DOS Ch-205 & 206

Chapter 205

CNN Entertainment: “TROY ARMITAGE SWEEPS THE GRAMMYS IN UNPRECEDENTED FASHION”
 “History was made at the 48th Annual Grammy Awards last night, as 18-year-old Troy Armitage not only took home 12 trophies—including Album, Record, and Song of the Year—but also became the youngest artist to complete an EGOT. The British actor-turned-singer-songwriter stunned the world with a jaw-dropping medley performance and an unexpected onstage reunion with Rihanna that sent the internet into a collective meltdown. Armitage now holds the record for the most Grammys won in a single year, overtaking Michael Jackson’s longstanding milestone from 1984.
 From his emotional thank-you speech to his genre-spanning live set, Armitage’s night was a perfect blend of authenticity, showmanship, and history-making brilliance. The music world may never be the same again.”

Rolling Stone: “The Night Belonged to Troy Armitage”
 “It was truly a performance for the ages. Yesterday, Troy Armitage was kind enough to let the Grammys attend his concert. It’s amazing to see a young man take the stage and shake everything we thought we knew about award show performances.
 The emotional opening of Someone You Loved transitioned into a high-energy Bad Guy, rocked the crowd with Radioactive, and topped it off with an unexpected duet of We Don’t Talk Anymore—with none other than his ex, Rihanna.
 Everything about the night—from the vocals to the theatrics to the raw vulnerability in his acceptance speech—was masterful. If anyone doubted his historic win, he proved exactly why he deserved every one of those awards.”

Billboard: “Troy Armitage’s Grammy Domination: What It Means for the Industry”
 “Troy Armitage didn’t just dominate the Grammys—he redefined them. [Echoes of You] was the kind of album execs aren’t brave enough to greenlight anymore. And yet, here we are. Storytelling won. Honesty won. Troy won.
 Until a few years ago, no one was interested in making movie musicals anymore. But in the past year alone, we’ve seen three musicals from major studios. None could come close to the success of [Echoes of You]—and that was expected, because none had the star power Troy does.”

The New York Times: “A New Icon Is Born”
 The Times ran a minimalist yet elegant front-page photo of Troy backstage, arms full of Grammys, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. Beside him stood his adoptive brother, Evan Spader, carrying half his load. The accompanying sub-headline read:
 “…He Wrote From Heartbreak. The World Answered…”
 “Troy Armitage made his debut in showbiz at the age of 9, acting in his father’s directorial. Everyone assumed it was just another case of nepotism—and to some extent, it might have been. But if this is what nepotism becomes when nurtured, we don’t mind it at all.”
 “Yesterday, Troy showed the world that he isn’t just another actor or singer—he’s something more. He’s the kind of person who will go down in history as a legend of this era. At 18, he’s achieved more in entertainment than people five times his age.”
 “The biggest reason behind Troy’s success in music is the relatability of his songs. Whether it’s We Don’t Talk Anymore, Someone You Loved, or All of Me, each track captures an emotion deeper than what any other artist is currently delivering. Knowing that such an album was written during a period of personal struggle makes it all the more empowering for anyone going through something similar.”

TMZ: “Troy and Rihanna Back Together? Fans Think So After THAT Performance”
 “Troy Armitage and Rihanna SING TO EACH OTHER—Look at that hug at the end!!!”
 Fans are LOSING IT! They sang a breakup song like they were still in love—and then hugged like it was the end of a movie. Don’t lie—you felt it too. Is Troyanna BACK?!

A short video clip of their duet was already trending at #1 on YouTube by morning, with the comments section flooded with cries of “GET BACK TOGETHER!” and “This is the real Grammy win!”

Good Morning America opened its broadcast with a live segment from outside the Staples Center.

“We haven’t seen this kind of hysteria since Beatlemania,” their anchor said, holding up a newspaper with Troy’s face on it. “Twelve Grammys. A historic duet. An EGOT. What’s next for Troy Armitage? The Olympics? Or maybe he’ll declare himself the king of the world? Are we heading towards a dictatorship?”

BBC News called it a “British invasion reborn,” celebrating his success as a source of national pride. “From child actor to international icon, Armitage’s meteoric rise has been nothing short of miraculous.”

(Break)

“Ladies and gentlemen, my next guest just won twelve—yes, you heard that right—twelve Grammys. That’s so many trophies that he’s now contractually required to be carried everywhere in a reinforced wheelbarrow. Please welcome the incredibly talented Troy Armitage!”

