Natsuki Portman is a total "bookworm." Back in her sophomore year of high school, she wrote a paper on a simple enzyme method for producing hydrogen from sugar, which won her the Intel Science Talent Search award.
Everyone knows public schools don't hold a candle to private ones when it comes to education. But Natsuki, juggling classes at a public high school and filming movies, managed to churn out a college-level chemistry paper that got published in a legit academic journal. That alone caused a nationwide stir in the U.S.
And when she got accepted to top-tier schools like Harvard and Yale with perfect grades? Even The New York Times couldn't help but gush, saying Natsuki Portman's IQ had the makings of a future U.S. president.
But things shifted a bit once she hit college.
University courses—especially her psychology major—were no joke.
When Dunn swung by Cambridge to visit her, she couldn't hold back her whining. "I've made up my mind—I'm taking a break from acting next year. No more movies!"
"Huh? What's up?" Dunn chuckled. "Weren't you the one begging me to get you a gig with Spielberg?"
Natsuki pulled a pouty face. "I've missed way too many classes, and my grades are tanking!"
"Did you fail something?"
"No way!" She shot him a fierce glare before muttering, "My neurobiology grade came back—it's a B!"
"A B? That's solid!"
"But I've never done this badly before. I'm used to straight A's!"
Dunn rolled his eyes. Talking grades with an overachiever was a losing battle. "Alright, fine, taking a break sounds good. College only lasts a few years—spend time with your friends and classmates. There'll be plenty of acting gigs later."
Natsuki's mood flipped from gloom to glee. She hooked her arm through his, beaming as they strolled down the tree-lined paths of campus. "So, what brought you here all of a sudden? Aren't you swamped with work?"
Dunn shrugged. "I'm planning to buy out two companies, but I hit a snag. So, I reached out to a headhunter and found Brandi—Brandi Norris, VP at Goldman Sachs. He's handled a ton of mergers and acquisitions. I'm trying to poach him to be my CFO."
Dunn Studios had snapped up a few companies before, but they were all entertainment firms—half-market deals smoothed over by connections like Bill McNick or Michael Ovitz. Easy enough.
But these new targets, Dolby Labs and another tech company, were a different beast. Hollywood clout didn't mean squat here. He needed someone with serious financial chops.
Plus, Dunn Studios had some big moves lined up over the next few years—major acquisitions, restructuring equity, prepping for an IPO. That meant finding a pro who could handle finance, accounting, investments, fundraising, and mergers like a champ.
"Oh!"
Natsuki blinked, processing it all. After a pause, she tilted her head up at him. "So, are you still gonna act?"
"Huh?" Dunn looked at her, caught off guard. "Of course I am! I'm a director! Bill Gates is the richest guy alive and still codes sometimes. It's my bread and butter—I'm not dropping it."
Natsuki grinned. "Good. I was worried we'd never get to work together again!"
Dunn's heart softened. He slung an arm around her shoulders. "We'll definitely collaborate. Besides, we've done plenty already—remember Star Wars?"
"How could I forget?" Natsuki's face lit up with a happy glow. "But that was a Jedi flick. I was technically the female lead, but I barely had any screen time."
"What about The Professional? Or if you call that a supporting role, what about Juno? You were the star there, right?"
"Those don't count. You were the producer, not the director."
Dunn nodded, getting her drift. "Alright, once you graduate, we'll team up for a real classic—something unforgettable!"
Natsuki smiled and pointed off to the right. "The library's up ahead. Wanna check it out?"
"Nah," Dunn said. "I'd rather not get mobbed. How about we chill on the lawn over there instead? Let me soak in some of that Harvard dirt vibe."
They dodged clusters of students chatting on the grass and found a quiet corner to lie side by side. It wasn't as dreamy as he'd pictured, though. Dunn griped, "Man, this grass is rough!"
Natsuki burst out laughing. "It's fall, dummy. You should've come in spring!"
"Spring?" Dunn sighed. "You know how it is—awards season kicks off, then summer blockbusters. No time to sneak away."
Natsuki's eyes sparkled as something clicked. She rolled over, propping her chin on one hand, her delicate, playful face beaming with excitement. "Oh, by the way, my agent said it's time to start prepping for Juno's pre-release promo."
Dunn frowned. "Want me to talk to them? Focus on school—skip the promo stuff. It's awards season anyway; the free buzz is what matters."
