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"That I'm not looking for another studio to tell me what to do."
Harvey's smile thinned. "Nobody's asking you to."
Marvin looked at him. "Really?"
Harvey held his gaze for a moment, then chuckled. "All right. Maybe they are."
The two continued walking.
Harvey's mind was already somewhere else. The kid knows. That was becoming painfully obvious. The problem was figuring out how much he knew.
Harvey had been trying to get closer to Marvin for months. Not because he liked the boy. He didn't know the boy well enough to like him.
He wanted what Marvin owned. The rights. The books. The scripts. The properties nobody else had seen yet. That was where the real money was. And Harvey had recently become very interested in one particular property.
He decided to test the waters. "So," Harvey said casually, "what are you hearing about *The Hours*?"
Marvin's eyes moved toward him. "Interesting that you ask."
Harvey's smile disappeared for half a second. "Why?"
"Because I was going to ask you the same thing."
Harvey stopped walking. Marvin stopped with him.
"What do you mean?"
"I hear you're interested in the rights."
Harvey gave a little shrug. "It's a good book."
"It is."
"Could make a good picture."
"Probably."
Harvey watched him carefully. "There's a producer who's been talking to your people."
"I know."
"Jon Gordon."
"I know."
Harvey's expression barely changed. "Good."
Marvin smiled. "There's no need to pretend, Harvey."
That landed. Harvey's eyes narrowed. "Who says I'm pretending?"
"You are."
The smile returned to Harvey's face, but it looked different now. Smaller. More careful. "All right. Let's say I am interested. What's the problem?"
"You're negotiating through someone else."
"That's called business."
"It's called hiding."
Harvey gave a short laugh. "Kid, everybody hides something in this town."
"Then why hide it from me?"
Harvey stared at him. For the first time that evening, he didn't have an immediate answer.
Marvin continued. "Northbridge Rights bought the adaptation rights months ago."
Harvey's jaw tightened.
Marvin watched him. "You found that out."
"Eventually."
"And then you sent Jon Gordon."
Harvey said nothing.
"You thought I wouldn't notice who was behind him."
"Jon is an independent producer."
"Is he?"
Harvey's eyes hardened.
Marvin smiled faintly. "That's what you want me to believe?"
Harvey leaned closer. "Listen to me. There's nothing unusual about an independent producer approaching a rights holder."
"No." Marvin's voice remained calm. "There's nothing unusual about that."
Harvey waited.
"What's unusual," Marvin continued, "is when the independent producer already has a private transfer agreement prepared for Miramax before negotiations have even finished."
Harvey's face went still. For several seconds neither man spoke. The noise of the party seemed strangely distant.
Harvey finally exhaled through his nose. "Who told you that?"
"Does it matter?"
"It matters to me."
"I'm sure it does."
Harvey looked at him for a long moment.
Then he laughed softly. "You're a sneaky little bastard."
"I learned from watching people like you."
That made Harvey laugh again. This time there was genuine amusement in it. "Fair enough."
He straightened his jacket. "So you knew about Northbridge."
"I knew."
"You knew it was yours?"
Marvin's expression didn't change.
Harvey's eyes sharpened. "Or your father's?"
"Does ownership really matter if the rights end up with me?"
Harvey stared at him. There it was. The answer he'd been looking for. Northbridge wasn't some random holding company. It was Marvin's. Or close enough. And the boy had deliberately kept it out of sight.
He had been desperate to get the rights to the novel. Desperate enough that his lawyers had spent weeks digging into it, only to uncover something that had infuriated him.
Northbridge Rights, Inc.
The name had appeared nine months earlier and quietly acquired the exclusive adaptation rights. No press release. No industry chatter. Nothing that would have drawn attention to the deal.
At first, Miramax's lawyers had assumed it was some obscure rights company.
It wasn't. After enough money changed hands and enough people started asking questions they probably shouldn't have, they had traced Northbridge back to Grant Meyers, Marvin's father.
Harvey's mind began moving again. 'So that's the game.'
