Redoing My Life (Modern Family)

"This is... damning. If even half of this is true, he is in deep trouble," said the voice over the phone.

I stood in the corner of the room, keeping my voice low as I responded to the lawyer from the firm I had hired. "Good. The more leverage we have, the better."

"You do realize that the sexual assault allegations are more than enough to take him down, right? You don't need this," the lawyer pressed. "We could move on that."

I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. "No."

"Sir, this is—"

"I said no. Not yet," I cut in firmly. "The sexual assault claims are an open secret. Everyone knows." I paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Look how easy it was for you to find out about it... Right now, I just need him off me. Off my movie."

There was silence, then a reluctant sigh. "Understood, sir."

"Just collect as much as you can on this and then update me," I finished, ending the call.

I sighed. This was not something I had planned to deal with, but I had to, and I felt I would have to deal with more in the future.

My eyes drifted across the room, settling on Alexandra Daddario as she stood near a fitting area. She was being helped into a first prototype of the Wonder Woman suit.

The outfit seemed to fit her almost perfectly, her hard work and training evident in her posture and physique.

I made my way over to a large board covered with concept art for the Wonder Woman costume. Alexandra was fitting into one of the two final costumes we had narrowed down, and I couldn't help but compare the real-life prototype to the artwork.

The first design on the board was similar to the costume Gal Gadot wore and also seen in many of the comics: the red bustier, golden belt, short blue skirt, and gold and red knee-high boots. It had the classic colors with a modernized twist, incorporating subtle armor-like detailing that emphasized strength without losing its femininity.

The second concept was different—more armored, more imposing. It stood out as something uniquely suited to Alexandra's presence.

The bodice was a deep red, metallic and almost glowing under the room's lighting. It had a prominent W-shaped emblem across the chest, framed in gold accents that added a regal air to the design. Gold shoulder plates extended from the bodice, merging seamlessly and giving a sense of warrior nobility—a protective, ornamental touch.

Armored bracers adorned both her forearms, also golden. The lower portion of the suit deviated entirely from the usual skirt. Instead, it featured sleek, dark navy leggings that held a slight metallic sheen—something that not only looked practical but lent an air of mobility. The leggings had intricate golden embellishments running along the sides, connecting to the upper armor.

The golden tiara, adorned with a red star at its center, rested on her forehead, completing the costume.

I stepped back and looked from the fitting to the concept board, and then back again. Alexandra held herself well in the new suit. I ran my hand along my chin, studying the images. Maybe both suits could be used—maybe in future movies.

I heard footsteps behind me, followed by Bryce Dallas Howard's voice saying, "You look good."

I turned to see Bryce standing a few feet away, her eyes fixed on Alexandra in the half-finished Wonder Woman armor.

"So... the second costume then?" I asked, my gaze shifting from Bryce to Alexandra.

Bryce nodded in agreement, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, definitely."

"This one feels way better," Alexandra chimed in, adjusting her posture as she admired herself in the mirror. Even though the armor was only halfway complete, it still looked incredible.

'Maybe I should get an extra costume for Margot.' A sly smile played across my face as I imagined Margot in the Wonder Woman outfit.

"Daniel. Daniel!" Bryce called, her voice cutting into my thoughts, and I snapped out of my daydream.

"Oh, sorry, I was just... Did you say something?" I asked, refocusing my attention on Bryce.

"I said we could actually use both costumes," she said, nodding toward the board where the two designs hung side by side.

"Yeah, yeah. I was thinking the same," I responded quickly. My mind was still half-stuck in my daydream of Margot in the armor, a result of seeing my girlfriend sporadically for a whole month. She was off filming two movies.

I sighed quietly. Margot still had a week of shooting left before Bonnie and Clyde wrapped up.

Bryce spoke up again, interrupting my reverie. "We can bring Charlize in when Paula's costume is completely finished."

I nodded as I turned my attention back to the board. Bryce stepped up beside me, her eyes shifting over the designs for Paula von Gunther's costumes—the antagonist of the movie.

