Margo blinked. She hadn’t been offered a feature in six years. “And who’s financing?”

On the first day of shooting, a young producer’s assistant wandered onto the set. He looked lost. “Where’s the B-team?” he asked.

The industry press was confused at first. Then amused. Then, as production stills leaked—Lena leaping from a rooftop in Prague, Celeste picking a lock in a ballgown, a chase scene involving mobility scooters and a priceless Caravaggio—the tone shifted to awe.

“Of course they are,” Celeste said, joining them. “We made money. That’s the only language they speak.”

They didn’t care. They were just getting started.