I waved at the audience as I walked onto the set of Late Night with Conan O’Brien. The ginger-haired host shook my hand enthusiastically before gesturing to the seat.

“Okay, first of all,” Conan said after exchanging the usual pleasantries, “I love what you’re wearing. Are you vacationing here?”

I chuckled, glancing down at my outfit. I hadn’t wanted to wear a suit or anything fancy, so I’d opted for a casual, loose-fitted white T-shirt paired with denim shorts that fell just past my knees. I’d accessorized with a thick necklace, a matching wristwatch, and white sneakers to finish the look.

“I might as well be,” I joked. “If this was Jay Leno or Letterman, I might’ve dressed up a bit. But since it’s just you…” I shrugged, earning laughter from the audience at the jab.

Conan gave me a mock-scandalized look before grinning. “Is that so? I have a clip here that tells me something else. Wanna see?”

Before I could respond, a video from last year’s award season played on a nearby screen.

“Conan O’Brien is the best talk show host in America,” I announced on the Golden Globes stage. “Please do watch his show. He’s amazing and hilarious.”

“So,” Conan said, grinning like the cat who got the canary, “you were saying?”

“I was coerced to say that,” I replied with complete seriousness, drawing laughs from both Conan and the audience.

“Moving on,” Conan said, chuckling, “are you tired of carrying around all those Grammys, or have you just fused them into some kind of award-mecha-armor at this point?”

I chuckled. “Funny you say that. I was going to show up in a Grammy-shaped mech suit, but my stylists said it was too much work for one night, so I settled for this.” I motioned toward my clothes.

“British and sarcastic—my favorite combination!” Conan laughed before shifting gears. “Let’s talk about that insane opening number at the Grammys. Thanks to you, nearly 36 million people tuned in to watch the show.”

The audience erupted in cheers.

“Your performance was the only thing anyone could talk about afterward. Man, you’re seriously giving me a complex.” Conan turned to the audience. “Although you probably watched the show already, here’s a little clip I want to show you.”

The screen lit up with a clip from the Grammys—specifically the chorus of Bad Guy, ending with me landing a perfect backflip.

“How did you do that?” Conan asked, incredulous. “Was that a body double who took over for a few seconds?”

I laughed. “I love doing backflips. I did a show on Broadway when I was young called [Billy Elliot].” Someone in the crowd shouted at the mention. “I learned it during that, and ever since, I’ve been able to do them pretty easily. I can do one right now if you want.”

The crowd went wild at the offer.

“You can’t back down now,” Conan said, giving me a mock-serious, expectant look.

Not needing more encouragement, I got up and stretched a bit, the audience egging me on. I stepped forward to avoid hitting the sofa chair behind me. With a grin, I bent my knees, arms swinging forward—and jumped.

By the time I landed, the audience was on its feet, clapping like their lives depended on it. Conan, his sidekick Andy, and even the producers and crew off-camera were joining in.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Nothing had been planned—I just went for it. And seeing the crowd’s reaction, it was totally worth it. I gave a quick bow and blew a few kisses to some girls I spotted in the audience.

“Oh my God!” Conan exclaimed, delighted. “Man, you’re on fire.”

I returned to my seat beside him. “Thank you. I wanted to do a backflip so badly during my concerts, but I was on such a tight schedule that if I got injured, I’d have to postpone the tour, so I didn’t do it. When they asked me to perform at the Grammys, I told them I’d do it on one condition—that they let me do a backflip.”

“And the rest is history,” Conan said with a grin. “Let’s get serious for a second—twelve Grammys. Youngest EGOT in history. All your films are blockbusters. When do you not win at life?”

I almost said “relationships,” but changed my answer at the last second.

“Parallel parking,” I said, completely serious. “I’m convinced it’s a conspiracy against me. I don’t understand why it was even invented. Why can’t we all just reverse park all the time?”

“Thank you! Someone finally said it!” Conan shook my hand like I had just spoken gospel truth. “With the Grammys done, you’ve got the Oscars coming tomorrow, with a nomination for the biggest indie film of the year, [Little Miss Sunshine].”

The audience cheered loudly at that.

“Care to make another bet?” I asked eagerly. “Same terms as last time. I lose, you go bald.”

“No, thanks,” Conan said quickly—way too quickly. “Lightning rarely strikes the same place twice, and this time, you don’t have a million nominations like you did last time. Which reminds me, some people were very vocal about you not getting nominated for [Order of the Phoenix], which they think was overlooked because it’s a fantasy film. How do you feel about that?”