Two distinct designs were pinned next to each other. The first was her military-inspired attire. It was utilitarian. The color scheme was monochrome, featuring darker shades like gray and khaki green. The costume consisted of a buttoned-up collared shirt with short sleeves, paired with high-waisted trousers. It gave off an authoritative and commanding vibe, fitting Paula's role as a tactical leader, someone used to commanding both respect and fear.

Next to it was her Warmaster costume.

A full-body suit of armor featuring a combination of shiny black and red. The colors were dark, with bold splashes of red, giving it an intimidating edge. The armor had sharp angles, layered elements, and a fierce, almost predatory design. Her headgear resembled a helmet with horn-like extensions or sharp edges.

"Could make some changes," Bryce said.

"I'll leave that to you," I replied. "But we do have a cool-looking supervillain."

Bryce smiled, her eyes lingering on the artwork. "Charlize is perfect for this."

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Hope I can keep up with her," I heard Alexandra say from behind us, her voice tinged with nerves.

Bryce turned around, her expression softening as she looked at Alexandra. "You've got this," she said sincerely. "I've seen your audition tapes, and they were fantastic. You've got everything it takes. Plus, you're surrounded by talented, experienced actors who are here to support you."

I nodded in agreement, giving Alexandra a small smile. "Yeah, Bryce is right. Don't worry about it. Everyone here is cheering for you. And besides, every lead we cast in these movies will be a fresh face. So you're not alone in this."

Alexandra gave a nervous but grateful smile, the tension in her shoulders seeming to ease. "Thank you. This is... I mean, this is the kind of break I never thought I'd get. I really appreciate all the support."

I nodded again, my gaze shifting to the phone that had just buzzed in my pocket. It was a message reminding me of an appointment.

"I have to go. See you ladies at the table read," I said, walking away.

I had a game of golf to play.

.

.

.

I drove into the parking lot of the Bel Air Country Club, a place where I'd been a member for about a year but rarely visited, except for that one executive-hosted event by Stardust. Today, I was here under different circumstances—an invitation to play golf.

I steered the car into a shaded spot, the building's shadow providing a welcome break from the sun. The spot was perfect, and it seemed like one of the few good ones left. As I cut the engine and opened the door, I noticed another car pulling up, headed directly toward my spot.

The car stopped right next to mine, close enough to feel almost intrusive. 

'What the hell is this guy doing?'I thought, furrowing my brow as I began walking toward the entrance.

"Uh, hey, buddy, that's my spot!" I heard a familiar voice call out from the driver's side of the car. I kept walking, too annoyed to give this guy the time of day.

"Didn't see your name on it," I replied, not bothering to look back.

"It's an unspoken rule here. You know, like not eating the last donut in the office," the man called after me. His tone was half-joking, but he definitely seemed a little annoyed.

I ignored him, continuing my walk, but as the car drove past me, I caught a glimpse of the driver.

'Was that... Ryan Reynolds?' I shook my head slightly. I wasn't entirely sure, but it looked a lot like him.

I entered the building and was immediately greeted by the crisp coolness of air conditioning. Approaching one of the staff members, I asked them to lead me to the man who had invited me. They nodded and gestured for me to follow, guiding me through the classic, elegantly decorated interior.

Eventually, I spotted them—Steven Spielberg, flanked by a small group of his friends, all gathered near one of the large windows overlooking the course. Most importantly, one of those friends was George Lucas.

I'd met George in a restaurant a few months ago. He wasn't known for making many public appearances, but I had recognized him and decided to take a chance, walking over to introduce myself. To my surprise, he recognized me—apparently, he'd seen my Oscar win. He'd also mentioned being a fan of 12 Angry Men, and even told me that Steven had spoken highly of me to him. We ended up chatting for a while, and since then, we'd become acquaintances.

Now here we were. Steven had invited me to play golf, especially after he learned I was starting up my own production company. He'd hinted at the possibility of collaborating, though it wasn't something we'd fully discussed yet.

As I approached, Steven noticed me first, a smile breaking across his face.

