Chapter 4: Assembling the Team Begins
In the dining room, it was one of those rare evenings when the whole family—mother, father, and son—sat down to share a meal. Beneath the table, two golden retrievers lay quietly at Wayne's feet. They had already finished their canned food, but stuck around on the off chance he might slip them a bite or two of beef.
Wayne chatted with his mother about the lighter moments from school as he savored her homemade beef and potato stew. Over the years, he had grown used to American food.
After dinner, the whole family—including the two dogs—settled on the couch to watch TV. Wayne pulled out a document folder and handed it to his mother.
"Mom, take a look at this. It's the first feature-length film I've written for myself. I plan to make it my graduation project. Dad's already agreed to help me contact a CPA tomorrow and is willing to invest in the production."
His mother took the folder while Mr. Garfield, sensing the mood, lowered the volume on the TV. About thirty minutes later, while Wayne and his father were sitting cross-legged on the floor, engaged in a heated debate about the Packers' and Patriots' quarterbacks, his mother finally set down the script.
"Wayne, honestly, I don't like the story—but the project itself is highly viable. For a debut film, it's very well-suited. I went through your budget; it's around $1.2 million. But you'll need to account for delays or unexpected issues during production. For a first-time director, overruns are almost guaranteed.
The cast is small, and the acting demands aren't particularly high. My advice? Cast a stunning blonde as the female lead. Yes, she needs to be beautiful—don't underestimate the value of eye candy. Wayne, promise me you won't put too much pressure on yourself."
Wayne listened carefully. He knew his mother had once been a top-tier producer. Though it had been some years, her eye for detail and industry instincts were still sharp. Unlike his father, she hadn't completely left the creative world behind—she still dabbled in screenwriting.
"Mom, I'm going to make it. A lot of people in Hollywood are just waiting for a break, and I'm not going to waste mine. I don't want to graduate and wander from one small crew to another, only to get a chance to direct a film ten or even twenty years later—where I'd just be a puppet with no say in post-production. This is my one shot to prove myself."
He looked into her eyes with conviction. He wasn't just saying this to her—he was saying it to himself. He had no time to waste. In producer-driven Hollywood, Wayne had seen too many directors become little more than glorified operators, with no control over the final cut.
Only those who consistently proved themselves through success earned a voice in the editing room. Wayne had no intention of becoming the kind of director who couldn't even offer input on how his own film was cut. That wasn't the kind of career he wanted.
"Of course, honey. I believe in you," his mother said, gently stroking his determined face. "You'll be the pride of this family."
Even though he knew she was offering comfort more than certainty, Wayne was deeply moved. With a father willing to fund his first film, and a mother constantly encouraging him to grow, he couldn't help but feel grateful to have been born into such a supportive family.
"Alright, kiddo," his dad grinned. "If you're willing to ditch the Patriots and support the Packers with me, I might even think about increasing your budget."
Wayne rolled his eyes at the TV. "Not a chance, Dad. The Patriots are taking the Super Bowl. Just watch."
He playfully punched the air in his father's direction, scooped up the script, and headed upstairs.
There was a lot to do—storyboards to sketch, planning to refine. Just as his father had said: this was his one shot. And Mr. Garfield would only fund one film.
If he blew this chance and failed to get his golden ticket into Hollywood, then all that would remain was a fallback path—relying on his parents' connections to land minor gigs in TV or commercial shoots. He'd have to build from the bottom, as an assistant director or lower, slowly earning credits and hoping for that elusive break.
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The next morning, he was woken up by two wet tongues on his face. The golden retrievers had launched their usual ambush.
"Hey, you little monsters! Off the bed—you're way too big now."
He gave them a gentle shove and patted their heads. It was already past eight. Sunlight poured onto the bed through the balcony doors, warming the sheets and making it especially hard to leave the comfort.
After splashing cold water on his face in the bathroom, he grabbed two carrots and headed to the stables behind the villa. With practiced ease, he fed the carrots to a sleek black quarter horse, then began cleaning the stable and brushing the horse's coat.
The black quarter horse was a gift for his fifteenth birthday. When Mr. Garfield first brought it home, it had been just a foal. Ever since, as long as Wayne was home, he would take care of it every morning—cleaning the stable, brushing its coat. If the weather was nice, he'd even take it out for a ride.
Just like with the two golden retrievers, Mr. Garfield had set his rule: "If you want it, it's yours—but you take care of it yourself. No one's going to do it for you."
"You treat them as friends and partners. If you can't, there'll be consequences." Usually, that meant helping the ranch hands with hard labor. That was the education Mr. Garfield had instilled in Wayne from a young age—a man must take responsibility for his choices.
There was no denying that American parenting differed significantly from other parenting in this regard. Every culture has its strengths. One thing that struck Wayne deeply: the content taught in junior high across the Pacific was taught in American high schools. But surprisingly, American elementary school covered things that wouldn't be taught in his past life until university.
After riding the horse around the property, Wayne returned upstairs drenched in sweat. He took a shower, changed clothes, and came down for breakfast.