“Oh my God! I didn’t know the world was ending just because I didn’t get nominated for one more award,” I said dramatically, making Conan and the audience laugh.

When the laughter died down, I turned serious. “I personally think that [Order of the Phoenix] was my career-best performance. That said, my dad once told me that getting nominated is an honor, but not getting nominated is not a dishonor. There are way more talented people than me in the world. The fact that my fans argued for my nomination was award enough for me.”

Conan gave me a look of genuine surprise at my answer. I had prepared something else entirely for that question, but in the moment, I’d improvised—and clearly, he liked it.

“So what’s next for you?” Conan asked. “Any new albums or movies we can look forward to?”

I smiled. “Yes. My new album, which is called 2006, is releasing exactly a month from today.”

The audience erupted. Shouts, cheers, and applause filled the studio, and I had to wait a few moments before continuing.

“The pre-sales will begin sometime tomorrow on my personal website for the first one million records. And the first thousand people will get hand-signed copies from me. Not just in the U.S., but in twenty more countries. Those albums will be delivered before it opens for sale to the rest of the world.”

Conan looked at me in disbelief. I hadn’t told him about the album drop beforehand, so the announcement was as much of a surprise for him as it was for the audience. The reason he’d been hinting at my next project was because I had actually come here to promote something else.

“I heard you also had a film releasing soon,” he said casually, steering us back to the topic he was prepared for.

“Not for two more months, but yes,” I said. “It’s called [Disturbia], and it’s a suspense thriller. I brought a trailer with me that the studio has agreed to air right here on the show.”

Conan turned to the audience. “Stay tuned for the trailer right after this, but for now, give it up for Troy Armitage!”

The trailer wouldn’t be shown to the studio audience, but it would air for viewers at home, since Paramount didn’t want it getting leaked before tonight’s official broadcast.

As soon as we heard the “cut,” Conan turned to me. “Why didn’t you tell me about the album?”

I laughed. “I wanted to see your genuine reaction, and it was funny. Don’t worry though, my team will have already released an announcement video on YouTube by now, so it’s not like people won’t know about it.”

Conan shook his head before saying, “By the way, that backflip is going to boost my ratings like crazy.”

“Glad to be of service,” I grinned.

Conan suddenly got a curious look in his eyes. “If you don’t mind me asking—why did you choose me? I’m sure other talk show hosts would be dying to interview you.”

“True,” I nodded. “I got calls from everybody. Ellen called me three times. Since she’s hosting tomorrow, she wanted to do a pre-Oscar session with me, but I declined. I didn’t really want to go on any show right now, but I was free, and since it was you—so I came.”

Conan smiled. “Glad you think so.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, I have some fans to meet.” I motioned toward the group that was getting antsy with every passing moment.

“Go ahead.”

Chapter 206

“Aargh!” I huffed out loud as I raised the barbell above me.

“You can do it, Troy. Just two more reps. Come on!” Ben, my personal trainer, shouted right next to my face.

With great effort, I brought it down to my chest before raising it back up again. On the way up, my arms felt like they would give out at any moment. The burn in my chest was intense. I almost gave up…

“No, you won’t!” Ben barked. “Don’t be a whimp—do it right. Raise it high, right this instant! It’s the last one.”

That did it. I shouted something incoherent again and straightened my arms, then brought the bar back down to my chest, and finally pushed it up one last time.

This time, Ben didn’t yell. He helped me rack the bar back in place.

“I fucking hate you,” I panted. “Asshole.”

“No, you don’t,” Ben quipped. “Or I wouldn’t be here.”

That was true. I’d worked with multiple trainers before, but I preferred Ben because he believed in tough love. I hated him during my workouts, but he somehow got the best results out of me. It was a shame he was so averse to moving to London.

“How much did I lift just now?” I asked.

“225 lbs.” He grinned and offered me a hand to sit up.

I matched his grin and took his hand, sitting upright on the bench. 225 was a new personal record for me this year. Last year, I’d lifted 250 once, but that became almost impossible after losing all that weight. With my new calorie-rich diet, I was gaining it back fast.

Just then, Cynthia—Ben’s wife and my nutritionist—came over and handed me my post-workout smoothie.

“My special blend for you, Troy. I tried a new flavor today.”

I gave her an appreciative nod before taking a sip.