"Daniel! Glad you made it!" Steven called out, his smile warm and welcoming.

I walked up, grinning. "Well, I figured it was time I actually got some use out of this membership." I gave a nod to George, who was standing just behind Steven.

"Daniel," George said with a nod of acknowledgment, his expression friendly though a bit more reserved compared to Steven's.

I was introduced to more of Steven's friends who had come to play, and one of them happened to be Frank Marshall, husband to Kathleen Kennedy. Kathleen was an influential figure in the film industry and would soon become the head of Lucasfilm. She was controversial figure among Star Wars fans back in my old world.

We made our way to the course. It was beautiful, especially with the evening sun on the horizon casting a golden glow over the rolling greens.

Steven glanced over his shoulder at me as we approached the first tee. "Alright, Daniel. Why don't you start us off? Let's see what you've got," he said, an amused glint in his eyes.

Frank Marshall chimed in with a smile. "I'm expecting this one to end up in the sand traps. No pressure." The group laughed.

"Well, I'm no expert," I replied, flashing a grin. "But every game I've played, I seem to win." The laughter grew louder as I stepped up to the tee.

I positioned my feet carefully, feeling the weight of the club in my hands as I focused on the ball. Taking a deep breath, I let my body move smoothly through the swing. The club made a satisfying whack as it connected, and we all watched as the ball arced high through the air, landing cleanly on the fairway—an ideal setup for my second shot.

George whistled low in approval. "Well, that's not luck," he said.

Steven nodded. "Looks like we've got some competition on our hands."

As the game progressed, the vibe remained lighthearted, with plenty of ribbing among the group. We moved along the scenic course, the sun casting long shadows on its green fields, giving them a golden glow. I found myself in conversation with Steven and Frank the most, both of them sharing anecdotes and advice. Steven spoke about the early years of his ventures, hinting at the inevitable ups and downs I'd need to brace myself for.

"The first few years can be... tricky," Steven admitted, lining up his shot.

Frank nodded. "Yeah, it's a real rollercoaster. When we started Amblin—me, Steven, and Kathleen—it took some time to get things going. Make sure you've got people around you that you trust."

Meanwhile, George was more reserved. He spoke only occasionally, listening intently as we talked shop, but every now and then he'd pipe up with a wry observation or tease Steven. He was clearly more comfortable observing than actively participating.

On the second hole, a particularly tricky par 3 that required a shot over water, I decided to take a risk. I lined up my shot, ignoring the murmurs of doubt from the group, and aimed straight for the pin. With a clean swing, I watched the ball soar over the water, landing softly on the green just a few feet from the hole. The group fell quiet for a moment, watching as my ball rolled to a gentle stop.

'Maybe I'm actually good at this,' I thought, impressed with myself.

"No way you just 'luck' into shots like that," Steven said, shaking his head in disbelief.

I turned to him with a grin. "I'm beginning to think I'm actually good at this game," I said.

Steven stepped up for his turn, squinting into the distance before taking his shot. His swing was solid, but the ball sliced off to the right, disappearing into the rough beyond. A chorus of laughter erupted.

"Don't worry," George said with a rare chuckle. "You'll find it eventually. It's probably in the next fairway."

Steven gave an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. "Adler took all my luck," he muttered, a laugh escaping as he watched Frank step up for his shot.

Halfway through the game, we decided to take a break. The staff brought drinks, and we all sat back on the golf carts, enjoying the cool breeze that came with the late afternoon.

Most people my age might consider it dull to spend an afternoon golfing with older guys, but I was sitting with George Lucas and Steven Spielberg. Boring wasn't even a consideration.

Especially not when I managed to get George talking about Star Wars.

"It was... disheartening, to say the least," George said, discussing the prequels. "The backlash was overwhelming. I had poured so much of myself into those movies, and seeing the response was difficult. People seemed to expect something that I never intended the films to be."

I nodded thoughtfully. "I think, over the next few years, people will start to appreciate them more. The kids who grew up watching those films are getting older, and they love them. Maybe it's just a matter of time for people to see them in a different light."

