The news broke in the Monday editions of Publishers Weekly and Variety, two trade papers that rarely acknowledged each other's existence, united for a moment by the sheer audacity of the number.
"THE ITHACA FORTUNE: Hauser Sells Paperback Rights for $1.35 Million," the headlines read.
In his office, Shaw calmly fielded a relentless stream of calls. Congratulatory calls from associates, probing calls from journalists, and, most importantly, a new way of calls from New York literary agents.
The first tangible fallout arrived not by phone, but by post a thick, cream-colored envelope bearing the Doubleday crest. Eleanor placed it on his desk with a neutral, "Correspondence from Mr. Aldrich, sir."
Duke sliced it open with his letter opener. The letter was brief, typed on heavy stock, and signed with a furious scratch of a pen.
"Dear Connor,
I was disappointed to receive the news of your arrangement with Pocket Books. While I respect the prerogative to seek the most advantageous terms, the publishing world is one built on relationships and mutual trust, not merely transactional supremacy. Doubleday presented itself as a long-term partner for your entire catalog, a home for an author of your stature. I fear that in pursuing the highest immediate figure, you may have inadvertently closed doors to a more nuanced and supportive future. Some bridges, once burned, are difficult to rebuild.
I wish you the best of luck with your future endeavors.
Sincerely,
Robert Aldrich"
Duke read it twice, a faint, smile touching his lips.
Relationships. Nuance. Supportive future.
He didn't file it away; he dropped it into the wastebasket beside his desk.
He didn't take advantage of Doubleday, he gave them two hits and they got confident thinking they wouldn't have to give too much money for the Paperback rights.
The Aldrich letter was a footnote.
The real consequence of the deal was the transformation of Mark Jensen's office down the hall into a chaotic Grand Central Terminal. Manuscripts piled up on every surface, and the phone seemed to be a permanent extension of his ear.
Duke burst into Jensen's office, his eyes wide with a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. "It's a madhouse! I've got every agent in New York calling me. They're pitching everything from mafia stories to a seven chapter documentary on the history of the marines."
He dropped a thick, bound script onto his desk with a definitive thud. "But this one… this one keeps coming up and I like it."
Duke glanced at the title page, "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid." written by William Goldman.
"It's a Western," Jensen said, pre-empting the objection. "Every studio in town has passed on it, since the characters are too charming to be outlaws. Fox had it, and dropped it. same with Universal."
Duke didn't need to even look through his memories for this one; the title alone was enough to recognize it.
"What do they want for it?" Duke asked, his voice casual.
Jensen blinked. "Seriously? Duke, the word on the street is they'd take five thousand just to get it off the books. Apparently even the agency doesn't believe on the project."
"Buy it," Duke said.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. We'll make it next year when finances stabilize." He looked down at Jensen's stunned face. "This is why you're here, Mark. Good job."
As Duke left, practically vibrating with happiness and entering his office, Leo Walsh followed him into his office.
He wore the expression of a man who had just seen a fortune in gold bars being melted down to make a cannonball.
"A million three hundred and fifty thousand," Leo said, whistling low. "I'll admit, Duke, I didn't think you could pull it off. It's a hell of a number."
He paced in front of the desk. "But now that we have it… are you sure about spending the lion's share on this distribution play? I mean we could diversify with the record label in mind too."
Duke leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Leo, what is Ithaca?"
"It's a production company, and a record label."
"It's a production company first and foremost," Duke corrected, his voice low and steady. "And a production company like us can't always rely on other companies to distribute our movies. This distribution network is the diversification. It's the foundation that makes everything else secure and profitable. Without it, we are forever tenants, paying rent to the landlords. With it, we become landlords."
Walsh sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew the argument was lost. "Alright. I'll stick to handling musicians."
He paused at the door. "Speaking of which… I've been talking to some people. There's a black group out of Gary, Indiana. A family act, the kids are incredible. The oldest boy, Michael, he's… I've never seen a performer like him, and he's only nine. The father is a piece of work, but the talent is undeniable. I want to sign them."
Duke's mind, a perfect archive of future pop culture, didn't even need to access the memory files. The name was iconic, a foundational pillar of modern music.
