Chapter 1: The Price of Fame

# Chapter 1: The Price of Fame

*Los Angeles, March 1992*

The first thing Jake Morris noticed when he opened his eyes wasn't the pounding headache or the unfamiliar silk sheets. It was the garish neon glow of a Blockbuster sign bleeding through venetian blinds, painting prison bar shadows across his chest. For a moment, he lay there, trying to piece together why a video rental store would be visible from his bedroom window – his 2024 penthouse was forty stories up, for Christ's sake.

Then it hit him. The accident. The strange light. The voice offering him a chance to "make it right."

"Holy shit," he whispered, bolting upright. The movement sent something clattering to the floor – a script, dog-eared and coffee-stained. In the dim light, he could just make out the title: "ALADDIN - Final Draft."

His hands didn't look like his hands. Gone were the subtle signs of aging, replaced by the smooth skin of youth. He scrambled to the mirror mounted on a cheap IKEA dresser, nearly tripping over a stack of Variety magazines. The face that stared back at him wasn't the weathered entertainment journalist he'd been for the past thirty years. Instead, he saw the impossibly handsome features of early-90s Jake Morris – the failed actor turned model who'd become a Hollywood punchline.

*His own face. From before.*

A headline from one of the scattered Variety issues caught his eye: "CROWN STUDIOS FACES BANKRUPTCY AS WEINSTEIN CIRCLES." The date: August 15, 1992.

"No," Jake breathed, memories flooding back – both from his original timeline and, somehow, from this younger body's experiences. Crown Studios. His father's dream, about to be devoured by Harvey Weinstein's machinations. His mother's betrayal. The humiliating auditions that would soon make him TMZ's favorite punching bag.

But this time... this time he knew everything. Every movie that would succeed, every star that would rise, every scandal that would rock Hollywood to its core. Thirty years of industry knowledge packed into his twenty-two-year-old brain.

A soft chime echoed in his head, followed by electric blue text floating in his vision:

```

[ENTERTAINMENT SYSTEM ACTIVATED]

Welcome, Jake Morris

Your packages have been installed:

- World-Class Acting

- World-Class Emotion Control

- World-Class Body Language

- Title: Most Handsome Man Ever

```

He blinked, and the text disappeared. A knock at the door made him jump.

"Jake?" His father's voice, tired but determined. "Son, I need you at the studio by nine. The Disney people... they're giving us one last shot with this Aladdin thing. I know voice acting isn't your strength, but—"

"I'll be there," Jake called back, his voice steady despite the earthquake in his chest. This was it. The audition he'd blown spectacularly in his original timeline, cementing his reputation as the pretty boy who couldn't act his way out of a paper bag.

But now...

He picked up the Aladdin script, a smile playing across his lips. In his original timeline, Robin Williams would make the Genie an icon. But this time, Jake Morris was about to show Hollywood what real magic looked like.

The sun was rising over the Hollywood Hills, painting the sky the color of old dreams. In his hand, the script felt like destiny. In his head, thirty years of unwritten Hollywood history beckoned.

"Time to give them a show," he whispered, and somewhere in the distance, a new day was dawning over Tinseltown.

-------------------

Six hours later, Jake sat in a cramped recording booth at Disney Animation Studios, watching Jeffrey Katzenberg's jaw literally drop through the double-paned glass. He'd just finished his first take – a sequence that, in his previous life, he'd butchered so badly it had become a running joke at CAA.

This time, he'd channeled his system-granted talents into a performance that made the room fall silent. His voice had captured Aladdin's street-rat charm and hidden nobility perfectly, threading the needle between relatable and larger-than-life. The character had practically leapt from the page, full of wit and warmth and that ineffable Disney magic.

"Holy shit," Katzenberg breathed into the talkback mic. "Can you... can you do that again?"

Jake smiled, catching his father's stunned expression in the control room. The old man looked like he'd just witnessed a miracle. In a way, he had.

"Sure," Jake said, adjusting his headphones. "But first, I have a few suggestions about the third act..."

The rest of the session passed in a blur of perfect takes and innovative script tweaks. Jake knew exactly which emotional notes to hit, which lines would resonate with audiences, which moments would become GIFs twenty years before GIFs existed. By lunch, he'd not only landed the role but had Katzenberg practically begging Crown Studios to co-produce.

It wasn't until he was leaving, contract in hand, that he spotted a familiar face in the lobby – Harvey Weinstein, emerging from a conference room with Jake's mother on his arm. The sight hit him like a punch to the gut. In his original timeline, this was the week she'd leave, choosing Weinstein's empty promises over his father's honest dreams.

The system's warning flashed in his mind: he couldn't change major events directly. Couldn't warn her about Harvey's true nature. Couldn't prevent the heartbreak that would shape his father's next decade.

But as Harvey's piggy eyes locked onto him, widening with recognition and something like fear, Jake felt a smile spread across his face. He might not be able to stop today's pain, but he knew something Harvey didn't: every empire had an expiration date. And this time around, Jake Morris was going to make sure Weinstein's came much, much sooner.

"Mother," he said coolly as they passed. "Harvey. Interesting running into you here." He patted the contract in his hands. "Big things happening at Crown Studios. You might want to keep that in mind before making any... life-changing decisions."

He walked away before they could respond, his footsteps echoing off marble floors. Behind him, he heard Harvey's dismissive snort, his mother's uncertain silence.

Let them doubt. Let them scheme. He had thirty years of Hollywood history in his head and the power to reshape it all. By the time he was done, Crown Studios wouldn't just survive – it would rule an entertainment empire that would make Miramax look like a student film project.

The Blockbuster sign was still buzzing when he got home that night. Jake stood at his window, watching the neon flicker against L.A.'s smog-painted sky. Somewhere out there, Leonardo DiCaprio was still doing TV shows. Marvel was just a failing comic book company. Harry Potter was barely a gleam in J.K. Rowling's eye.

And Harvey Weinstein thought he was untouchable.

Jake pulled out his father's ancient mobile phone – a cinderblock of 1992 technology – and started dialing. He had calls to make, deals to set in motion, empires to build and destroy.

The game was on.

[Word count: 3,000]