For a slow-burn, low-key indie like Juno—not packed with explosions but with serious awards potential—Hollywood had a playbook. Start with limited screenings in mid-to-late December, since Oscar rules say a film has to hit theaters the prior year to qualify.
Awards season hype meant entertainment rags would zero in on contenders, giving free publicity. After the December screenings, the film would roll out wide in January.
Juno's schedule was locked: December 21st, opening in 11 theaters to build critic buzz, then a full push in January. Early promo would be a bonus, sure—the studio, PR team, and her agency wouldn't pass it up.
But Dunn didn't care much. It was just a movie. His girlfriend mattered more.
To his surprise, Natsuki grinned. "No, it sounds fun! I wanna do it!"
"Huh?"
"You didn't know? We booked The Jimmy Show. I'm gonna sing a song on air—it'll be a blast!"
Dunn's eyes widened. "Sing? Babe, you can sing?"
Natsuki huffed, mock-offended. "Excuse you! I took ballet as a kid, did stage plays, and even got modeling offers from agencies. Mom shut that down, though."
"Good call!"
"Hey, don't interrupt!"
She playfully pinched his nose, giggling. "Back at Solomon Schechter Elementary in Canyon Bay, I joined the school band. Guess what?"
Dunn stared, dumbfounded. "No way. You were the lead singer?"
"Duh!" Natsuki tossed her head smugly. "My music skills weren't on par with little Taylor's, though. Mom figured that out, so I went all-in on acting."
Dunn's eyes lit up. "What song are you singing?"
Natsuki teased, "Oh, you'll see. It's a surprise! And guess what? I wrote the lyrics myself!"
Now Dunn was hooked. "I write songs too! How's your singing, though?"
"Better than yours!"
"Big talk!"
"Don't believe me?"
"Sing something!"
"Not here—too many people!"
---
"I get it, I totally get it. Mr. Douglas, you're too humble. Ha, yeah, my beef with Dunn? Irreconcilable!"
Michael Eisner was on the phone with Kirk Douglas, the top dog of Hollywood's Jewish elite.
"No denying it—that kid's a beast in the commercial film game. But Hollywood isn't just about blockbusters!" Kirk's voice boomed, rich and vigorous. "Back when Walt founded Disney, I pitched in a little. Of course, Disney's where it is today thanks to you, Michael."
Eisner chuckled smoothly. "Mr. Douglas, thanks for the kind words. Don't worry—Dunn's our mutual enemy. We're on the same team here."
Kirk pressed on. "The box office is tricky to mess with, but awards? I've still got friends there. Especially with him spouting off about 'new order,' 'new model,' 'new Hollywood'—kid's got no clue how high the sky is! A lot of old-timers are fed up. Disney's job is to shape the narrative—keep the controversy low."
He wanted to kneecap Dunn through the awards circuit, but A Beautiful Mind had too much clout. Push too hard, and the backlash would be brutal.
That's where a media giant like Disney came in—PR muscle to smooth things over.
It was the only option.
Of the big U.S. media players, Disney was the only one born and bred in Hollywood. Time Warner's brass came from Turner, Time Inc., and AOL—Warner Bros. barely got a say. Viacom? Sumner Redstone didn't play that game. News Corp was headquartered in New York.
Kirk's network left him with one ally: Disney's Michael Eisner.
Lucky for him, Eisner and Dunn were already at each other's throats—perfect for leveraging.
The call went well.
But the second he hung up, Eisner's face darkened. "Old geezer!" he spat.
Sure, he and Dunn were enemies—but he wasn't exactly buddies with Kirk Douglas either!
These Hollywood relics were a pack of leeches, giving him headaches.
To Eisner, Disney's recent box office slump was thanks to these dinosaurs meddling too much, clinging to outdated ideas about modern blockbusters.
"Ugh!"
Eisner rubbed his temples, letting out a long sigh.
Take Dunn down? He barely had the energy for that.
He was on the ropes himself!
Outside, Time Warner, Viacom, and Dunn Studios were boxing him in. Inside, shareholders and board members were stirring up trouble.
And then the "9/11" crisis hit, piling more misery onto Disney's plate.
"I'll handle Dunn for you—but can you handle Sumner Redstone for me? Can you deal with Roy Disney? The Bass family? Foolish madman!"
Eisner slammed the desk, a cold smirk twisting his lips.