There were over twenty years of friendship between the two families. After the servant brought in the black tea, George Lucas didn’t stand on ceremony and reached out his hand directly. “Where’s the script you mentioned on the phone?”

“Here.”

Opening his bag, Duke handed over a script of less than two hundred pages. He had already mentioned the script when he called yesterday. “In the past month or so, I’ve visited quite a few companies in Hollywood.”

“I heard about it from people at CAA.”

Flipping through the script, George Lucas spoke as he read, “The good-for-nothing son of Leah Rosenberg from St. Fia Advertising, naively wanting to be a director.”

Duke frowned for a moment, but quickly returned to normal.

After only a few exchanges, George Lucas fell silent, focusing his attention on the script. Over the past month, Duke had met many people, but this was the first time someone had read his script so seriously right in front of him—and that person happened to be someone closely connected to his family. It was, in a way, ironic.

At the same time, it also allowed Duke, who had always hovered on the edge of this circle, to witness the brutally realistic side of Hollywood: without credentials, connections, or achievements, you were nothing but a weed that no one cared about.

Hollywood would rather invest heavily in a flop by a famous person than spare a glance at a newcomer.

Nearly an hour passed before George Lucas finally put down the script. He picked up his teacup and took a sip of the now-cold black tea, then asked Duke, “Is there anything else?”

“Yes!”

Taking out a carefully prepared videotape from his bag, Duke walked over to the TV cabinet, turned on the TV and VCR, and inserted the tape. After a brief flurry of static, a series of roughly edited shots appeared on the screen, accompanied by a drumbeat-like soundtrack.

The footage wasn’t complicated, constantly switching between the front wheel of a car and the speedometer. But the spinning wheel and the needle hovering above 50 were clearly edited with care. Each short shot lasted no more than a second, and the frequent, smooth cuts easily created a sense of tension.

Although the visuals were a bit monotonous, George Lucas watched intently. He naturally thought of the film’s premise—that a bomb would explode if the speed dropped below 50 miles per hour—and connected it to the footage…

“Duke, come sit.”

George Lucas motioned for Duke to turn off the TV, then pointed to the chair opposite. “Dazzling action shots, sharp editing style—you did a great job.”

“Uncle George…”

“George,” Lucas corrected him.

“All right, George.”

Once Duke sat down, George Lucas switched to a completely businesslike tone. “The script isn’t particularly outstanding—at best, it’s an above-average commercial script. In Hollywood, a good idea can become a bad movie, and a bad idea can become a good movie. The director’s role is extremely important. If this script were given to an experienced director, there’s a fifty percent chance it could turn a profit.”

Hearing this, Duke gave a helpless smile. George Lucas’s meaning was very clear.

“I’ve seen your estimated production costs. Even if all the special effects are handled by Industrial Light & Magic, the cost can’t possibly be under ten million dollars.”

In an instant, Lucas switched from businessman to elder. “When it comes to such a large investment, even Lucasfilm has to be cautious. Duke, you’re still young. Get more experience for a few years—there will definitely be opportunities in the future.”

After that, George Lucas didn’t mention anything related to the movie again, instead shifting the conversation to Duke’s mother and reminiscing about their early days starting out together. It wasn’t until after dinner that he let Duke leave.

Not long after the black Chevrolet sedan disappeared at the gates of the estate, the phone in the living room suddenly rang.

“George, it’s me.”

The voice on the other end was clearly Leah Rosenberg. “Did you see Duke?”

“Yes.”

“I have some things about Duke I’d like to discuss with you. Will you come to Los Angeles, or should I go to San Francisco?”

“I’ll come over.”

Chapter Six: The Director Is You

“Are you sure you want to do this, Leah?”

Setting down his coffee cup, George Lucas broke the quiet atmosphere of the café with a surprised remark, quickly lowering his voice. “This is too risky!”

“I am Duke’s mother.”

Sipping her coffee slowly, Leah Rosenberg’s voice remained calm. “I know how realistic Hollywood is. If I don’t help him, who else in this world will?”

She looked up at George Lucas, her black eyes as calm as water. “I’m only doing what a mother can do within her abilities.”

“After you called me last night, I studied the script carefully.”

Seeing his friend’s resolve, George Lucas quickly regained his composure and spoke only the most basic facts. “To achieve the effect of the script, the film will definitely need an investment in the tens of millions. I watched a piece of footage shot by Duke—he really has ideas, and his fast, sharp editing is very distinctive, but he lacks experience!”