Revenge of the Adventurer! 1.

The British movie industry is doing pretty well for itself these days, especially after I got evidence on Mr. Carl Quarling, executive of three movie companies that never made a movie but ate up a lot of grants in pre-production. Well, I'm kind of rich, so I get approached by people looking for financial backing from my company. Yes, my company. I inherited it from Dad.
That was why I was at Galliard Studios, East London, with my secretary - who also happens to be my dear little sister, Scruff. I was looking into Galliard Studio's latest picture, which I'd been asked to invest in. Galliard had checked out as an honest operation, they'd made several pictures which had made decent box-officer returns, so we were there as Jane Hill and secretary to see for ourselves.

"Mr. Galliard," the smartly-dressed young man said. Galliard, a man in his fifties, strode into the room. He was no-one's idea of a film-maker. He didn't look arty or greasy. He was tall, fairly good-looking (not a patch on the Green Man), and well dressed. He gave every apparance of being an efficient, capable, experienced man.
"Miss Hill!" he gave me his hand and I shook it.
"Hello. This is Scruff, my secretary."
"Hi," Scruff said.
"Pleased to meet you."
"I haven't said if I'll invest in your film yet. I understand it's a remake of the 1960s action-adventure series 'the Adventurer'?"
"Yes! That old show has quite a following, you know..."
"I also know remakes of 'The Saint' and 'The Avengers' performed badly at the box-office in the late 1990s. You need to build on that audience."
"You're quite a businesswoman, Miss Hill."
"Flattery will get you no-where. I need to read the script, I need to know wsho your stars are, and I need to see the figures. Scruff here knows a thing or two, and she can spot bad projections a mile off."
"I can smell a flop a mile off, too," Scruff added.
"I think teenagers are one of the demographics your picture has to appeal to," I added. I can talk really technical when I want to. It scares some people.
"Well! You know what you want..."
We were suddenly interrupted when a young man who looked like he'd just been beaten up ran into the room. He was followed by an enraged older, balder man in tweeds.
"Idiot! Despoiler! Vandal! Ape!" the older man cried.
"Mr. Barton..."
"I created the Adventurer, Mr. Galliard! Your studio is paying to use the name. But this is a travesty, sir, a travesty!" Barton brandished the what I took to be a draft script.
"This is the twenty-first century..."
"Richard Coventry is a carefree, globe-trotting man of leisure! Your rotten script has transformed him into a tortured assassin! It's intolerable, sir! I've a mind to withdraw my permission!"
"You can't. Not after you sold the rights to the character to my company."
"Because I was desperate! I had to have the money. You assured me..."
"Not in writing, Mr. Barton. Legally I can do what I like with the character."
"You fiend! You'll regret this!!!" the writer cried, livid with anger.
"I think not."
Barton left in a gigantic rage.
"You've got trouble," I told Galliard. I was right - and they'd have murder before everything was sorted out.