“This is good,” I noted. “I love chocolate… and is that banana? This is way better than the butterscotch you gave me yesterday.”

“Thank you!” Cynthia beamed.

Then I got up from my seat and said, “As much as I’d love to continue this, I have a guest to attend to.” I turned toward the man who’d been standing just a few feet away, quietly keeping an eye on me the whole time.

“You could’ve joined me if you wanted,” I said as I walked toward the exit of my home gym and motioned for him to follow.

“No, thanks,” Andrew Cohen, my financial manager, said immediately. “I prefer running.”

“You do?” I asked, genuinely confused. “Where are you running then? In your dreams, maybe?”

I pointedly glanced at the beer belly Andrew was proudly showing off under the casual T-shirt he was wearing. I had made this a rule that anyone coming to my home won’t wear a suit because suits are so pretentious for everyday life. Even more so in a hot city like Los Angeles.

“Haha,” he said blandly. “That’s hilarious.”

“Did you just quote my own song at me?” I laughed.

He paused for a beat before admitting, “Not intentionally, but sure.”

As we walked through the living room, we passed my dearest boy Loki, who was resting near the couch. The moment he saw me, he perked up and bolted over, running circles around me before pausing to glance longingly outside.

I chuckled and bent down to rub his head. “Just give me some time, Loki. Then we’ll go out and play as long as you want.”

Loki, smart as ever, seemed to understand that we weren’t heading out just yet. He hit me with those puppy-dog eyes, and I almost gave in. Almost.

“How old is he?” Andrew asked curiously.

“Five,” I said, still rubbing Loki’s head. “Come on, Andrew. Let’s get this meeting over with.”

I led him to the study, which was set up exactly for this purpose. Andrew handed me a stack of papers and then sat back in his chair, a cocky grin playing on his face as I looked over the documents.

“This is amazing, man,” I said, genuinely impressed. “I was wondering why no one in the media talked about my billionaire status. But this…”

I looked down at the company structure he’d handed me. Try as I might, I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. The entire setup was far too complex for my understanding.

“Your dad called me in December, before you turned eighteen,” Andrew explained, clearly taking pity on me. “He asked me to devise ways to hide your real net worth, and I did. So, before you could legally attain that much wealth under your own name, I created multiple companies and trusts on your behalf. Some are registered in Delaware, some offshore in the Cayman Islands, Switzerland—and even used your private island to create a company in the Virgin Islands. A total of twenty different entities have been set up for you.”

“And why is that?” I asked, confused. “Why not just one?”

“Because the SEC requires you to disclose leadership if you own at least five percent of a company’s shares. This way, your stake stays below that threshold. I already transferred your CDOs and all your stock holdings into the separate entities. So, technically, you’re no longer a billionaire. That’s why the media hasn’t picked up on it.”

“Hmmm.” I hummed aloud. It was still a lot to take in, but I was starting to get the gist. “And I see you got all of this audited?”

“Of course,” Andrew nodded. “The auditors were thorough—especially when it came to the restructuring.”

As much as I wanted to blindly trust Andrew, I knew better. A few years ago, when my net worth had crossed $100 million, I’d hired Deloitte—the biggest accounting firm in the world. I signed an agreement with them to audit all my books regularly, but with one very specific clause: if any major fraud was found after their clean report which led to financial losses, then they’d have to reimburse it in full. It was an unusual demand, and most firms wouldn’t even entertain it. But Deloitte did, because I was paying them an outrageous amount to ensure they would do their best.

“Good job, Andrew,” I said, nodding in satisfaction.

“Thank you,” he replied. “One question left. What do you want to do with the rest of your liquid cash? After merging all your trust funds, residuals, and current accounts, you’ve got roughly $700 million in cash. That is even after paying off your manager for all the new companies you set up or your film productions.”

“That’s… way too much cash to do nothing with,” I said thoughtfully.

Investing it all short-term would trigger massive taxes. But locking it up long-term wasn’t ideal either, not with the market crash I knew was on the horizon.

Then my eyes drifted toward Andrew’s BlackBerry lying on the table. And just like that—it clicked. The iPhone hadn’t been released yet. That meant Apple stock was about to explode.

“Buy call options in Apple,” I said confidently. “Set them to mature before the end of the year—December, ideally.”

Andrew squinted, thinking it over. “How many options do you want me to buy?”

“As many as you can,” I replied without hesitation.