He had spent months hearing about some quiet little companies buying properties nobody else had bothered chasing.
Novels. Foreign books. Comics. Unproduced stories. Small properties with cheap options. Nothing flashy. Nothing that attracted attention. Until somebody looked at the list as a whole.
Then it became something else. A library. A pipeline. A vault. And Marvin had been quietly filling it.
Northbridge wasn't even the only company the Meyers family had been quietly buying anything that looked like it might become valuable on screen. They were picking them up all over the place, and Northbridge was the name attached to some of it.
What Harvey couldn't understand was why Marvin had bothered hiding behind such a bland name.
The boy put Meyers on everything else.
Why Northbridge? Why keep this one arm of the business so damn quiet?
Harvey had even paid off people at the copyright office to find out who was behind it. He'd gotten his answer, eventually.
And he'd hated that, too.
He'd thought about going to Marvin himself. Offer more money. Buy the rights at a premium. Maybe propose a co-production and turn the whole thing into a win for everyone.
But Harvey Weinstein wasn't accustomed to asking a thirteen-year-old for favors.
Not when he was Harvey Weinstein. So he'd done what he always did. He'd gone around the problem.
Jon Gordon had been sent in as the friendly independent producer. Someone who could approach Marvin without making him suspicious. The company Gordon represented looked small enough, harmless enough.
It wasn't.
Miramax was behind it, hidden through a chain of companies and blind trusts. Harvey had even made sure the paperwork was ready beforehand. The moment Gordon reached an agreement, the rights would move straight into Miramax's hands.
Simple.
Except Marvin already knew.
And now the little bastard was sitting there, casually pointing out exactly who Gordon worked for.
In front of him.
In the middle of Harvey's own party.
Harvey's smile remained in place, but his eyes had changed.
Marvin hadn't just figured out the deal.
He'd figured out how Harvey had tried to make it happen. That was the part Harvey couldn't shake. Someone had talked. And whoever it was had given Marvin enough information to see straight through the whole thing.
Harvey's expression tightened. He studied Marvin for a long moment, reassessing the boy standing in front of him. "You could've come to me."
"I could say the same thing."
Harvey gave a short laugh through his nose. "Yeah." He shook his head. "All right. You got me."
Marvin said nothing.
Harvey looked at him again. "I want *The Hours*."
"I know."
"I'll pay."
"How much?"
That brought the smile back. "Now we're talking."
Marvin didn't return it. "Don't waste our time, Harvey, let it out.."
Harvey's smile thinned. "You really don't make this easy, do you?"
"No."
"Good."
Harvey glanced toward the ballroom. The party had resumed around them, but the noise had changed. People were still talking about Ben, still stealing looks in their direction, yet Harvey barely noticed.
He turned back to Marvin. "Tell me what you want."
Marvin considered him. "That's a better question."
Harvey nodded slowly. "I figured you'd say that."
For a moment they simply stood there. Harvey had stopped thinking about Ben. He'd stopped thinking about the ruined party. He wasn't even thinking about Charlize anymore.
Neither did the embarrassment of having his little scheme exposed in front of the boy he'd been trying to impress.
His attention had narrowed to one thing. Marvin Meyers. The boy wasn't simply collecting scripts. He was quietly building something. A library of properties that other studios would eventually have to come to him for.
Harvey knew exactly how valuable that could become. And he wanted the key.
More importantly, Marvin had just let him know that whatever information Harvey was buying, digging for, or coaxing out of people, Marvin was already several steps ahead of him.
That irritated Harvey more than losing the negotiation. He'd built his career on knowing things other people didn't. He didn't like discovering that someone knew more than he did.
Harvey's jaw worked once. Then the irritation disappeared behind another smile. "Look, Marvin, there's no need to make this personal."
"It isn't."
"Good." Harvey spread his hands. "I've been running a very busy slate. I'm juggling pictures, financing, distribution, awards, actors—everything. I can't personally sit down with every producer who wants something."
Marvin watched him. "So you sent Jon."
