Chapter 39 New Place (Patreon)

On Lankershim Boulevard, the usually quiet Crown Entertainment Films had something going on. Nathan seemed more energized than usual—and he wasn't shooting an ad or working on a film. He was running auditions with his entrepreneur son, Marcus.

"You performed well," Nathan said to the hopeful actor. "We'll contact you if you're selected for the role." He paused. "But I'm not gonna give you false hope. Realistically, we'd only cast you if we got desperate and everyone else competing did worse."

The actor didn't look offended—just disappointed. "I understand." He sighed and left.

After the door closed, Marcus couldn't help but roll his eyes. "You could've worded that better. Why say it like that? You're just being mean."

Jefferson, who was also present, chimed in. "That's typical Nathan. He hasn't changed—especially that mouth of his."

Nathan retorted, "Wh-what do you want me to say? Lie to their faces? Act like it's America's Got Stars where we say yes to everyone and let 'em compete through the rounds till the finals?" He snorted. "That's not how acting auditions work. Get used to it."

Marcus sighed. He hated to admit it, but his dad was right—the delivery just rubbed him the wrong way.

"Shows aren't really my thing anyway," Nathan added, glancing at Marcus. "That was always my old partner's territory—that son of a bitch Garry." He crossed his arms. "But you keep saying this show's gonna be huge, so here I am."

"The only reason you even agreed to this is 'cause you're hoping it blows up—so you can rub it in Garry's face, right?" Jefferson added from the side.

"Damn right." Nathan didn't even try to deny it. "If this show actually takes off, I can prove something to that hack Garry Gutless."

Marcus, having lived in this world for about a year now, had gotten used to his "dad." He didn't bother commenting on the pettiness anymore.

He'd given Nathan the directing job on Modern Family because the man was a director with nothing substantial going on—just ad work these days. Playing the good son, Marcus handed him the opportunity.

Sure, he could've made the show himself. But that would've been too time-consuming. As the owner and CEO of Netflicks, he couldn't afford to be tied down to a single production.

So Nathan was a useful asset—someone with real talent to put to the test. Besides, Modern Family was just one of many shows Marcus had planned for Netflicks. There were more in the pipeline.

With a budget of millions, he wasn't afraid to take risks.

But he still had to be careful. The deal with Douglass came with strings attached.

If Marcus diluted more than ten percent of his shares before the loan was repaid, every excess percentage point would trigger a penalty. He'd either have to pay down a corresponding portion of the loan to offset it—or that percentage would convert to Douglass's equity permanently, even if Marcus repaid the full debt later.

And if he defaulted entirely? The whole seventy million would convert at a brutal valuation. Douglass would walk away owning 87% of Netflicks.

The clause was designed to keep Marcus on a leash. One wrong move with the cap table, and Douglass would have his claws in the company forever.

'I need to grow this company without giving up any more equity,' Marcus reminded himself. 'Every percentage point matters.'

While he was deep in thought, another actor entered.

This one caught everyone's attention immediately.

The man looked like he'd seen better days. Mid-thirties, maybe. The kind of face you'd expect to see in a family sitcom—approachable, relatable. But right now, he just looked tired. A little too thin. Clothes that hung loose like he'd lost weight recently. The overall impression was someone who'd been grinding through a rough patch for a while.

Nathan, Jefferson, and Marcus all thought the same thing:

'This guy looks like he's been through hell.'

"Hi. I'm Timothy Beryl. I'm here to audition for Phil Dunphy." The man's voice was flat—like he'd mustered just enough energy to introduce himself. There was a weariness underneath, the kind that came from too many auditions and too many rejections. He probably didn't even realize he was giving off that vibe.

Nathan nodded, unimpressed. "Alright. You've got the right age and look for the role. Though you don't exactly seem like a guy who's living comfortably—which Phil is supposed to be." He waved it off. "But I'll ignore that for now. Let's see you do the scene where Phil's trying to be the 'cool dad' while his kids are embarrassed by him."

Timothy nodded and stepped into the role.

The performance was... okay. Serviceable. He hit the beats, delivered the lines with decent timing. Nothing was technically wrong with it. But nothing stood out either. It was the kind of audition you'd see a dozen times in a day—competent but forgettable.

Nathan didn't look impressed. Neither did Jefferson. They'd seen better today. A few actors earlier had more natural comedic instincts, sharper delivery.

But Marcus?

Marcus was watching with different eyes.

As Timothy performed, Marcus could see the parallel to the original actor from his previous life. The mannerisms. The way he carried himself. That underlying warmth beneath the goofiness.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

'Heh. They're not identical—not even close to clones. But this Timothy... he could pass as a brother of the original actor.' Marcus studied him carefully. 'His acting's rough around the edges, but that's something we can polish. The raw material is there.'

There was no doubt in his mind. He wanted to cast this guy.

Partly because Timothy looked closer to the original Phil Dunphy than anyone else who'd walked through that door.

