Redoing My Life (Modern Family)

"So, how do I look?" I asked, staring at myself in the mirror.

Carter, the man who handled all my finances, glanced over. "You look great—very corporate," he said.

I was indeed looking very corporate. I wore a brand-new suit, tailored specifically for this occasion. Today was a big day: I was about to be voted onto the Netflix board. Well, technically, the voting had already been done—today was more of a formality, a chance to meet the other shareholders, both individual and institutional.

I also had a meeting scheduled with some of the executives about the Percy Jackson series and other potential future projects I wanted to discuss.

I turned to Carter. "Do I need to say something after being voted in? A speech of some kind?"

He shrugged. "It's optional."

"Oh, okay then," I said. I had a lot of ideas for Netflix—ways to improve things, to make it more successful than even its future iteration from my previous life. If I played my cards right, I could make it better, more sustainable, and more formidable. I wanted to ensure that Netflix was always on top when the eventual streaming wars began.

I walked over to the table and picked up a piece of paper.

Carter eyed it curiously. "What's that?"

"It's some ideas I have for the company," I replied. "I'm one of the largest shareholders now, right? I figure I should throw some weight around a bit."

Carter nodded. "Maybe get some big institutions on your side too—BlackRock, Vanguard... those kinds."

I smiled. "Oh, I plan to," I said, glancing at my list of ideas again.

The first point I had was simple but significant: Content Quality Over Quantity. I wanted Netflix to focus on fewer, high-quality original series that could serve as Netflix's flagship shows. These would be positioned as "event" series. Less garbage content—none of the throwaway filler that people wouldn't remember, or even watch. Licensing popular shows would still be part of the strategy, but only until we had enough top-tier originals that could sustain interest on their own.

The second idea I wanted to focus on was Consumer Experience. That meant flexible subscription options, improved content discovery and recommendations, and a better data-driven content strategy—all to make sure people could find what they loved more easily and had a reason to stick around.

And one of the biggest things I wanted to avoid, if possible, was the High Cancellation Rate of series. It's the kind of thing that had plagued Netflix in the future—a show builds an audience, but then it gets canceled right after a cliffhanger. It drove viewers away. My idea was to implement a "mid-tier renewal" system—popular shows with modest viewership could get shorter seasons or lower budgets, rather than being outright canceled. It could keep fans invested without requiring massive budgets for every show.

There were a lot of other ideas too, but these were some of the key points I wanted to bring up when the time was right.

"Right," I said to Carter, folding the paper and slipping it into my pocket. "I'm off."

"Good luck," Carter said.

I nodded, giving him a brief smile. "Focus on Midas' finances this month, alright? I need everything to be perfect."

Carter gave me a confident nod. "Yes, boss."

I walked out the door, my destination clear: Los Gatos, California.

====

After a one-hour flight on the private jet that I had rented from Henry, I arrived at Los Gatos, the headquarters of Netflix.

In the lobby, I was greeted by Reed Hastings. "Daniel, good to see you," Reed said, his tone genuine.

"Reed," I said, taking his hand in a firm handshake. "Big day," I added with a small smile.

"Yes, big day indeed," Reed replied, nodding as he led me further inside, weaving us through the bustling corridors of the headquarters.

As we walked, I glanced around the building. "Everything went smoothly, I hope?"

Reed nodded, though his expression turned more serious. "Yes, everything's on track. But, as I mentioned before, there are still some with reservations about how much stock you own."

I gave a small shrug, a confident smile tugging at my lips. "Well, let's hope all of that goes away when I make them a lot of money."

Reed chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "I wish I had your confidence," he said. "But I will say, many investors are intrigued—interested, even. Your heavy support for the company is seen as a very good thing. You're seen as the future—a rising star in the entertainment world. People are intrigued and excited, Daniel."

I nodded along as he spoke. It was something I knew well—people liked to be on the winning side. I just had to make sure that they saw me as that.

Reed paused in front of a large set of double doors. "I've also scheduled a meeting with a few key members after this about the Percy Jackson series and, of course, your other plans."

 Reed and I had developed a good working relationship over the past few months, and I appreciated his efforts to bridge the gap between my vision and the more conservative elements of the board. I knew that many board members would care only about the numbers going up, but both Reed and I were determined to push through meaningful change.

Reed pushed open the doors, leading us into a large conference room. The room was already filled with several people—most of them dressed in sharp business attire. Some were gathered in small groups, talking in hushed tones, while others were glancing at their phones. The large oval table at the center of the room was set with a few nameplates, a sleek symbol of the power in the room.

"Everyone," Reed began, his voice carrying easily across the room. "I'd like to introduce you all to Daniel Adler."

Heads turned toward me, and I felt the weight of their attention. Reed gestured toward the first individual, a man standing with an air of easy authority.