"Exactly." Harvey nodded as though the matter were settled. "Jon's a friend. I trust him. He handles the early conversations, I step in when there's something worth my time. That's all."
A faint smile touched Marvin's mouth. "Of course."
Harvey caught the tone. He didn't like it. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Come on." Marvin shrugged. "Delegation."
"Right." Harvey gave him a pointed look. "There's nothing wrong with delegation."
"I never said there was."
Harvey stared at him for another second before deciding to let it go.
The embarrassment was already fading. His pride wasn't. Two years of awards, hit pictures and increasingly powerful relationships had taught Harvey that most people eventually bent if he pushed hard enough.
Marvin hadn't. That was unusual. It was also exactly the sort of thing Harvey found himself wanting to break.
"So," Harvey said, "about *The Hours*."
Marvin's expression changed only slightly. "Ah."
Harvey waited.
Marvin looked at him. "I've already made arrangements."
Harvey's smile disappeared. "What arrangements?"
"The project."
"What about it?"
"Meyers Pictures are producing it."
Harvey's eyes narrowed. "With who?"
"Warner Bros." Silence.
Harvey stared at him. "Warner?"
"Yes."
"Since when?"
"Some time ago."
Harvey's face remained still, but his mind was moving quickly.
He hadn't heard about this. That bothered him.
"With Alan Horn?"
"Yes."
Harvey gave a humorless little laugh. "And I suppose he made you a very nice offer."
"He did."
"How nice?"
"Nice enough."
Harvey's eyes hardened. "That's not an answer."
"It's the one I'm giving you." For a moment Harvey looked like he might push harder.
Then he stopped. He understood. The deal was done.
Or close enough that trying to pry it loose would mean starting a war with Warner Bros., and Alan Horn wasn't the sort of man who would quietly surrender a property once his lawyers had it in motion.
Harvey looked back at Marvin. "So there's nothing I can do?"
"Not for this one." Harvey's jaw tightened.
Marvin continued in the same calm tone. "I'm sorry."
Harvey looked at him. He didn't believe the apology for a second. Neither did Marvin.
Harvey forced another smile. "That's a shame."
"It is."
"You know, I could've run a hell of an Oscar campaign with that."
"I don't doubt that."
Harvey's eyes narrowed. The answer sounded polite. It didn't feel polite.
He gave Marvin a long look. "All right." He nodded once. "I guess Warner got there first."
"Looks that way."
Harvey smiled again. But this time there was nothing friendly about it. "Enjoy it."
"I intend to."
Harvey held his gaze for another second, his jaw tight with irritation. Then he turned toward the ballroom. "Come on," he muttered. "Let's get you another glass of milk."
The jab was deliberate.
Marvin showed no reaction. He simply turned and followed him.
That seemed to irritate Harvey even more.
Harvey's expression soured.
Marvin barely noticed.
If something that mild could provoke him, Marvin would never have survived the life he'd lived before. Insults were nothing. Even the ugliest things people in this world could come up with or say about him would barely register. For a soul as thoroughly demonic as his, Harvey's little jab was almost a compliment.
If anything, Marvin found it amusing.
Still, there was something satisfying about pressing on a bruise.
Marvin wouldn't be a demon if he didn't kick a dog when it was already down and rub coarse salt directly into the open wounds.
Marvin glanced at Harvey's sour, flushed expression, then took another slow sip of his drink. "Actually, Harvey..."
Harvey looked at him.
Marvin smiled. "If you'd come to me yourself, we might've had a very different conversation."
Harvey's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"You wanted *The Hours*."
"I still do."
"I know." Marvin turned his glass between his fingers. "You could've called me. You could've sat down with me and made your case."
Harvey gave a small shrug. "I told you. I was busy."
"Yes." Marvin nodded. "That's what I'm saying."
Harvey stared at him.
Marvin continued, his tone almost conversational. "If you'd treated me like someone you wanted to do business with instead of someone you could negotiate around, I might have considered Miramax."
****
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