CROSBY WHEELER, CEO OF OMEGA ENTERTAINMENT, looked at the men gathered around the table. He pushed the sleeve of his black cashmere sweater up and admired his new Patrimony watch, which he’d added to his collection just that morning. Not one to waste money on expensive suits or designer clothes, his Bohemian style defined him, and he never felt the need to try to impress others. A simple wardrobe of black pants and turtleneck was his signature look. But he allowed himself this one indulgence and didn’t flinch at the six-figure sum the watches commanded. In his mind they were works of art that one happened to wear.
He was in a good mood today, pleased by his recent win in court. It was unfortunate that the parents of the kids who had died had gotten together so quickly and organized the class action suit, but it was ridiculous to pin the blame on his show. That was the problem with society these days—no one wanted to take responsibility for their own actions. They should have been more involved with their kids, known what they were doing, maybe looked in a closet or checked their cell-phone texts. His job wasn’t to parent America’s children. His job was to entertain and keep his shareholders happy.
He had jumped on the streaming bandwagon early. Omega had started small but was now the uncontested leader in this space, made popular by his original programming. He made shows that no one else dared make. He was criticized widely by some, adored by others.
He’d never had any doubt that they would prevail, but it had been an inconvenience having to put a hold on the show until the verdict came in. Luckily, the forced hiatus had only increased interest in it, and he was certain that the losses incurred over the past several months would be made up in no time. He looked at his executive producer.
“Do you have an update?”
The man nodded. “Yes, I just got the latest figures.”
“Any fallout?” he asked.
“Parents are outraged. They can’t accept that they’ve lost. The other networks are using it to their advantage, hosting parent interviews. We’ve lost a handful of sponsors.”
His new executive in charge of advertising, Adrian Winters, cleared his throat and spoke. “But we’ve got a long line of others waiting to take their place. I’ve replaced them at double the price.”
Crosby looked at him with interest. He took a sip from his bottle of mineral water. “Do tell.”
Winters picked up a mint from the crystal bowl in front of him and unwrapped it. “The media frenzy has caused the ratings to skyrocket. Internet channels are jamming from the traffic. It’s an advertiser’s dream.” He popped the mint in his mouth.
Crosby spoke. “Good work. Email me the list and the new production schedule.” He addressed his producer again.
“The kids on the show okay?”
“Mostly. They were pretty upset, but the counselors talked them down, gave out some anti-anxiety meds. They’ve been compensated.”
Crosby nodded. “Good. They need to understand that they are not responsible for the deaths of those kids who imitated them. Make sure their contracts are all up-to-date. We don’t need any more lawsuits.” He stood and left without another word.
Back in his office, he reviewed the newest script. It was going to make the other episodes look tame.
He opened his email and input the addresses of his top ten YouTubers. He wrote a short note, letting them know what he had planned for the next show and telling them to be ready to imitate it on camera, then post their videos after the show aired. It never hurt to give the public a little extra guidance on how to behave.