"If you like them then sign them." Duke nodded, happy that his record company was going to get a new artist but also wondering whether the Jackson 5 as a band were profitable. After all he never listened to their music.
Walsh nodded and then mentioned. "Just to confirm, you dont got a problem with them being black, right?"
He gave a slight shrug. "If you believe in the talent, sign them. I don't care what color they are. I care if they can sell records."
Walsh nodded, a genuine smile breaking through his anxiety. "They'll sell records, Duke. I promise you that."
---
While the future was being built on paperback fortunes and unproven scripts, the present was still handling money.
Eleanor laid the latest box office report on his desk with her usual quiet efficiency. The Graduate was now in its eight week in release.
The numbers were a masterclass in sustained success.
The film had held the #2 spot with a tenacious grip, a testament to its cultural resonance.
It was still playing in hundreds of theaters, and the weekly grosses remained astonishingly strong.
The total domestic box office was now tracking toward an unprecedented $45 million. The number was so large it felt abstract, a figure from a corporate annual report, not the result of a film he had personally championed.
His share, as the producer with a significant points deal was a river of cash that by the end of The Graduate run would be flowing into Ithaca's coffers.
His personal take was already aroung 1.35$ million, with more coming in every week.
Yet, the #1 spot remained elusive. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner. The public's taste was a fickle thing, and the establishment critics and distributors still had their thumbs on the scale.
---
The world of box office grosses and distribution strategies melted away later that evening at a small, quiet French restaurant tucked away in the Hollywood Hills.
Here, there were no trade papers, no agents, only the soft glow of candlelight reflecting in Katharine Ross's eyes. Their relationship was a carefully guarded secret, an oasis of calm they both protected fiercely.
But tonight, the oasis showed signs of strain.
"You're working too much," Katharine said, not as an accusation, but with a soft, concerned sigh.
She swirled the wine in her glass, watching the liquid slide around the crystal. "I feel like I have to schedule a meeting with Eleanor just to see you for dinner. When you are here, part of you is still in that office, with those maps and those reports."
Duke reached across the table, covering her hand with his. Her skin was warm. "This is the hard part, the foundation and then things will go back to normal Kate."
Of course, he didn't mention that there will probably be a few year at least of him being overworked handling his company.
"I know," she said, lacing her fingers with his. "And I'm proud of you. Everyone is talking about The Graduate, it's a phenomenon but phenomena are exhausting." She offered a wry smile. "And now this paperback deal… it's all anyone can talk about. The mysterious Connor Hauser."
She changed the subject, clearly wanting to steer the conversation away from his company and back to their shared world. "The scripts are piling up on my end, too. Everyone wants me to play another Elaine Robinson."
"What are they offering?" Duke asked, taking a sip of his wine.
"Oh, the usual. A lot of 'young wives in peril' pictures. A few 'free-spirited love interests' for some dreadful-looking comedies. There's one… a big Western over at MGM. The Stalking Moon. It's with Gregory Peck. It's a solid offer, a lead role, but my character feels a bit… passive, a victim of circumstance to be protected."
Duke's mind, a perfect catalog of film history, cross-referenced the title. It was a fine film.
"Be careful with the Westerns," he said, his tone casual, almost off-hand.
He paused, then made his move, his voice dropping into a more intimate, yet decisive, register. "In fact, forget MGM for a moment. I'm building a slate of films at Ithaca. I want you in one of them. I just acquired it today and you'll be perfect for it."
Katharine's eyebrows arched in surprise, a playful, competitive glint replacing the concern in her eyes. It was the look of a fellow professional, not just a lover. "Oh, you do, do you? Well, Mr. Producer, you should know my quote has gone up considerably since The Graduate i'm not sure you can afford me now." She took a sip of her wine, the challenge hanging in the air between them.
Duke smiled, "I just secured a million dollars through the paperback deal. I think I can manage your new quote."
The playfulness in her expression softened. "Or you could pay me in other ways," she replied.
"I like that."
She smiled, a real, warm smile that reached her eyes.
He returned her smile.
For a few precious hours, his personal crusade for Hollywood's future was forgotten.
They talked about books, about a trip they might take to Big Sur, about anything but business.
But as he drove her to his house, his mind was already drifting back to the map on his wall, to the three red circles.
---
Probably will launch a second chapter today