"Daniel, this is Jay Hoag," Reed said. "Jay is our Lead Independent Director."

Jay extended his hand to me, his smile warm. "Mr. Adler, it's a pleasure. I've been following your work for a while now. You're making quite the mark."

I shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Hoag."

Next, Reed gestured to a woman standing near Jay. She had a poised demeanor, her sharp eyes assessing me quickly.

"This is Leslie Kilgore, a long-standing board member. Leslie has been with Netflix for years—helped shape the company from the ground up."

Leslie nodded as she took my hand. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Adler," she said with a professional smile. "I've heard a lot about your ideas."

"Thank you, Ms. Kilgore," I replied. "Looking forward to working together."

The next person Reed introduced was a man with a no-nonsense expression—James Porter. "James is representing Capital Research and Management Company."

James shook my hand firmly, giving me a short nod. "Daniel, I've read about your projects. It will be interesting to see how your perspective shapes things here."

Reed gestured towards a woman standing not too far away. "This is Karen Wu."

'Ah, BlackRock,' I remembered.

Karen smiled, extending her hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Adler. We have been following your investments closely."

I shook her hand. "I'll take that as a compliment, Ms. Wu."

I was then introduced to more and more people, especially from the biggest investment companies: Fidelity Investments, Vanguard Group.

Soon, Reed called for the meeting to begin. He stood at the head of the table as everyone sat down. I sat near him at the head.

"Alright, everyone, let's get the important business out of the way and formalize the appointment of Mr. Daniel Adler to the board," Reed began.

I could feel the eyes of the room on me—some curious, some skeptical. Reed gestured towards me as he continued, "As many of you know, Mr. Adler has been a significant shareholder since 2009, and he officially requested a seat on the board at the beginning of this year."

I smiled slightly, my gaze scanning the room. It was easy to see that some of the institutional investors, particularly those from the old guard, were not entirely comfortable with the size of my ownership. I caught some of their expressions—reserved, cautious—but that was alright. Convincing them fully would take time.

Reed's voice broke through my thoughts. "Mr. Adler is not only one of our largest shareholders but is also offering his creative expertise and valuable intellectual properties to further grow the company. His influence in both entertainment and creative circles has already been proven with the work he's done so far, and we are thrilled at the potential that lies ahead."

A few members of the board nodded thoughtfully at this. Some seemed more interested in the potential profits of my "valuable intellectual properties," while others looked intrigued by the creative aspect.

Reed glanced around the room and continued, "All in favor of appointing Daniel Adler to the board, as per the votes already received?"

Hands began to raise around the table. Representatives from key firms—Karen Wu from BlackRock, Alex Carter from Vanguard, David Lin from Fidelity—all raised their hands, signaling their agreement. Jay Hoag, Leslie Kilgore, and others followed suit. It was a unanimous decision. I was in.

Reed turned towards me, giving me an approving nod. "Congratulations, Daniel. Welcome to the board."

I stood briefly, rising just enough to acknowledge the room. "Thank you, everyone," I said, keeping it short and professional. "I look forward to working with all of you and helping Netflix grow even further."

There were polite smiles and nods of acknowledgment from around the table.

From there, the meeting moved on, diving into quarterly projections, budget allocations, the growth of the subscription base—topics that made my eyes glaze over slightly. I listened attentively, though, nodding occasionally and taking mental notes. Institutional investors like Karen and Alex spoke up here and there, raising points about market strategy and future content acquisition. Leslie talked at length about licensing deals, while Jay brought up concerns about competition from up-and-coming streaming services.

I did my best to keep my focus, even if it was a slog. This was the kind of thing I'd have to get used to now—sitting in on long, occasionally tedious meetings filled with numbers and projections. It was part of the job, after all.

.

.

.

After the board meeting, I wandered around the headquarters, meeting some people. Eventually, Reed found me and took me to another meeting—a smaller one consisting of the most crucial players at Netflix—the heavyweights of the company: prominent board members, influential institutional representatives, and a handful of key executives.

Reed opened the meeting with introductions and the usual pleasantries, then gestured toward me with a smile. "Alright, I believe Daniel has some things to say."

I stood up, adjusting my suit slightly as I walked to the front of the room. "Thanks, Reed," I began, a confident smile forming. I looked around the room, making brief eye contact with each person. "I believe we're on the cusp of something revolutionary."

I could see that I had their attention; the room grew quiet as they leaned forward. "Streaming is changing everything. People are taking control over their content. It's not just about what they watch, but how and when they watch it."

"It is my belief that in ten years, TV as we know it will be on the ropes."

A few members of the board nodded; some exchanged glances.

"Netflix has the unique position to define this era," I continued, my voice steady. "Not just through technology but through culture-shifting content. Our original productions should have the power to set trends, to lead rather than follow. With the right investments in bold storytelling, we can redefine what audiences expect from entertainment. In a decade, I see Netflix dominating not only streaming but changing entertainment at its core."

