Duke pushed open the door to the master suite of the Owlwood Estate.
The house was quiet, he had just finished his calls about the Crystal Palace matters and about the Paramount Park construction.
The messy birthday decorations were gone already.
The property in Holmby Hills was silent once again, he had donated some money to the Local police deparment charities to keep the Hugh Hefner matter under control.
As Logan Roy wisely said once, 'Money wins'
Only Mariel and Hadley Hemingway remained on the grounds. The two women were in the guest wing, Duke didnt really wanted to speak to them so he was trying to avoid that part of the estate.
Duke walked into the bedroom, wondering whether bradley was asleep already, they were sharing a room here.
He found Margaux sitting on the edge of their bed wearing a simple robe and nursing a cup of hot tea. She looked incredibly tired, her eyes red and swollen from just crying.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking at the floor. "About my father. About all of it."
Duke crossed the room, and lowered himself onto the mattress beside her, feeling the springs give under his weight. He had never been good at soothing people.
"He's always been this way," Margaux continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "When he's sober, he's charming. He makes everyone laugh, but the moment the liquor hits him..."
She didn't finish the sentence.
Duke reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder.
"You arent responsible for your father's choices," he said, his voice low. "He's a grown man. And what happened today won't change anything in regards to us."
Margaux leaned into his touch, her body falling on his chest, as he naturaly wrapped his arms around her.
They sat in silence for a moment.
"I leave for Philadelphia tomorrow," Margaux said, her voice regaining some of its strength. "The Rocky shoot."
Duke nodded. He knew the production was supposed to start today but Duke needed the day off for Margaux for Bradley's birthday so he made a few calls.
"I'll handle Bradley," he said. "And the studio. You focus on the film."
Margaux's fingers did circles around the teacup. "I won't invite Jack to meet Bradley again. I can't risk it. One more scene like today, and Bradley could be old enough to remember."
Duke opened his mouth to respond, then hesitated.
"I understand," he said carefully. "But... he's still your father. I don't want to damage your relationship with your family. If anything i can try to avoid him."
She stared down at the teacup, her jaw tightening. "He has a problem with young... people."
The words hung in the air, with Duke eyes widening as he sideyed Margaux directly at the shock that her words hack caused him.
"I've seen the way he looks at Mariel's friends when they come over to swim. I have some bad memories with him, Mariel too doesnt trust hi-."
"Margaux... what? Is this true?" Duke was trying his best to keep calm despite the irritation filling his mind. He didnt even lowered his tone to avoid waking Bradley sleeping in a crib on the corner.
She flinched at the sudden tone change, and started crying.
Duke's face softened. He shifted off the bed, lowering himself to his knees in front of her, he reached up and took both of her hands in his.
"I-i should not have raised my voice," he said, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper again. "I'm sorry. But Margaux... I need to know about this, I cannot have people- like that around my son."
She nodded, her chin trembling.
"I want Mariel to stay here after she finishes school," she whispered. "I don't want her living alone with Jack. Not anymore."
"What about your grandma?"
"Grandma won't stand up to him," Margaux continued, "She never has, and Mariel needs somewhere safe. Somewhere she can focus on her own life without..."
"She can stay here, I dont relaly mind" Duke said, his thumbs still tracing circles against her hand.
He did mind, but it was better to pretend to not care about this.
Margaux set the teacup aside and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.
They stayed like that for a long moment, Duke's hands pressed against her back, her breath warm against his neck.
"Are you still going to England?" she murmured, pulling back to meet his eyes.
Duke sat back on his heels, then rose to his feet and walked outside as he felt the sound of music start loudly on the house next door. 'Fucking Playboy House'
"The animated film," he said. "Lord of the Rings. I also want to meet the family and pay my respects. I couldnt go to his funeral cause of Paramount matters."
Margaux frowned, "They're just a family of academy people, Duke, not a board of directors. You already own the rights. Why even meet them?"
Duke let the curtain fall back into place and turned to face her.
"They don't have any legal power," He admitted. "But I don't want a strained relationship with them. I want to build this project on a foundation of good faith."
The next morning brought a fresh energy to the estate.
Duke spent the early hours sitting on the floor of the living room with Bradley. The one-year-old was walking in a stable manner now.
Bradley was also babbling more distinct words, his eyes wide with curiosity.
Duke held a colorful copy of a Paddington Bear book, pointing at the illustrations while narrating the adventures of the British-Peruvian bear.
Children's literature was experiencing a sort golden age of engaging storytelling. Duke loved these moments of simple storytelling.
Hollywood New Wave movies were at times too complicated for its own good.
Duke leaned in close, whispering into his son's ear. "You have a trust fund already, little guy. Dont tell anyone."
Bradley just laughed, blissfully unaware of complex financial structures.
Duke paused while Bradley wave him goodbye and made as if he was leaving just to come back.
He really feel like reflecting on just how much his life had changed.
A decade ago in January, he woke up in this era, with memories of the future.
Now, he was a father, a studio mogul, and the owner of a football club and a basketball club.
Margaux came down after finishing packing her suitcases for Philadelphia.
The small budget film industry required actors to travel light and work fast. There were no luxurious studio trailers waiting for her on the streets of Pennsylvania.
Duke carried Bradley to see her off as she was leaving to get in a car. He promised to visit the East Coast set during the production to check on her progress and offer any needed moral support.
They shared a brief goodbye near the front door.
