September 24th, a new week.
Two weeks had passed since the "9/11 attacks," and as expected, the federal government had rolled out a slew of policies to tackle the crisis. The stock market, just as Dunn predicted, saw a weird rebound. Even Warren Buffett's Berkshire Hathaway—a company heavy in insurance—watched its stock shoot straight up.
That told you everything: Wall Street's wolves were at it again, rigging the market to exploit the terrorist attack, ready to fleece the little guy.
Dunn had just wrapped a hectic weekend in New York and was back in LA. Last night, the second episode of Band of Brothers finally aired. The ratings? Not as explosive as the premiere, but solid enough. An average of 10.79 million viewers—pretty darn good with the "9/11" cloud still hanging over everything. Subscriber growth, though, had slowed. Total subs were just shy of 11 million, a far cry from HBO's peak of over 15 million in Dunn's past life.
"Dunn, Director Cameron's here."
"Send him in!"
While in New York, Dunn had set up meetings with a couple of key people back in LA: James Cameron and George Paxton. Cameron was the first up, and he'd reached out himself.
The past week, Never Sinking—three months after its release—had snagged the top spot on North America's weekly box office chart again! It pulled in a whopping $32.16 million domestically. The big reason? Dunn Films' $50 million ticket donation.
As of now, Never Sinking was about to break $500 million in North America, with a global total hitting $970 million. No doubt about it—James Cameron was on track to be the second director after Dunn to cross the $1 billion mark!
"Dunn!"
The second they met, Cameron's voice cracked with emotion, and he pulled Dunn into a big bear hug.
Dunn shoved him back with a laugh. "Heard you bought a submarine? You really diving into the sea for adventure?"
Cameron waved it off, sidestepping the question. "Dunn, thank you," he said, his tone heavy with gratitude.
"No need. It boosts Dunn Films' brand too." Dunn brushed it off casually, like it was nothing.
Cameron pressed, "Still, you helped me out big time."
Dunn scribbled a quick note and called his secretary. "Take this to finance—get it processed now." Then he turned back to Cameron. "Compared to the profits Never Sinking has brought Dunn Films, that donation's a drop in the bucket."
Rough estimates pegged Never Sinking's box office split at $450 million. After Universal's 10% marketing cut ($100 million) and Cameron's 10% bonus ($100 million), Dunn Films would pocket $250million. Subtract the film's $200 million budget, and that extra $50 million profit? That's what Dunn donated for tickets.
The movie hadn't turned a profit through ticket sales alone—unheard of for Dunn Films. But in Hollywood? Totally normal.
The U.S. pumps out 300+ movies a year, and fewer than 10 make money purely at the box office! Peripherals—TV rights, VHS, DVDs—that's where the real cash flows. Take Spider-Man: Dunn Films raked in $420 million from those markets! DVDs and tapes alone brought in $250 million, North American TV added $68 million, and overseas TV chipped in $82.6 million.
Even if Never Sinking didn't match Spider-Man's clout, $300 million in peripherals over the next two years wasn't out of reach. That's where the real profit lived.
Look at last year's Mission: Impossible 2. The box office didn't even cover Paramount's costs—Tom Cruise's paycheck was too fat! Yet its profit margin beat out What Women Want, a comedy that did profit at theaters, making it Paramount's top earner. Action flicks just kill it in the peripheral game.
In this golden age of DVDs, a hot Hollywood blockbuster could easily pull $100–200 million globally from disc sales alone.
Soon, Isla Fisher waltzed back in with a check, her hands trembling from the massive figure on it. Dunn shot her a playful glare, took the check, and handed it to Cameron. "James, here's your second bonus—$50 million."
"This…" Cameron reached for it, then hesitated.
He wanted it—who doesn't love money? It was in his contract. But he wavered, knowing Dunn's $50 million ticket donation wasn't just about comforting attack victims.
Dunn grinned. "Take it. You know I'm not hurting for cash. I shorted the market big this summer—remember?"
"Well… alright."
Cameron took the check, looking sheepish and awkward.
Dunn couldn't help but sigh.
Everyone knows Hollywood's a money machine, a high-return gig. But compared to Wall Street? Hollywood's hustle felt downright pitiful. Cameron felt guilty over $50 million, while Wall Street's wolves were raking in billions off this crisis, bold as brass!
---
"How's the investigation going?"
That afternoon, George Paxton stepped into Dunn's office. Dunn had tasked him with secretly digging into sexual abuse scandals in American sports.
"Not good," Paxton said, his face dark.
"Running into roadblocks?" Dunn raised an eyebrow. "If the pushback's too strong, drop it. Safety first."
Paxton shook his head, gritting his teeth. "No, I mean the findings—they're bad. As for threats? Hmph, even if it costs me my life, I'm seeing this through. Those animals—I won't rest until they're behind bars!"
Dunn got the picture. The investigation had traction… and it was ugly.
Paxton's voice dropped. "There's this girl, Alice, training in gymnastics. Her parents are farmers from Pennsylvania. She was abused by the team doctor during practice and told her folks. They talked to the doctor—and ended up believing him, thinking she lied…"
Dunn waved him off, cutting in. He couldn't stomach more. These stories hit too hard—he might snap, roll up his sleeves, and dive in himself.
A scandal this big in sports needed careful handling. Dunn had a key role to play, tied to his broader Hollywood strategy. It couldn't leak early.
"I didn't call you back for that. I'm building a house—you found a spot, right?"
Dunn was flush with cash. Dunn Capital had $9 billion liquid, with $500 million going to the Swift Venture Fund and $7.5 billion earmarked for Dunn Films' future big acquisitions. That left $1 billion for his personal life and spending.
He'd already ordered a $250 million customized Boeing 747 private jet from Boeing. His current Gulfstream V was too small—no bedroom. Fine for short domestic hops, but long international flights? He needed something bigger. Bill Gates had a Bombardier Global Express and a Boeing 757, after all.
Big yacht? Check. Big plane? Check. Now it was time to drop serious cash on a top-tier luxury estate!
Across the U.S., the creme de la creme of private estates were Bill Gates' futuristic tech mansion (built in the early '90s for $1.2 billion) and Larry Ellison's under-construction Japanese palace ($2.1 billion). Dunn wasn't messing around—he planned to sink $2.5 billion into the most extravagant estate in America!
Beverly Hills was out—too cramped. Thankfully, LA's elite zones stretched beyond that, mostly along the coast with killer ocean views, like New York's Long Island. From north to south: Malibu, Bel Air, Beverly Hills, Manhattan Beach, Palos Verdes, Rolling Hills, Santa Monica, Newport, and Laguna Beach.
Paxton chimed in. "We locked it down last year—$12 million for the land, over 500 acres. Twenty times the size of Ellison's place. This is California—even with money, you can't snag as much land as Gates did."
Dunn smirked. $12 million just for the dirt? California's rich zones were on par with New York's.
"Where?"
"Palos Verdes," Paxton said, pausing before adding, "It's in the estates district—west and south sides face the sea, wide-open views, and there's a port big enough for a tanker."
Dunn nodded. "Cool, let's check it out later. You've talked to a designer?"
"Yeah, Richard Meier's team. Big name—worked with Hollywood heavyweights like the Smiths, Hoffmans, and Douglases. His U.S. Federal Courthouse wrapped up last year."
"Big rep, huh? Even designed a place for Kirk Douglas. Interesting." Dunn's lips curled. "Set up a meeting when there's time—I want to talk to him."
One designer might not cut it. This time, Dunn was going all in, aiming to make his mansion a landmark in Palos Verdes—and all of LA!