Appearance Is the Primary Productivity
Walter Bowen's face was unreadable as he stared down at his phone.
He'd seen his share of renegotiations, hell, he'd built a career navigating the back-and-forth between agents and production teams. But this? He'd never seen a contract like it.
It was ironclad. Not a single clause worked against the company. In fact, it explicitly protected the production's interests, right down to a crystal-clear penalty clause: if the actor bailed without cause and delayed filming, they'd owe the company ten times their salary.
And yet, it also perfectly protected the actor. No ambiguities, no loopholes. It was unbelievable.
*What master lawyer wrote this?* It wasn't a revision; it was a total rewrite that had sidestepped every single one of his non-negotiables.
"Our lead actress revised it," Owen said, his voice tight. "The one I told you about, Doctor Hayes." He swallowed, watching his brother's face with a mix of dread and 'I told you so.' Walter had really screwed this up.
Owen had told him to show some damn sincerity, to draft a new contract instead of sending over the boilerplate original. But Walter, as usual, hadn't listened.
Dexter and Joel hadn't said it to his face, but the whispers from the last production meeting were loud enough.
Apparently, Doctor Hayes had rewritten the thing on the spot, right in front of their own lawyer, Liam Jennings.
And from the sounds of it, she'd run circles around him.
Owen could only blame himself for not double-checking the contract before it went out.
If he had, things wouldn't be this... brutal.
"Who the hell does she think she is?" Walter scoffed, tossing the phone back to Owen. "A total newcomer, rewriting a contract? She signs what we give her, or she doesn't. She's just a lead actress. I can find another one."
He tucked his briefcase under his arm and strode toward the parking lot, his expression pure dismissal.
This was Hollywood. Actors were a dime a dozen.
And this was a short-form drama, not some prestige series.
They didn't need to sweat ratings. All they needed was a face pretty enough to make someone stop scrolling for ten seconds. That alone was half the battle.
Owen scrambled to catch the phone. He quickly pulled up a photo of Avery Hayes from their shoot in Westlake City's historic district and hurried after his brother.
"Just look at her," Owen pleaded, holding the phone out.
"I know she's new, but her look is unbelievable."
He was convinced Avery was perfect for this project.
The only problem was her lack of finished work.
Once that short she'd just filmed was released, investors would be lining up to cast her.
His little production company wouldn't even get a meeting.
Walter stopped, rolling his eyes as he glanced down at the phone.
And then he froze. His hand, already reaching for the car door handle, stopped dead in the air.
He snatched the phone from Owen's hand, his brow furrowing as he studied the picture. "Is this a filter?" he asked, his voice low. The woman's face was... perfect. The bone structure, the features, she was more photogenic than half the A-listers he knew.
"No filter," Owen said. "That was just a quick candid shot."
Walter was quiet for a long moment. "Get legal to look this contract over," he said finally. "If there's nothing in there that screws us, sign her."
"Alright," Owen said, pocketing his phone.
In the world of short-form drama, looks were everything.
It wasn't about talent or connections; it was about the face.
A face that could stop a thumb from scrolling.
Walter had a feeling this newcomer was going to be a handful, but he had to admit it: that face was her ticket in.
With a look like that, if they got a few more killer shots on camera, this little drama could blow up.
The light in her room at The Belmont was that cool, sterile white that made everything feel clean and impersonal.
Avery Hayes hit send, then pulled her Bar Exam admission ticket from her suitcase. She snapped a picture, logged into the old "Doctor Hayes" X account, she still remembered the password, and posted it. The caption was low-key, but the ambition was anything but.
#ScalpelToSaveLivesLegalSwordToSeekJustice
The account was a relic from the original Doctor Hayes's student days, a digital scrapbook of medical notes, links to research papers, and anonymous case studies from her time as a doctor.
It had been two weeks since she'd woken up in this body, and this was the first time she'd dared to log in. Back in Westlake City, she'd stayed off it, wanting to keep a low profile and avoid the Sterling family's notice.
It was a lucky break, really. The Sterlings had been searching for her nonstop after she was discharged from the hospital, but Dexter Reed had whisked her away for that film shoot at the last second, and they'd lost her trail.
She'd been wary of them in Westlake City. But here, in New York? Not a chance. The Sterling family had clout, but it was all local. In a city where you could bump into a millionaire on every street corner, their influence meant nothing.
She pulled up a *Labor Law* audiobook on her phone, put in her earbuds, and settled back against the headboard.
The post was the first brick in the wall of her new identity.
It wouldn't go viral, not yet. But it was a seed.
Once she broke into the entertainment industry, this post would be the bedrock of her credibility, the proof behind every claim she would make.
An elite professional with both a medical and a law license would command instant respect.
A brainiac reputation was a powerful asset, no matter the industry.
Avery wasn't worried about building a reputation as an overachiever. Both she and the original owner of this body had been the type to end up on their schools' "wall of fame," the kind of person younger students were told to look up to for years. It was a persona that could stand up to any scrutiny.
She was building her momentum, starting right now, piece by piece.
She'd decided to enter the entertainment industry, and she sure as hell wasn't going to be just another face in the crowd.
She would build her connections, gain her leverage, and then, with all that power behind her, she would bring the Sterling family to its knees.
Bryce Sterling was only getting three years.
She'd give herself the same deadline. Three years to bankrupt his entire family, to tear down everything they had built, so that when he finally walked out of prison, he'd have nothing left.
Absolutely nothing.