And partly because something about the man's appearance—that beaten-down, desperate-but-still-trying energy—triggered something in Marcus. Sympathy, maybe. Recognition.

Either way, he'd made his decision.

Toward the end of the audition, Nathan and Jefferson had already checked out mentally. In their minds, they'd rejected this guy before he even finished.

"Alright, you did great. Expect a call from us soon." Marcus suddenly spoke up, surprising both of them.

After all, Marcus had barely said a word throughout the auditions. He never took initiative to comment on anyone's performance.

"Thank you." Timothy nodded, a grateful smile breaking through his tired expression.

"I really liked what you brought to the role. You can expect good news." Marcus added, surprising the two men even more.

"Th-thank you very much." Even Timothy was caught off guard. From what he was hearing, it sounded like he actually had a real shot at this.

Marcus gave him a few more notes on the performance, encouraging words, before Timothy left.

As the door closed, Nathan finally spoke up. "What the hell was that? Did you just give that poor bastard false hope? You playing with his feelings or something?"

"That's even more cruel than what Nathan does, kid," Jefferson said, shaking his head with disapproval.

Marcus chuckled at their reactions. "What do you mean false hope? He got the role."

Nathan and Jefferson were left speechless.

Nathan stuttered, "You— what?" He composed himself. "You're telling me we're giving the role to that sad sack?"

Even Jefferson wasn't on board. "I'm with your dad on this one, kid. Why'd you pick that guy?" He raised an eyebrow. "Is it because you feel sorry for him?"

Marcus couldn't exactly tell them: 'No, it's because that guy looks closest to the original actor from my previous life.'

So instead, he said, "Look, his acting isn't flashy. I get that. But for the character of Phil Dunphy, he's exactly what we need."

Nathan crossed his arms, eyes challenging. "Oh yeah? Care to explain that?" Clearly, he wasn't buying it.

Jefferson stayed quiet, but his expression said he felt the same way.

"Alright, alright. I'll break it down for you." Marcus sighed, his mind racing. He paused for a few seconds, piecing together an argument on the fly. "Phil Dunphy is supposed to be an average American dad. We don't need some over-the-top slapstick goofball. This is a mockumentary about a normal family—it doesn't need the exaggerated punchlines you see in other sitcoms. It needs to feel grounded..."

He kept going, building on the logic, making his case sound as reasonable as possible.

And sure enough—even though Marcus had pulled that entire explanation out of his ass on the spot—it landed. Nathan and Jefferson were nodding along. The reasoning was solid enough to stick.

"Okay, okay. You're the one who came up with this whole sitcom idea in the first place, so I'll trust your judgment. I'm sold." Nathan waved it off, not wanting to argue further.

Jefferson nodded in agreement.

Marcus felt a wave of relief. His bullshit explanation actually worked.

With that settled, they moved on with the rest of the auditions.

---⁠ᄒ⁠ᴥ⁠ᄒ⁠---

Days passed. Marcus still showed up to class—but barely. He'd become that guy. The one who rolled in whenever he felt like it, left early, missed entire weeks. The mysterious kid with "better things to do."

And somehow, that only made him more popular.

There's always been something magnetic about the guy who's never around. Like he's got somewhere more important to be. Too busy for the mundane bullshit everyone else is stuck in. Add in the fact that Marcus barely gave the hot girls a second glance? That drove them crazy.

It was basic psychology. The more you don't give a damn, the more they give a damn about you.

Plus, Paranormal Activity had turned into a genuine phenomenon.

The movie started small—$95,000 in fourteen theaters back in September. By mid-October, it had expanded to 159 screens and crossed $8 million. Then Summit went wide.

Halloween weekend exploded—1,900 theaters, $22 million in a single weekend. By Thanksgiving, it had blown past $85 million domestic. December pushed it past $105 million stateside, and international markets were still rolling out.

As of January, the film had crossed $150 million worldwide—and the checks were still coming. International territories like the UK, Germany, and Japan were just hitting their stride.

The final number would climb higher before it was all said and done.

The entertainment press couldn't stop talking about it. A sixteen-year-old director. A viral marketing campaign that convinced half the internet the footage was real. Return on investment that made studio executives weep with envy.

Word had also spread around school that Marcus was becoming some kind of "entrepreneur." That he owned a company. That he was basically a millionaire now.

The senior girls—the eighteen-year-olds who'd never looked his way before—suddenly found reasons to talk to him. A few had made it pretty clear they were interested in more than conversation.

Marcus would've entertained the idea. He wasn't dead, after all. But between Netflicks, Modern Family pre-production, and everything else on his plate, he barely had time to sleep.

Still, things might be changing soon. Marcus was already planning to move out of his dad's house.

Netflicks was pulling in over $300,000 a month now. He couldn't touch those earnings yet—everything was being reinvested into growth—but *Paranormal Activity* had been a different story entirely.

