"André, let me introduce you to someone special. This young lady is known as the 'Flower of Hollywood'—Hedy Lamarr, the only daughter of Universal Pictures' owner. Kid, if you manage to marry her, you’ll never have to worry about money for the rest of your life!" Grant's playful remark elicited hearty laughter from those nearby, except for the man in white standing beside Hedy, who shot me a murderous glare.

  Even a fool could see it—this guy was interested in Hedy. Unfortunately for him, while he was smitten, she clearly couldn't care less about him.

  I extended my hand with a smile. "André Corleone. A pleasure to meet you."

  Hedy, however, merely glanced at me before scoffing. "Hmph, an Italian? I despise Italians." She crossed her arms and looked away, deliberately ignoring my outstretched hand.

  Humiliating me in front of so many people? My temper flared instantly. Keeping my voice cool, I replied, "Miss Lamarr, you certainly seem well-versed in the world. But I wonder, are you aware that the surname Corleone is of Polish aristocratic origin?"

  There were plenty of Polish noble families—I was bluffing, but there was no way this spoiled young lady would know the difference. There was no way I would let a woman put me down in public without fighting back.

  Feigning a sigh, I continued, "Then again, I can’t blame you. My grandfather once told me that America is a young country without much history. Its people, naturally, have little interest in culture and heritage. The only thing they truly value is money."

  I knew exactly what I was doing. For proud Americans, the best way to put them on the defensive was to challenge their sense of history. And in this gathering, men like Malskolov and Fox weren’t even born in the United States. As immigrants, they lacked deep nationalistic pride. But Hedy? She was born and raised in America. She saw herself as a true American.

  As expected, my words hit their mark. Hedy’s face flushed with anger, but she found herself unable to argue against me. Frustrated, she snapped, "You—you're nothing more than a broke noble! I bet your so-called 'family history' isn’t even a hundred years old!"

  I chuckled. "You're absolutely right. Not very long—only seven or eight hundred years, give or take. As for being broke, well, that part is true. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be making movies for a living."

  The group erupted into laughter. Malskolov and the others found my self-deprecating remark amusing, while Hedy, humiliated, looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

  Feeling satisfied, I let Grant steer me toward the last member of the film board—the young man in the white suit who had been glaring at me since the start.

  "André, this is Mr. Mitt Cohen. His father is John Cohen, the head of Columbia Pictures."

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  The son of Columbia’s boss—an undeniable Hollywood aristocrat.

  "Nice to meet you, Mr. Cohen," I said, offering a polite nod. I already knew he wouldn’t shake my hand.

  Mitt merely snorted in response, ignoring me altogether.

  With introductions finally done, Grant suggested we take the group on a tour of our film set.

  Malskolov and Fox were genuinely impressed by how efficiently our set was run. Jack Warner, on the other hand, was more interested in our film’s storyline, pestering me for a copy of the script. After I politely refused, he resigned himself to watching Julie instead.

  "So, the rumors were true—he really is a womanizer," I thought, noting the way Warner’s gaze lingered on her.

  Meanwhile, Mitt Cohen was relentless in his criticism. He sneered at our props, mocked our outdated cameras, and wouldn’t stop bragging about how Columbia’s production facilities were vastly superior. He stuck to Hedy like glue, endlessly boasting, much to her evident annoyance.

  "Mr. Corleone, please proceed with your shoot. We’d love to see how young filmmakers work," Malskolov said, pulling up a chair beside Fox.

  "Alright. Everyone, quiet on set! Places, everyone! Lights ready, cameras ready… Action!"

  With my command, silence fell across the set. Berg perched high on the moving platform, camera aimed at the restaurant’s entrance.

  Dietrich and Bush entered, pushing open the doors. The camera tracked them from above, following their movement seamlessly as they navigated through the tables and took their seats—a continuous one-shot sequence.

  For the scene where they ordered food, I applied what Hollywood would later call the '180-degree rule' for shot-reverse-shot sequences. I interspersed close-ups of fingers tapping, lips moving, subtle glances—capturing every nuance of emotion. Occasionally, the camera cut to the rainstorm outside (created by a water truck) to heighten the romantic tension.

  "Cut!" The sequence wrapped up flawlessly. Julie was in top form, delivering a natural and captivating performance. Out of all the takes, only one required a retake—the rest were executed perfectly in a single shot. Berg handled the camera masterfully, meeting all of my expectations.

  "Brilliant! Simply brilliant!" Malskolov erupted into applause. "André, I’ve been in this industry for years, but I’ve never seen anyone shoot a film quite like you. Your technique is fresh, your staging impeccable, and your sense of rhythm—flawless! Incredible!"

  "Grant, that $3,000 investment of yours was the best money you ever spent! Worth every cent!" Fox added enthusiastically. "At first, I thought this visit would be a waste of my afternoon, but if I had missed this, I’d have regretted it for the rest of my life! Kid, you make us feel old."

  Sensing an opportunity, I played my hand. "Mr. Malskolov, Mr. Fox, you flatter me. I’m just a newcomer—I wouldn’t dare compare myself to veterans like you. This entire production cost less than $50,000, and even if I finish it, I don’t know if I’ll find a theater willing to screen it."

  Malskolov and Fox exchanged glances before bursting into laughter. They had seen countless films in their time, and in their expert opinion, mine was a guaranteed success. MGM and Fox’s theaters were desperate for profitable films, and here I was, practically handing them one. Supporting me would cost them nothing and earn them goodwill.

  "André, if you don’t mind, once your film is completed, we’ll screen it in all 140 of MGM’s theaters in Los Angeles. No rental fees—just for the sheer joy of it. What do you say?" Malskolov offered, his eyes gleaming as if he had just discovered a rare treasure.

  Not to be outdone, Fox quickly jumped in. "I’ll play the good guy too! André, Fox doesn’t have as many theaters as MGM, but we still have around 70 in L.A. If you’d like, we’ll screen your film free of charge as well."

  My mind reeled.

  Two of Hollywood’s biggest studios, offering to screen my film across 200 theaters—for free?!

  Holy hell, I had struck gold!

  I eagerly showered the two men with gratitude, throwing every flattering word I knew at them. This was beyond anything I had dreamed of.

  I was about to hit the jackpot!