If the movie was good, audiences would recommend it to their friends or even come back for a second or third viewing. If it wasn't, they'd warn their friends away to avoid being duped. They were rational consumers, and also the largest spending demographic. So long as she could win them over, make them feel the film was worth watching, there would be no need to worry about box office results.
It was that simple.
And Laila was paying close attention to all the outside discussion. She'd asked her secretary to collect recent clippings about the film's release and was also browsing related news on her computer. With only two days left until the premiere, the entire company was going full throttle. Everyone was rushing around like their feet weren't touching the ground—or at least, that's how it looked wherever she could see...
The closer the release date approached, the faster her heart seemed to race. No one else could tell, but she knew very clearly—she was extremely nervous.
And who wouldn't be?
In her previous life, she hadn't even dreamed of challenging the highest box office record in film history. But now? She wasn't just dreaming it—she was doing it.
More importantly, this was a battle she couldn't afford to lose. She'd publicly made her declaration, effectively cutting off her own path of retreat. Her words had already been translated into multiple languages and reported by media across the globe. Countless film fans in numerous countries were now watching to see what would happen.
She didn't deny that she had chosen this timing because it made for the perfect promotional hook. But at the same time, as a female director facing all kinds of unpleasant, condescending public opinion, it felt like this was the only path she could take to silence the criticism and slander once and for all.
Say she was too thin-skinned, or impulsive—whatever. No matter the reason or the potential consequences, from the moment she started down this path, she hadn't once regretted it.
Succeed or fail—there was no middle ground. Just like she'd said before: even if she failed and became a laughingstock, she'd still have plenty of time to reclaim her glory.
Her greatest asset was her youth. As long as she still had that, she didn't fear the day she'd fall and not be able to get back up.
Just as she was scrolling through some search results, Louise suddenly knocked on her door and walked in.
"Something up?" Laila asked. She didn't recall having a meeting with Louise scheduled for today—she figured the woman would still be buried in work.
Louise's expression was complicated. "Laila…"
"What is it?" Laila looked up from her screen and saw the troubled look on her face. "Did something happen?"
Louise sat down at her desk. "We need to talk."
"Of course." Laila adjusted her posture and asked the secretary to bring two drinks. "Is there a problem with the promotion campaign?"
"You… I…" Louise hesitated for a moment, clearly wanting to say something but finding it hard to put into words.
That only made Laila more curious. They'd been working together for a long time, and Louise rarely acted like this.
"Whatever it is, just say it. If I can't solve it, then we can stress about it together." She joked, trying to lighten the mood.
Louise took a deep breath, her expression still conflicted. "Laila, I've always thought of you as the best partner I could ask for. And because you're Reynolds' daughter, I've come to see you almost like my own niece."
They had indeed worked well together. Laila had no idea what was prompting this kind of emotional speech.
"I know. We've always worked great together. So what are you trying to say?"
"This time, for the movie release… are you planning to use certain…" Louise paused, clearly choosing her words carefully. "…tactics?"
Laila laughed at the question. "When have we not used a few tricks for a film launch?" Playing smart and creating buzz was practically her specialty.
Louise closed her eyes briefly, as if she was steeling herself. "Using tricks is one thing. But some methods should never be used! If you get caught, everything you've achieved—all those miracles—will be ruined. You said it yourself: you'd rather face failure than retreat. If you think you can't win this, then just accept failure. Don't do something you'll regret."
Now Laila was completely confused. "What exactly are you saying I've done?"
"You're still trying to hide it from me?" Louise looked frustrated. "If it weren't for someone I know catching a glimpse by accident, were you planning to keep it from me forever? I know you're rich—very rich—but some things are just not okay, no matter how much money you have!"
Laila nearly lost her temper right then and there. If she didn't know what kind of person Louise normally was, she'd have kicked her out of the office already.
"Louise, whatever it is you think I did, let me make one thing absolutely clear—I have never done anything shady behind your back. I've never used any underhanded means."
Sure, she enjoyed using clever gimmicks to promote her films—but those were harmless PR tactics, little tricks with words. Nothing that would actually hurt anyone. But from the way Louise was talking, it sounded like Laila had done something vile, something criminal. Yes, she had money, but when had she ever used it for something so disgraceful?
Seeing Laila's expression—how genuinely baffled and indignant she looked—Louise started to waver. But then she remembered what she'd seen with her own eyes, and any doubts were shoved aside.
She stood up and slapped her hand on the desk.
"You mean to tell me—you didn't spend money to buy ticket sales? Just to make Avengers' numbers look good?!"
Laila laughed in disbelief. "What kind of idiot do you take me for? You think I'd pull a stunt like that?"
There had been exposés in later years—allegations that major U.S. film studios had siphoned box office earnings from smaller indie films to maintain their own standing in Hollywood. But of course, the studios vehemently denied all of it.
And they had solid reasoning: box office revenue wasn't just split with the production company—it also went to actors, directors, even screenwriters under profit-sharing contracts. If the studios deliberately inflated the numbers, they'd have to fork over more money to those people. They made movies to earn money, not to play philanthropist and hand it out.
In contrast, box office fraud was a much bigger issue in the East, particularly with popular Hollywood blockbusters. Some speculated that over 9% of total revenue was underreported by theaters—deliberately hidden to be pocketed as unshared profit.
Some moviegoers had even received handwritten tickets, with vague excuses like "the machine broke" or "technical difficulties." Sure, that could be legit—but more likely, those sales were being skimmed.
Hollywood, by comparison, had a more standardized system. There were organizations monitoring ticket sales in real time—often receiving the data within seconds of a purchase.