After Summit recouped twice their marketing and distribution costs, the backend kicked in. Marcus had split his 13% gross with the team—Katherine took 3%, Arya and Ryan each got 1%—leaving him with 8% of everything after the recoupment threshold.

Eight percent of roughly $128 million in qualifying gross came out to around $10 million. Add the $370,000 upfront payment. Subtract California and federal taxes—somewhere around 40%—and Marcus was sitting on approximately six and a half million dollars in actual, spendable cash.

And there was more coming. Every month, as additional international territories reported their numbers, another deposit would hit his account.

Six and a half million. At seventeen. With more on the way.

---…⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ---

At the Crown residence, Marcus was packing up his clothes and belongings. Arya and Ryan were there helping out, hauling boxes to the U-Haul parked in the driveway.

Nathan stood nearby, arms crossed, watching. His expression was complicated—pride mixed with something harder to name. Maybe he hadn't expected this day to come so soon.

"Moving out at seventeen?" Nathan shook his head slowly. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all." He paused, then added with a smirk, "Just don't come crawling back to daddy when you get lonely."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "You moved out at fifteen. If you made it, I'll be fine."

"Damn right." Nathan nodded approvingly. "That's the spirit. You make me proud, boy."

They talked for a while longer—logistics, bills, basic life stuff Nathan figured his son should know. Then Marcus climbed into the truck with his friends and pulled away.

When they arrived at the new place, Arya and Ryan's jaws practically hit the floor.

It was a two-story contemporary in a quiet Westside neighborhood. Clean architectural lines. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A small front yard with drought-resistant landscaping.

Inside, the open floor plan connected a spacious living room to a modern kitchen—white quartz countertops, stainless steel appliances, an island with bar seating. Polished concrete floors throughout the first level, hardwood upstairs. Four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a small backyard with a covered patio.

Nothing insane by LA standards. No infinity pool or home theater. But for three teenagers? It felt like a mansion.

"Dude." Ryan turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. His voice carried undisguised envy. "This place is sick. I wish I could do something like this—just move out, be independent, you know?"

"You could," Marcus said with a shrug. "Between your cut from Paranormal Activity and whatever you've got saved, you're sitting on like seven hundred grand after taxes. That's plenty to get started."

Ryan blinked. Sometimes he forgot. The 1% gross share Marcus had given him had actually paid out. He had real money now—life-changing money for a seventeen-year-old.

"He can't," Arya cut in, answering for him. "He wouldn't last a week on his own. The boy can't cook anything except instant ramen and frozen pizza."

"Ugh." Ryan groaned but didn't argue. "Okay, fair. Valid point."

Marcus smiled. "So be my roommate."

Ryan's head snapped toward him. "Wait—for real?"

"You're serious?" Even Arya looked caught off guard.

Marcus looked at both of them, amused. He hadn't asked them to help with the move just for the free labor. He'd been planning to float this idea from the start.

The logic was simple. Yeah, he could afford this place solo—but why waste money? Split the rent three ways and everyone saved. Same with utilities, groceries, all that everyday stuff. Shared expenses meant more cash for other things. And having people around meant he wouldn't be rattling around a four-bedroom house by himself like some lonely weirdo.

"Why not?" Marcus gestured around. "This place is way too big for just me. Four bedrooms and I'm only using one? That's stupid." He paused. "Besides, it'd get pretty depressing living here alone—"

"Say no more!" Ryan practically shouted. "Bro, my parents have been on my ass about moving out anyway. This is perfect!"

Truth was, he was also sick of his older brother Benjamin hogging the TV and leaving dishes everywhere. Getting out of that house sounded like heaven.

Marcus laughed at how fast Ryan jumped on it. Zero hesitation. Not even a moment to think it over. Then he turned to Arya. "What about you?"

Arya fidgeted with her hands, looking nervous. But her eyes gave her away—she clearly wanted to say yes.

"I... I want to," she admitted quietly. "But I'd have to talk to my parents first."

Marcus nodded. That made sense. A seventeen-year-old girl moving out was different from a seventeen-year-old guy moving out. Different expectations. Different concerns. Parents worried more.

"No pressure. Take your time, talk it over with them." He kept his tone easy, no pressure. "And honestly? I'd get it if they said no. Most parents wouldn't be thrilled about their daughter living with two guys, even if we're all friends."

Arya's hands shot up, waving frantically. "N-no, it's not like that! I trust you guys completely. You're my best friends. I know nothing weird would happen."

Her cheeks had gone pink. She couldn't quite meet Marcus's eyes.

Marcus just nodded, keeping his expression neutral.

He'd noticed it for a while now—the way Arya had gotten more reserved around him even as they'd grown closer. The nervous energy whenever they were alone. The way she'd blush at random moments, then look away like she'd been caught doing something wrong.

She had feelings for him. That much was obvious to anyone paying attention.

But he wasn't going to bring it up. There was no good way to have that conversation without making things awkward for everyone. Better to just let it be and hope she worked through it on her own.

Some things were better left unspoken.