"Mom, where's Dad? I remember clearly—he never gets up early to help the cowboys."
His mother, holding a pitcher of milk, poured him a glass and replied,
"Would you like some eggs too? He's gone to the entrance of the farm. Howard's on his way—your dad went to pick him up."
Wayne instantly understood. Howard was the Garfield family accountant. He handled their taxes and investments. That could only mean one thing—his funding was about to come through.
Just as he finished breakfast, the front door swung open. He and his mother stepped into the living room to find his father entering with a middle-aged white man.
"Oh, Anna, you're still as lovely as ever. And little Wayne—how's school treating you? I heard you're about to graduate. Time really flies, doesn't it?"
"Uncle Howard, coffee?" Wayne offered politely. "Yeah, I'm in my final year of college."
Wayne handed him a cup of coffee and took a seat nearby, listening as his father and Howard began discussing business.
"Ruben, I brought the paperwork you requested. Just sign here and we're good to go. But I must remind you—this money is from the trust you set up for Wayne. Are you sure it's wise to pull it out now? Internet stocks are looking promising these days."
Mr. Garfield signed without hesitation.
"This kid is graduating soon, and I made him a promise. I said I'd invest in his first full-length film."
"Well then," Howard shrugged. "The funds have already been transferred to your account. You can cut him a check whenever you're ready."
Without pause, Mr. Garfield took out his checkbook and wrote Wayne a check for $1.2 million. Even in a wealthy household like theirs, that was no small amount—it was a fortune, in any era.
"Wayne, this was always part of our father-son agreement. Honestly, I didn't think you'd stick to your goals all the way from childhood until now. But this is it—this is the last money you'll ever get from this family. One last reminder: if you mess this up, you'll be on your own. You'll have to take internships to cover your own living expenses."
Wayne accepted the check—$1.2 million—a staggering sum. If he had to earn that himself, it would take years.
"I understand, Dad. I really do. I know you and Mom still doubt me, but I won't just avoid losing money—I'll make it back."
With that, he carefully tucked the check into his pocket and returned upstairs to his room. After a moment of reflection, Wayne picked up the phone and dialed his agent, Jimmy.
"Hey, Jimmy, it's Wayne. You can start hiring now. I need your help finding some reliable people. Yeah—I'm heading back to LA tomorrow. I'll meet them when I get there."
After hanging up, Wayne pumped his fist in excitement. Finally—it's really starting.
He pulled out the check and stared at it for a moment. He knew his father had set up a trust fund for him long ago—but that money was locked away until Wayne reached his forties and had nothing to show for himself.
Mr. Garfield had once cashed out his film company stocks, walking away with a decent sum. But he'd been pushed out of the industry, leaving him disillusioned. He used that money to buy the ranch and fund Wayne's trust. Giving him over a million dollars now… wasn't easy.
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The next day, after saying goodbye to his mother, Wayne drove off the farm and hit Highway 101, heading straight back to Los Angeles.
After a quick stop at his apartment to freshen up, he arrived at Jasmine Café, where Jimmy was already waiting with a folder full of profiles.
"Based on your criteria, these are the best people I could find," Jimmy said. "They've got some experience, but haven't worked on any big productions yet. Capable, and affordable."
"Let me take a look." Wayne flipped through the profiles:
Steve Wilson – Gaffer (Lighting Technician)
Lily Angie – Makeup Artist
Ross Weir – Props Master
Mia Craig – Set Designer
Each had practical experience and modest rates.
"Okay, let's go with them for now. Do you have any actor recommendations? I need a female lead's friend—someone with that all-American 'big girl' energy. Oh, and a male actor. Key point: cheap."
Jimmy looked up from the script.
"What about the female lead? Want me to look for one? CAA has tons of new faces."
"No need," Wayne replied. "I already have someone in mind."
Indeed, Wayne had already chosen his lead—a neighbor who had come to Hollywood chasing her dream. In his past life, he had seen her in films. She was perfect for the role.
With so many tasks piling up, Wayne quickly felt overwhelmed. He was just one man. First, he visited Delaware with his lawyer, Ryan, to register a company—Garfield Studio.
He didn't have a choice. His film was going to be a small indie project. Having a registered studio made it easier to sign legal contracts with the crew. A real company sounded far more credible than a college kid with a dream.
Thanks to Delaware's business-friendly laws, all he needed was a nominal office address—he could even share a receptionist with another company. It still cost him $5,000.
But it was worth it. Delaware offered tax advantages and had a specialized Chancery Court to handle business disputes efficiently—nearly all major Hollywood studios were registered there, from Disney to Paramount.
Wayne signed contracts with the crew members Jimmy had recommended, barely having time to catch his breath before heading to school. There, he asked Professor Anderson to recommend an alumnus—someone with good grades but who was still job-hunting.
Professor Anderson introduced him to Luke Simmons, who had graduated two years earlier. Luke had been bouncing between crews ever since, unable to gain a foothold—but Wayne had a role for him. They arranged to meet the next day at Jasmine Café.