January 1998.
Who wouldn't want to do as they please? The first meeting of the year, and now Billy was preparing for his next role as Anakin Skywalker. But that wasn't all—Lux Animation had been handling the massive Star Wars action project for months.
—One hour. —George murmured.
—Relax, I just need to talk about a few things regarding the pricing. —Billy whispered.
—Not again, kid. The expense was exactly what it had to be. —George replied.
—I'm not talking about that. I'm referring to the market for collectible figures—the most famous ones, far more than anything else. I see the real money in action figures and video games. —Billy responded.
—Ahhhh, so now you're planning to use the licenses. —Lucas replied, smiling faintly as he ordered wine, his half-closed hand gesture giving away that every deal was an excuse to think about money, about the villa he'd been wanting for some time—the one in the Alps, a frozen villa overlooking an icy lake, while he overthought the life he wanted.
—Well, I think the best approach is a fixed royalty system for each license, positioned before costs. —Billy replied calmly, laying out the values: for video games, a progressive fee depending on the number of units sold, ranging from 5% to 14%; for toys, rates of 3% to 10% with lower sales volumes; plus bonuses for sales and promotional support scheduled in Hollywood, which was satisfying enough considering how fame tended to work.
—I could make twice as much at those prices. —Lucas commented.
—You could, but we have something more important than doubling it. —Billy replied.
—And that is…?
—Investment in each series, film, or project we create. Financial sponsorship from these partners could bring everything to life. We could use it for big festivals or contests in future months, or simply adapt the community to experience the Jedi world. What I've understood for months now is that people's preferred technique is feeling fully accepted in a space. If we make them love what they do—being Star Wars fans—even when the movies aren't to their liking, it changes month by month. —Billy explained.
—You want to build conventions. Star Wars talks and events, sponsored by these partners across North America. —Lucas commented.
—Oh, Europe as well. It has to be global. People should be talking about it on every corner—billions of people as future, past, and present clients, helping us choose what becomes our technological saga. —Billy replied, looking Lucas straight in the eyes, who seemed to instantly recognize the merit of the idea, one born from dedicated work.
—I'd hate for things to get complicated, but I don't doubt you're talented when it comes to making money. I accept, on the condition that you don't abandon this halfway. —George replied, extending his hand. A rhythm, a soft thud sealing the half-hour conversation—knowing deep down that Billy would make him a fortune and grant him lasting favor.
—Now, tell me about the game. —Lucas commented, signing with a pen—not quickly, but slowly, nervously, and somewhat happily, savoring the success story his life had become over the past months.
—Well, I think we should make one game per film—not hard or complicated—just a solid game built around what we've discussed for days: spacecraft, Jedi combat, blasters, and galactic battles. The game started less than five days ago at id Software—they're already doing thorough work. —Billy explained. For months, he'd envisioned a grand game—unlike Halo—this one with an exclusive focus on Jedi and lightsabers, with stunning prologues telling Obi-Wan's story as the game's main protagonist, filled with scenery and countless ideas.
—I'm thinking of making a good film told through a game. —Billy added, describing every detail with care—the hows and the whys—the enhancement of a story that couldn't be brought to life or told properly on screen. Strange how visual creativity fused with human effort, forming the fervent credit of hard work and devotion.
One of the reasons Billy loved this process was that everything had a foundation and then completed itself through the smallest touch—a near-religious craft where ideas took shape and color, reproduced year after year by fans tucked away in forgotten corners, rediscovered day by day.
—You've got it in your hands. —Lucas commented, sketching a mental map on a napkin.
—We can also make a video game set across different eras—moving backward and forward as we retell stories. We can try different gameplay styles until we reach what you call a fully realized open world. —Lucas suggested.
A bold model.
—That will cost a lot of money. —Billy replied. By the time they reached an open-world version, they'd likely be in the First Jedi Age—or at the end of Episode VI, at Vader's fall—or at the beginning of the Rebellion, like a book helping people see the end or the beginning of all those stories filled with little facts and curious hints on how to bring a world to life.
—It's too expensive. —Lucas whispered.
—Every production must aim far beyond doubling its budget. Projects need to be ambitious. Greed is good when it pushes the story toward perfection. —Billy replied.
Planning was a pleasure. Each step was a blooming image of what Billy saw, and for Lucas, something was finished only when it formed a perfect circle—containing everything it needed to be. And that circle was the storm of details and abilities that could turn a good series into a stellar one—one shining with new light, a light that now signaled a series evolving from good to great.
—Look at the time. —Lucas replied.
…
Natalie was nervous. She'd been told for a while about meeting her new co-star—a protagonist famous for his business ventures. The owner who acted only when production was backed by power—but that power was, at best, just the illusion of success.
—It's just a meal, and it's good you have him by your side now. —her agent commented.
She tried to breathe and held back the nervousness chasing her. Good roles, a star in many circles, and beside her stood a man who handled powerful work again and again. Nothing remained except a deep breath.
They walked to the door of the hotel—one overseen by Billy—the owner and master of a vast number of companies tied to cold reality: money ruled. The astonished young woman saw Billy seated, having a heated conversation with Lucas about everything and nothing. Almost no one dared interrupt. A bottle of wine sat beside him, while her agent gave her an approving nod and took a seat far away, nerves tightening the air around them.
She walked slowly.
—Ahhh, Natalie, we were just thinking of you. —Lucas commented, seeing her, slightly uneasy, integrating her gently, trying not to overwhelm the young girl—slender, small, almost unrecognizable. A year and a half had given her a true growth spurt; now her features sharper, dressed in jeans and a long white blouse that hinted at the delicate expressiveness of her form.
—Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carson. —Natalie replied.
Billy's unwavering eyes fixed directly on her.
—Miss Portman, please have a seat and order something. —Billy responded, taking her hand with polite delicacy—courteous, though cold in its formality.
—All right. —
—Please, dear, we haven't had lunch. —Lucas added.
She nodded, though she felt uneasy knowing they'd been waiting. She was vegetarian, but the menu offered salads, no meat, and a sautéed curry rice version that genuinely surprised her.
—Billy is friends with the owner. He ordered a special menu for today. —Lucas commented.
—That's very thoughtful. —
—Just a gesture, for our future work together. It means a lot that we begin with a good relationship. —Billy replied gently.
—Thank you. —
—A trifle. —Billy answered, taking a fine cut of beef with wine sauce giving it a sweet and spicy kick, paired with spinach rice seasoned with pepper.
—I can see that. —Lucas replied, cautious, stepping away to take a quick call, leaving Natalie and Billy alone, face to face.
—I've known for some time that we'd be working together… but what surprises me isn't that you're an actor—it's your business career and your thesis on marketing. —Natalie commented.
—Well, education always helps… but it's the person who makes what they study truly matter. —Billy replied.
—I want to go to university. —
—Admirable. I encourage you to do so. —Billy responded.
A charming conversation followed, as Natalie watched Billy switch effortlessly between Spanish, English, and Italian, and listened to how he founded his first company at twelve, and how he followed his instincts in each of his ventures
....