature, wasn't thrilling to most people. But he demanded that the chess matches in the series be authentic yet compelling, designed by real chess masters. The goal was to make even non-chess enthusiasts engage with the story. The special effects would be minimal, and big-name stars were off the table, the focus was on quality storytelling, not flashy names. With a modest production budget of $20 million, Martin was confident they could pull it off.

Heath Ledger had been played, and the rights to *The Queen's Gambit* his once-cherished dream, were out of his hands. The world would never know how he might have directed it, but perhaps this was the best outcome for everyone involved, except, of course, for Heath himself.

The challenge of recruiting screenwriters and directors proficient in chess was proving to be a major obstacle. Neither Martin Davis nor Louise had the slightest clue about the game. Sure, a few people at Davis Studio knew the basics, but they were far from the level of expertise needed to craft a compelling chess-centric storyline.

In Martin's office at Davis Studio, the conversation took a turn when Thomas, one of his trusted team members, entered with a promising lead. "I've been digging around, and there's a senior screenwriter within the company who's not just good at chess but has actually participated in the National Amateur Competition. He made it all the way to the quarterfinals."

Martin's interest piqued. "For an amateur, that's impressive. What about his writing credentials?"

Thomas continued, "The screenwriter's name is Scott Frank. He's written scripts for more than a dozen films, including *The Lookout*, *Minority Report*, and *Logan* as a contracted screenwriter."

Martin leaned back, contemplating. He was familiar with all three films. *Minority Report* alone carried the heavyweights of Spielberg and Tom Cruise, while *The Lookout* featured a stellar performance by Joseph Gordon-Levitt. "And his experience with TV?" Martin asked.

"Scott Frank directed multiple episodes in the first two seasons of *Shameless*," Thomas added. "The show's a remake, but he managed to make it a hit."

Martin nodded thoughtfully. "He can write and direct, and he's proven himself with successful TV series. That's the kind of dual talent we need."

Thomas caught on quickly. "I'll reach out to his agent, see if there's interest. If it looks good, I'll set up a meeting."

"Do that," Martin agreed, already shifting his attention. He had another commitment that day, the third round of auditions for the main female roles in *Split*. He left the office, making his way to Disney Studios.

Upon arrival, he met up with Louise, and together they entered the audition room. The setup was ready, the casting director from David Fincher's team had positioned the camera, and a sense of finality hung in the air. They'd already trimmed down the pool of candidates from dozens to just six, each one vying for a coveted role.

Martin glanced over the remaining profiles and immediately recognized one of the names, Sophia Stallone, the eldest daughter of Sylvester Stallone. A familiar face in Hollywood circles, though mostly due to her famous last name.

Martin turned to David Fincher, the acclaimed director spearheading the project. "Is her acting actually any good?" he asked with skepticism.

David smirked, a trace of amusement in his eyes. "It's… decent. Not groundbreaking, but she's got a striking presence. We're not just casting the lead here, there are a couple of supporting female characters we're still deciding on. Plus, having Stallone's daughter in the mix? That's a marketing angle we can use."

Martin trusted Fincher's instincts, especially when it came to balancing artistic merit with commercial appeal. Fincher, after all, had evolved from the gritty auteur who brought *Fight Club* to life into a seasoned director who understood how to blend art and commerce seamlessly.

The casting director approached, eager to proceed. "Shall we begin?"

Fincher glanced towards the back row, where representatives from the Actors Guild and insurance companies were buried in their tablets, clearly uninterested in the artistic side of things. "Yeah, let's get started."

The assistant ushered in the first actor, Sophia Stallone. She greeted everyone warmly, her smile polished and camera-ready. When she reached Martin, she gave a more personal nod. "Long time no see," she said, her voice friendly but professional.

Martin kept it brief. "Let's focus on the work."

Sophia didn't miss a beat. She slipped effortlessly into character, moving from one scene to the next with practiced ease. The first scene required her to convey panic, a moment of intense fear that needed to feel both visceral and raw. The second was even more challenging: an emotional breakdown that had to balance vulnerability with an underlying strength.

As Sophia delivered her lines, the room grew silent, the tension in her performance gripping the air. Martin watched with a critical eye, noting the subtleties in her expression and the way she held the space. She wasn't just relying on her looks or family name; there was genuine effort in her craft.

When she finished, David Fincher leaned back, giving nothing away in his expression. He had seen it all before, yet even he couldn't deny that Sophia brought something intriguing to the table. Whether it was enough to land a role, however, was still up in the air.

