Sir Graham leans back. "We've seen immersive before, Mr. Solberg. What makes this different?"
I glance at Alena. She's already watching me, that almost-smile playing at her lips.
She stands, and the room shifts. I swear the temperature drops.
"Because this park won't just scare you," Alena says, her voice carrying that slight accent that makes everything sound like a secret. "It will know you."
Dmitri raises an eyebrow. "Know us?"
"The experience will be adaptive. Personalized." She clicks to the next slide. "Your heart rate spikes when you see clowns? The park notices. Claustrophobia makes you sweat? We'll find the perfect corridor to exploit it."
"Invasive," Yuki says.
"Brilliant," Dmitri cuts in. His eyes hold mine a second too long. "Consent-based, I assume?"
"Obviously," I say. "Guests opt in. They want to be scared. We're just making sure we do it right."
Alena moves around the table, a predator circling prey. "The park will also feature narrative threads—ongoing stories that guests can follow across multiple visits. My stories will be the foundation."
Sir Graham's skepticism hasn't budged. "And the ROI?"
I pull up the financials. "£200 million for phase one. Projecting 2.5 million visitors in year one, scaling to 5 million by year three. At £150 per guest average spend, we're looking at £750 million in revenue by year three."
"The IP alone is worth the investment," I continue. "Ten of Alena's bestselling properties. Exclusive licensing. This isn't just brick and mortar. It's a franchise."
Alena returns to her seat. Under the table, her leg presses against mine.
Not an accident.
Never an accident with her.
The questions come fast. Logistics. Timeline. Risk. Alena jumps in when they ask about creative control, and every time she leans forward, her leg presses harder against mine.
I'm half-hard by the time Sir Graham asks about safety protocols.
"Fear is personal," Alena says. "What terrifies one person bores another. That's why customization is key."
By the time we wrap, I can see it in their faces. They're hooked.
Sir Graham stands first, extending his hand. "Pending due diligence, you can count me in for £20 million."
The rest follow. Commitments. Interest.
Dmitri pulls me aside as the others file out. "Impressive work, Mr. Solberg." His accent is thicker up close. Moscow, not London.
My pulse kicks.
"We should discuss additional opportunities. Perhaps over dinner?"
"My schedule's pretty tight."
"I insist." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I knew your work before today. Remarkable portfolio for someone so... young. With such an interesting background."
He pauses. Let’s it hang.
He knows.
"I'll have my assistant reach out," I say, keeping my voice level.