He thought for a moment, then said, “Two things: One—we won’t be able to buy that much. Realistically, it’ll max out between $400-500 million. Two—if you do this, we’ll have to pay 35% of the gains to the U.S. government in taxes. No way around it. You can’t shelter it through your foundation or other means. Doing so would be considered tax evasion.”

“Pay the taxes,” I said firmly. “I don’t mind. Just, no evasions.”

Andrew nodded, satisfied with my answer.

“As for the remaining amount…” I trailed off, brainstorming.

I thought back to which companies were about to tank. One immediately came to mind.

“Buy put options for AIG,” I said, just as confidently.

“Why AIG?” Andrew asked. “It’s a very stable company.”

“Just do it, man,” I said. “First, exhaust all the cash on Apple. Only after that, short AIG. And unlike Apple, buy two-year options for AIG—even if the premiums are higher.”

“Alright,” Andrew nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

Once he left, I leaned back in my chair, processing everything.

Call options for Apple were a bet the stock would go up. Put options for AIG were the opposite—a bet it would fall. The beauty of options was that you didn’t need to fork over the full investment upfront. Just a premium. Those two moves alone, timed correctly, could earn me more money than most people would see in their entire lifetimes.

But here’s the thing—I didn’t want just financial freedom. I didn’t want to be comfortable. I wanted power. Independence. Creative control. I didn’t want to rely on studios deciding what I could or couldn’t do.

To change that? I needed something big. Like a studio of my own. And for that, I needed capital. A lot of it. Nothing built capital faster than well-timed derivative contracts.

BARK.

Loki stood at the door, tail wagging like a metronome on overdrive. He must’ve seen Andrew leave.

I laughed and got up. “Alright, you convinced me, you little asshole. Come on, let’s run.”

At the word run, Loki’s eyes lit up. We dashed toward the exit together. The Oscars could wait. Loki couldn’t.

(Break)

“The Oscar for Best Supporting Actor goes to… Alan Arkin for [Little Miss Sunshine],” Rachel Weisz announced from the stage.

I shot to my feet, clapping loud and proud. Alan Arkin was a class act—one of the greats. It’s couldn’t have happened to a better guy. And it goes without saying that he was so fun to work with.

A few seats down, Eddie Murphy looked less than thrilled. That’s the game, though. You don’t always win. His performance was great in [Dreamgirls], but Alan in [Little Miss Sunshine] was on another level. Realistically, the race was between Alan and Eddie all this time, I was just a spectator. Both had great career narratives behind them, and neither had won till now. Meanwhile, I was a total opposite of that.

As Alan walked past the front row toward the stage, he stopped by and hugged me.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You deserve it,” I said, pulling back. “Now go get that trophy.”

He grinned and headed up to accept the award.

As he launched into his speech, I finally sat back down.

“You should’ve won it,” Mum said beside me during the ad break. “You were so much better than him.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

“She’s right,” someone else chimed in.

I turned toward the speaker—early thirties, crisp tux, slicked-back blond hair. Handsome, confident. None other than Leonardo DiCaprio himself, one of the greatest actors of the 21st century.

“Thank you, Leo,” I said with a smile. “But it’s never really about who’s the best. It’s all optics. Who do people want to see up there giving a speech? Who’s got the more compelling career arc? I won four Oscars last year—and I didn’t even campaign hard for this one. So yeah, it was obvious I wasn’t winning tonight. If that weren’t the case, you should’ve won way back for What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. Still think that’s your best performance.”

Leo nodded with a quiet, appreciative grin. “Thanks, man. But unlike me, you actually won for your best work—The Sixth Sense. That film still gives me chills. And the way you leveraged that win to further your career? Crazy smart. Your role selection’s next-level. Honestly, I feel like I should be taking notes from you.”

Before I could answer, Ellen DeGeneres appeared beside us—ad break over, camera already zooming in.

“Well, well, well,” she said with that signature grin. “Look who we have here. Ladies—gird your loins—because here come the two most handsome men in the industry: Leo and Troy!”

The audience erupted in laughter and cheers. Ellen turned to me and offered a mic. “Hi!”

“Hey!” I greeted back, taking it.

“I heard you’ve become quite the producer these days,” she said playfully. “With Little Miss Sunshine getting so many nominations tonight.”

I nodded, still not sure where this was going.

Ellen fanned herself with a folded script in her hand. “Whew, is it just me or is it getting hot in here? Oh, what do I have here? A script I wrote. Maybe you’d like to take a little look?”