As the day wore on, each actor brought their own take to the characters, but in the end, it would be up to Fincher and Martin to decide who would help shape the vision of *Split*. And behind the scenes, the wheels were already turning to secure Scott Frank, potentially adding the expertise needed to transform *The Queen's Gambit* from just another TV project into something truly special.

The performance concluded with little fanfare. Sofia Stallone delivered her lines competently, hit her marks, and displayed enough charm to leave a positive impression. Yet, as the room fell silent, neither Martin nor David Fincher offered immediate feedback. "Thank you, Sofia. We'll be in touch," Fincher said curtly, dismissing her with the same neutrality he had shown throughout.

Sofia's performance was solid, better than Martin had expected, but nothing groundbreaking. Her acting remained passable, competent, but lacking the depth or versatility required for a lead role. However, Martin knew that in a Hollywood horror-thriller, the real need for depth was reserved for the protagonist. The supporting female roles often served a different purpose eye candy, glamorous distractions amidst the tension and fear. And in that department, Sofia certainly fit the bill.

Hollywood has a long-standing tradition: the "beautiful vase" character. These characters may not drive the story forward, but they are indispensable in adding a touch of allure to horror films, balancing out the darker elements with moments of superficial beauty.

The next actress walked in, immediately capturing attention. With her big, innocent-looking eyes and striking presence, she exuded a mix of vulnerability and mystery. Her tight, subtly provocative outfit did not go unnoticed, nor did the deliberate sway in her walk. Was this just how she moved, or was she playing up her physical assets to leave a lasting impression? Regardless, her intent was clear, she was here to make a statement.

Anya Taylor-Joy had just turned 18, but she carried herself with the calculated poise of someone far more experienced. Before stepping into the room, she had done her homework. Her agent had emphasized that this role demanded more than just raw talent; it required beauty, magnetism, and a certain sensuality. Anya knew this, and she came prepared to highlight every strength she had, aiming to make her mark before she even uttered a single word.

Martin observed her closely. There was something captivating about her, a unique blend of youthful innocence and a slightly eerie, almost ethereal presence. With her large, expressive eyes and defined features, she looked like a character straight out of a fairytale, albeit a dark one. Martin's first impression was that she resembled a "goldfish spirit," but unlike those overly manufactured Hollywood faces, Anya's look was untouched, natural, and still brimming with youthful softness.

The casting director signaled for the audition to begin. An assistant stepped forward to play the opposing role, running through the same scenes Sofia had performed earlier. But this time, there was a shift in the room. Anya brought an intensity and nuance to the character that immediately set her apart. Her explosive moments were layered with subtle hints of fear, anger, and desperation, showing an understanding of the character's complexity that Sofia simply couldn't match.

Martin exchanged a knowing glance with Fincher. There was a rare quality in Anya's performance, a rawness reminiscent of a young Saoirse Ronan when she was just starting to carve her path in the industry.

As Anya exited the room, David Fincher didn't hold back his excitement. "That's our heroine," he declared. "Her face, those eyes, the way she can switch emotions with just a flicker, it's exactly what this character needs. There's something both delicate and dangerous about her."

Martin nodded in agreement. "For 18, her control and maturity are impressive. You don't see that often."

Louise, ever the voice of caution, chimed in. "Let's not jump to conclusions yet. We still have a few more actors to see. It wouldn't hurt to review all the options before making a final decision."

Martin agreed, motioning to the assistant director to keep the auditions moving.

Later, another actress stood out, a Cuban talent named Ana de Armas. Her captivating presence and expressive eyes left a strong impression on Martin, but the room's energy had already shifted in favor of Anya.

Once all the auditions wrapped up, Martin, David, and Louise sat down to review the footage. They watched the audition tapes carefully, analyzing every expression, every gesture. But it didn't take long for them to reach a consensus.

David Fincher, leaning back in his chair, spoke first. "Anya Taylor-Joy is it. She's exactly what I envisioned for the lead."

Martin nodded in approval. "She has both the right look and the acting chops. No one else brought that level of complexity."

Louise sealed the decision with a nod. "Let's finalize it. I'll have someone contact her agent and start negotiations on the contract."

As for the other roles, Martin was less concerned. He trusted Fincher's judgment in filling out the supporting cast. Unsurprisingly, Sofia Stallone and Ana de Armas both made the cut. Stallone's name alone carried enough weight to boost marketing efforts, and Ana's presence was simply too magnetic to pass up.

In the end, the puzzle pieces fell into place, driven by both talent and the unspoken rules of Hollywood, where marketability often carries as much weight as artistry. The stage was set for what could be a breakout performance for Anya Taylor-Joy, and perhaps another successful film under David Fincher's belt. All Martin could do now was wait and watch as the project came to life.