There was a murmur around the table, some nodding, others appearing thoughtful. One of the institutional investors raised his hand. "Mr. Adler, I appreciate your vision, but do you really think it's realistic? Television as we know it has been around for decades—it's deeply ingrained. Aren't we being a bit too optimistic?"

A couple of people around the table nodded in agreement, their expressions skeptical. I smiled. "Well, nothing lasts forever, does it? Things change. The potential here is limitless. What we need to do is ensure Netflix is at the forefront of that change." I paused, scanning the room, then added, "And that means being as consumer-friendly as possible, even if it costs us a bit now. We need to spend money to make money."

I reached over for the remote, clicking it to turn on the large screen at the end of the room.

"Now, let's talk about where we start," I said, a bit of excitement in my voice. "Netflix has already created fantastic shows, which have caught attention in the last few years."

"I wish to contribute to that. I am the author of the highly successful Percy Jackson series. It's one of the most beloved book series among teenagers and pre-teens, and that demographic—they are the future. We need to focus on them."

The screen lit up, showing a short clip produced by Stardust—something I'd been eagerly waiting to present. The scene began with Percy standing alone in a dense, misty forest. Crisp animation brought every detail to life—the eerie rustle of leaves, the glint of Percy's sword, Riptide, as he gripped it firmly. Suddenly, the ground shook, and a shadowy figure loomed in the distance, emerging slowly from between the trees. It was the Minotaur, towering with blood-red eyes.

Percy took a steadying breath, and the camera panned to his determined face. His expression conveyed both fear and fierce bravery. Without warning, the Minotaur charged. The animation was fluid, each frame capturing the beast's raw power and fury as it barreled forward. The scene ended with Percy defeating the Minotaur, then collapsing, unconscious.

As the clip concluded, the room remained silent for a few seconds before the murmurs started. People looked impressed, and I could see some smiles here and there. One executive raised a tentative hand. "It's impressive, but... are we considering reducing some of the gore and blood? We wouldn't want it to skew too mature," he said cautiously.

I shook my head. "The fans we're aiming for are teenagers, as I said. They want something that respects their maturity, something that doesn't talk down to them. And, of course, adults will be introduced to these characters too. The goal is to capture both audiences."

The executive nodded slowly, settling back into his seat, though I could still sense some concern in his gaze.

I looked around the room once more, ensuring I had everyone's attention again. "This," I said, pointing at the screen, "is the quality I want to maintain. This is what we need to be about—no compromises. This is the kind of production that will bring new, young viewers to Netflix. This, and the name recognition of my brand."

Another one of the executives leaned forward, clearing his throat. "What about this Game of Thrones? Reed told us that this is also one of your books—written under a pseudonym, correct?"

Of course, they would know about A Game of Thrones. It had been one of the most talked-about book releases of last year. Reed must have hyped it up to them, knowing how much buzz there was around it.

I nodded. "Yes, that's correct. A Game of Thrones is mine, written under a pen name. And yes, I do have plans for it." I paused, letting that sink in. "But my conditions remain the same as what I told Reed: if we're going to bring Game of Thrones to Netflix, it has to have a monumental budget. I'm talking HBO's Rome-level ambition—epic sets, authentic costumes, locations that feel as real as the characters. This has to redefine the television landscape."

One of the execs raised an eyebrow, folding his hands in front of him. "And how much are we talking here?" he asked.

My gaze was steady, my tone firm. "A lot. But not just yet," I clarified, holding up a hand to anticipate their concerns. "I think we should hold off until I have at least four books published, which I plan to do by 2016. I want the world to be rich—fully realized on the page first. If we start production planning from 2014 onward, we'll be ready to capitalize on the series' growth when the books have a solid readership base."

The executives exchanged skeptical glances, clearly weighing the costs against the potential returns.

"Let's not overlook that the first book is already huge," Reed added, backing me up. "It's all anyone talks about in the fantasy space right now, and readers are already clamoring for the second one. There's a groundswell of excitement, and Daniel has built a loyal following. We need to funnel them here."

"A Game of Thrones isn't the only idea I have for Netflix," I continued, keeping my tone confident but approachable. "There are other projects I believe can push boundaries too. I'm committed to making Netflix a leader in original, groundbreaking content—content that sets the bar for everyone else."

"And let's not forget," I added with a slight smile, deciding to drive the point home, "as a board member, I have a vested interest in this company's future. We need to take some risks if we are to climb to the very top."

There was a murmur of agreement around the table, with heads nodding and a few smiles spreading across the room.

After that, the meeting continued, delving into various other topics. I had made my position in the company and my ambitions clear. Now, I had to deliver on what I had promised them all.