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It had only been two days since the birth of Evans's daughter.
Michael was sitting in his quiet, softly lit study, leaning back in his large leather chair.
Across the heavy oak desk sat Evans.
The manager had dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, but he was wearing a sharp suit and furiously typing away on his tablet.
Michael watched him for a long minute.
Finally, he put his pen down.
"Evans," Michael asked, his voice full of genuine confusion. "Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be at home with your wife and your new child?"
Evans stopped typing and looked up.
He smiled, a tired but happy expression on his face. "Don't worry, Mike. I am not going to work twenty-four-seven like I used to. I promised Mandy I will go home much earlier today. But the truth is, we just have way too much work to do right now. I couldn't just sit at home doing nothing when the world is going crazy over your name."
Michael nodded hesitantly, still not entirely convinced, but he respected Evans's work ethic. "Alright. If you say so. Then let's get into it. What about The Fault in Our Stars licensing for a movie? Have any studios agreed?"
Evans sighed deeply and set his tablet down on the desk. "It is a waiting game right now. Everyone in Hollywood knows the book is a massive hit. But they are waiting for the A Good Girl's Guide to Murder television show or the Grave of the Fireflies movie to officially release. They want to see if your writing actually translates to the screen successfully. If those two perform well, they will gladly agree to your licensing terms and the revenue split you want. Until then, they are too scared to take the risk."
Michael nodded again. "Fine. What else?"
Evans leaned forward, his face turning very serious. "I want to talk about your script. The one you registered. 12 Angry Men."
Michael stopped tapping his fingers. "Did you send it out?"
"I sent it to every single major studio and streaming company in the industry," Evans said, his voice rising with frustration. "Mike, I have never seen anything like it. Within six hours, my phone was ringing off the hook. Every single executive, producer, and studio head wanted to buy the script. They called it a masterpiece. They said it was the tightest, most gripping dialogue they had ever read."
"But?" Michael asked calmly.
"But," Evans threw his hands up in the air.
"When we sat down to talk numbers, I told them exactly what you said. I told them you did not want a traditional buying option. I said you wanted a percentage of the total revenue. You wanted equity in the movie."
"And how did they react?"
"They completely freaked out," Evans said, shaking his head. "They laughed in my face. They said writers never get a percentage of the backend revenue unless they are directing and producing the film themselves. When I told them the terms were non-negotiable, every single one of them canceled the deal. They all walked away. We have no buyers, Mike."
Michael did not look angry.
He did not look surprised.
He simply shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in his chair. "I knew it."
Evans blinked in shock. "You knew they would reject it? Then why did we even send it to them?"
"Wait for a few days, Evans," Michael said, a slow, calculated smirk forming on his lips. "I have a plan."
Evans frowned in deep confusion. "What plan? What are you going to do?"
Michael looked out the window of his study.
"I have to show someone their place in the literary world."
Michael did not say it out loud, but in his mind, his thoughts were crystal clear: "I would have left you alone, James Wood. I would have let you fade into irrelevance. But Emma asked me to put you in your place. I promised her I would take care of it. So, I will."
Later that exact same day, the internet broke.
It did not start with an official announcement.
It started on a random, anonymous forum, and within minutes, it spread to X, Reddit, and Instagram like wildfire.
Someone had leaked photos of Michael Owen's supposedly unfinished fantasy book.
But the pictures proved the book was already finished.
The leaked photos were crystal clear images of physical book pages. There were five pictures in total:
1. A massive, incredibly detailed map. It showed a sprawling continent with mountains, rivers, and forests, labeled with names like "Gondor," "Mordor," and "The Shire."
2. A page of pure lore. It described the history of ancient rings of power forged by an evil lord.
3. A linguistic guide. A full page showing an entirely invented, fully functional language complete with its own unique alphabet, grammar rules, and translations. It was labeled "Elvish".
4. Two pages of a chapter. The writing was thick, poetic, and breathtakingly epic, describing a massive battle with monstrous creatures.
The internet went absolutely wild.
Fans and readers could not believe their eyes. The sheer depth of the world-building was something nobody had seen in decades.
@FantasyNerd99:
"HE INVENTED AN ENTIRE LANGUAGE? Are you kidding me right now? I am looking at the grammar structure of this 'Elvish' and it's flawless. Michael Owen is not just an author. The man is a literal literary God."
@Bookish_Thoughts:
"I have a confession to make. I was influenced by James Wood's video. I thought Michael was just a basic romance writer who couldn't do complex world-building. I was so wrong. I see the truth now. This looks like the greatest fantasy epic of all time."
@DailyReader:
"I'm still a skeptic. How did he write this so fast? Is it AI? Did he steal it from an old historian? There is no way a 21-year-old wrote a whole new language and a map this detailed in a few months."
@Emmas_Bunny:
"SCREAMING! CRYING! THROWING UP! THE KING OF BOOKS HAS DONE IT AGAIN! WE ARE GETTING AN EPIC FANTASY!"
While the fans celebrated, a darker, much more vicious side of the internet set its sights on one specific target: James Wood.
The rage-baiting and trolling happened instantly. It was a digital stampede.
Thousands upon thousands of people swarmed the critic's social media pages. It was not physical harassment, but digitally, it was a massacre.
Users took screenshots of James Wood's quote: "He does not have the intellect or the linguistic capability for world-building... it will be the worst fantasy novel of this generation."
They posted that quote side-by-side with the leaked picture of Michael's fully invented Elvish language.
They tagged James Wood in every single post.
@Zains_IcedCoffee:
@JamesWoodNY Hey Jimmy! Remember when you said he had no linguistic capability? The man just casually dropped a brand new alphabet on your head. Time to pack your bags and leave the industry like you promised!
@LitMajorDan:
@JamesWoodNY We are waiting for your resignation letter. You bet your career against Michael Owen and you lost in less than 48 hours.
People started translating insults into the leaked Elvish alphabet and sending them directly to Wood's inbox.
They flooded the official New Yorker comment sections, demanding that the magazine fire James Wood immediately for being a "clueless, paid-off fraud."
Every time James Wood logged on, his notifications were stuck at 99+.
He was receiving thousands of messages a minute.
Memes of his face photoshopped onto a crying clown, videos of people burning his old review articles, and endless chains of the words "RESIGN NOW" filled his entire digital existence.
He had insulted Michael Owen, and now, millions of people were making sure he would never live it down.