Margaux kissed Duke on the cheek, then planted a kiss on Bradley's forehead.
Duke stood on the front door, watching the car drive down the winding driveway, holding Bradley on his hip.
A week later, thousands of miles away from sunny California,
Duke and his assistant Simpson navigated the historic streets of Oxford, England. They rode in the back of a modest sedan.
Bradley was staying in the hotel with the nanny, Duke had left him as he cried for him to stay, but he needed to get to work.
The historic university town was filled with centuries of academic tradition.
Ancient stone buildings lined the roads, a big contrast to the modern glass studio lots back in Los Angeles.
The car finally pulled to a stop in a residential neighborhood. Duke and Simpson stepped out onto the damp pavement, buttoning their coats against the English winter air.
They approached a modest home, It had a small yet well kept garden. It felt like the place where a professor lived, not the mansion of a world-famous author.
Of course Tolkien wasnt no rich man.
In the literary world of the 70s, fantasy authors rarely lived like rockstars.
The genre was beloved by fans, but it had not yet generated the global merchandising wealth of later decades.
Duke knocked gently on the wooden door.
A moment later, it was opened by Priscilla Tolkien, the late author's daughter.
Standing just behind her in the narrow hallway was Christopher Tolkien, J.R.R. Tolkien's youngest son.
Duke extended his hand, his palm dry from the cold. "Mr. Tolkien. Miss Tolkien. I'm Connor Hauser, but please call me Duke. This is my associate, Simpson."
He gestured with his other hand, and Simpson stepped forward, hoisting a large woven basket up as a gift.
The basket, had some glass bottles that clinked against one another, chocolates and a book.
Tucked at the center of the basket, cradled between the wine and the chocolates, lay a hardcover.
'Arrow-Odd: A Medieval Novel', an English translation of the classic 13th-century Icelandic legendary saga, Örvar-Odds saga
Christopher's eyes narrowed, then widened.
He reached down and lifted the book, opened the cover, checked the publication page, and let out a breath.
"You found a first edition," he said.
Duke shrugged, a small smile pon his face. "I have people who find things."
Christopher looked up and closed the book gently, holding it against his chest.
Priscilla stepped aside, gesturing toward the interior. "Please. Come in."
The sitting room was a museum, wooden bookshelves lined every wall.
The spines bore titles in English, Latin, Old Norse, and languages Duke couldn't identify.
Duke had already come to this place, he wondered if putting a eulogy of Tolkien on the credit scenes of Star Wars would be a good idea.
Duke settled onto a sofa, Priscilla disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a tray with four cups of steaming tea.
"We know why you're here," Christopher said, lowering himself into an armchair. "The film rights. United Artists called us last month, asking if we'd be willing to discuss terms."
Duke wrapped his hands around the teacup, letting the warmth seep into his palms. "The rights belong to Paramount. I purchased them from your father years ago."
He didnt mention how Tolkien was suffering financially so he swopped in with a cash offer.
Christopher's jaw tightened. His fingers drummed against the armrest. "And what exactly do you intend to do with them?"
"I intend to honor your father's work."
Priscilla perched on the edge of a wooden chair, her teacup balanced on her knee. "Everyone says that, americans say that."
"Yeah, but i have a great track record," Duke said. "I do intend to respect the story."
He set his teacup down and leaned forward, "I read The Hobbit when I was eight years old. I read The Lord of the Rings when I was twelve. And I've read it every year since."
Christopher's eyebrows rose a little.
"I know what your father created," Duke continued. "I know how he built languages, history, family trees. I know he spent decades on this. And I know that no live-action film could do it justice right now."
Priscilla tilted her head. "...then why buy the rights?"
"Because animation can."
"Animation," Christopher repeated. "Not live-action."
"Not yet. The technology isn't there. It won't be there for another 20 or 30 years. But animation can do it justice." Duke spread his hands. "We can do it right. But I need time and would like your help."
Priscilla set her teacup down. "Our help?"
"Consultants and Creative advisors. I want you to read the scripts. Review the character designs. Tell me when something isn't right."
Duke met her eyes. "I want your family public support attached to this project."
Christopher leaned back in his chair and looked at the gifted book on the table.
"You knew about his love of Norse mythology," Christopher said. It wasn't a question.
"I know," Duke replied. "I have his translation of The Green Knight in my library."
Christopher nodded slowly, stood up and walked to a desk in the corner, its surface buried under stacks of paper and leather-bound notebooks.
He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick manuscript.
He carried it back to the sofa and held it out.
Duke took it with both hands. The cover was plain, no title, no author name.
Just a stack of typed pages, dense with text, the margins filled with handwritten notes.
"The Silmarillion," Christopher said. "We're still compiling it. Still editing. There's so much material, and some of it contradicts itself. It's like assembling a puzzle when you don't have the box."
Duke opened the manuscript. The first page was dated 1937 and the ink had faded to a certain extend.
"I'm trusting you with this," Christopher said, his voice low. "Please treat it with the care it deserves."
Duke closed the manuscript gently and held it against his chest, mirroring Christopher's gesture with the book earlier.
"I will," he said.
Priscilla picked up her teacup again and looked at her brother.
He looked back at her. Some silent conversation passed between them.
Christopher turned back to Duke. "We'll need to see the contracts. Have our lawyers review them."
"Of course."
"But," Christopher added, and a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth, "I think we'd be interested in hearing more."