I chuckled and took the script. “Sure, I’d love to.”

“Great!” she beamed. “Mind reading the first page for the lovely people at home?”

“Alright,” I said, flipping it open—then immediately clocked the setup.

“‘Leonardo DiCaprio was sitting in the front row at the Oscars. Ellen, hosting the show, walked up to him. Leo, ever the naughty boy, pulled Ellen onto his lap and started making out with her.’”

I glanced up—sure enough, Ellen had plopped herself right onto Leo’s lap, wiggling her eyebrows. The crowd roared with laughter.

“You sure this is a real script?” I asked, grinning.

“Oh, it is,” she nodded solemnly. “Keep going—the next part is gold.”

I looked back down. “‘Ellen and Leo are making out.’”

I turned the page. “‘Ellen and Leo are making out.’”

Page after page, same line: Ellen and Leo are making out.

The crowd was in hysterics. Ellen kept making kissy faces at Leo, who looked increasingly awkward with each passing second. I could barely keep a straight face.

“What’s the meaning of this?” I asked, holding up the ridiculous script. “You two just make out? Who’d want to watch that?”

“Who says it has to release?” Ellen shot back with a mischievous smirk. “We can just enjoy making it while making out.”

“I don’t think either of you would enjoy that,” I said seriously.

The crowd exploded. Applause and laughter echoed across the Dolby Theatre.

Ellen stood up from Leo’s lap, mock-offended, and snatched the script from my hands. “You don’t understand art! I’m sure Marty would make a movie with Leo and me—right, Scorsese?”

Martin Scorsese, sitting just a few rows behind us, gave her a huge thumbs-up like he was giving notes on a masterpiece. The audience roared again.

Ellen theatrically tossed the script onto Marty’s lap and headed back to the stage. “While Martin Scorsese deliberates over the future of cinema, here’s our next presenter…”

As the lights refocused and attention shifted, I leaned over to Leo. “You know, I’d love to see you make out with her. Honestly? I’d pay good money for it.”

Leo recoiled with an exaggerated shiver. “No, thank you. Not even for a hundred million.”

I laughed. “You sure? Might help your Oscar campaign.”

He shot me a mock glare as I laughed freely at his expense

A few minutes passed as the ceremony rolled on. Then Leo leaned closer and whispered, “Troy… You going to any parties tonight?”

“The Governor’s Ball,” I replied.

“Of course,” he said. “I meant after that. You know… an after-party. You’re 18 now, aren’t you?”

“I… am,” I said cautiously. I’d heard the horror stories. The real after-parties weren’t anything like the glamorous headlines. They were… wild.

“I’m headed to this exclusive one later. A few friends, some other actors, producers. Should be fun. Wanna come?”

I hesitated. It was an invitation most people would kill for—but I wasn’t most people.

“Come on,” Leo nudged. “Good crowd. Great music. And don’t forget—hot girls. Lots of hot girls.” He lowered his voice because both of our mothers were sitting beside us. “You want a threesome, foursome, just name it. Given who you are, girls will throw themselves at you. You can name your wildest of kinks, and they’ll fulfill it. At least try it out once. You’ll love it.”

I have to say, Leo was an excellent salesman. I tried to play it cool when I said, “Okay, I’ll check it out.”

He gave me a knowing smirk, like he saw right through me and clasped my shoulder in brotherly fashion. “Attaboy. I’ll find you at the Governor’s Ball with the details.”

I nodded just as the lights dimmed again. Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton walked out on stage to present the final award of the night.

Then came the moment I hadn’t expected.

“And the Oscar for Best Picture goes to…” Jack Nicholson paused dramatically. “Little Miss Sunshine!”

For a beat, I froze.

Then I was on my feet, heart pounding. I threw my arms around Mum in pure joy. The cast and crew surged forward, exchanging hugs and cheers as we made our way to the stage.

I wasn’t officially a producer—I had financed the film, but my name wasn’t on the plaque. Still, standing there among them as the team accepted the award, hearing the applause, watching the confetti fall—it didn’t matter. It felt like I had won.

As the producers gave their speech, I looked out at the crowd, then back at the stage.

Two years in a row.

Two of my films, back-to-back, had won the biggest prize in cinema. And the best part was that none of the two film did that in the original timeline, so it was all because of my presence that things were different now.

As the ceremony came to an end and people started leaving for the Governor’s Ball, I couldn’t help but feel more than a little excited about the upcoming after-party Leo had invited me to.