George nodded, a soft smile forming on his face as he pondered my words. After a moment of silence, he spoke again. "Well, I think it's time I take a step back from all of it," he said. "Lucasfilm, Star Wars... the whole lot. I feel it's time for me to move on and let someone else take the reins."

I looked over at him, feigning surprise at the news. "You mean you're stepping back completely?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, I think it's time. I have some people in mind to take over, but I think it's time to let it go."

"I hope you've got a good successor, then," I replied, glancing over and noticing Frank Marshall watching us from the cart beside ours.

George gave a soft chuckle. "Yeah, I have some folks in mind who I think can do a good job," he said, gazing out at the fairway, the sun setting behind us.

"Well I think people want more Star Wars," I said.

Frank chimed in, his voice carrying over to us. "I've been telling him that for years."

The conversation shifted as George turned to me. "But enough about that. What about you, Daniel? What are you working on?"

I took a sip of my drink. "There are a few things in the works."

I told them about John Wick and The Thing, and also mentioned The Revenant and working with Leonardo DiCaprio.

"Ah, Leonardo," Steven said, his eyes narrowing with interest. "I heard some whispers from the grapevine about that. Apparently Weinstein's not too happy about it?"

I gave a dry laugh. "Ah, so people are hearing about that already, huh? Yeah, Weinstein wasn't thrilled when Leo passed on one of his projects to do this one instead."

Steven nodded knowingly. "Harvey can be difficult when things don't go his way. My advice—play it nice with him. He's got a lot of power and doesn't know when he's beaten. If you need any help, just let me know."

"Thanks, Steven. I appreciate that," I replied.

The conversation veered back to The Thing, and I found George becoming increasingly intrigued by the concept. His questions came quickly, spurring more discussion about the nature of the creature in the film, the themes of isolation, and the practical effects we were planning. By the time we were ready to continue playing, George had helped me refine some of the plot. Even though the original was perfect, these ideas were subtle improvements.

It was a great day overall—one that left me deep in thought as we finished the game and headed back. Not only had I gained incredible insights from two legends of filmmaking, but it also got me thinking about Star Wars.

George was stepping back, and the franchise was in flux.

Was there a way for me to be involved somehow?

The thought lingered, but for now, I had other things on my plate: the DCU, Midas, John Wick, the books, Netflix... 'one thing at a time,' I told myself.

I exited the building, walking back to the spot where I had parked my car.

I didn't like valets or anyone else I didn't know touching my car, so imagine my surprise when I reached the area and... my car wasn't there.

Instead, there was another car in the exact spot.

"What the heck?" I muttered aloud, my eyes scanning the area.

A rush of annoyance and anger hit me, and I turned on my heel, marching back toward the building. There was a staff member standing near the entrance, looking like he was half-asleep on his feet. I approached him, my expression already showing my irritation.

"Hey, my car was parked right over there, and now it's gone," I said, pointing back at the empty spot.

The staff member looked startled, immediately straightening up. He stammered, "Uh, yes, sir. It was... removed for safety reasons."

"Safety reasons?" I asked, my face scrunched up in bewilderment. "What kind of safety reasons?"

The staff member's eyes darted around nervously as he stumbled over his words. "I... I'll find out for you, sir. One moment, please." He practically sprinted off.

I stood there, increasingly irritated. What safety reasons? None of this made any sense.

But then something caught my attention—a flash of movement near where I had parked. I turned my head and saw someone I recognized almost immediately.

Ryan Reynolds.

He was casually walking over to the car that was now parked where mine had been. He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. He gave me a smug grin. He raised his hand and waved at me, a mocking, almost taunting gesture.

He was holding back laughter; I could see it in his face.

I stood there, frozen for a second, my mind putting the pieces together. Wait a minute... No, he couldn't be that petty, could he?

He didn't break eye contact as he got into the car, still smiling at me. And then he drove off, leaving me standing there like an idiot.

"That motherf—"