Richmond, northeast of San Francisco Bay.
Pixar's current office was located in an unassuming building in this city.
Simon arrived at Pixar headquarters at two in the afternoon. Jobs wasn't there; greeting him was Pixar's president, Ed Catmull, a middle-aged man with glasses and a beard who was the main developer of Pixar's animation software and rendering tools.
Before coming to San Francisco, Simon had already heard that due to financial strains, Jobs had just conducted layoffs at Pixar after the new year. Now, fewer than 20 employees remained huddled in this building.
With the main man absent, Simon didn't mind. He spent the entire afternoon earnestly touring Pixar's various technological achievements, including John Lasseter's nascent Tin Toy, a 3D animated short that not only won an Oscar for Best Animated Short but also inspired the later Toy Story.
As quitting time approached and he was about to leave, Simon said to Ed Catmull, "Ed, I mentioned to Jobs last year about buying the company. That offer still stands. Tell him that anytime he's interested in selling Pixar, he can contact me."
The afternoon had been pleasant, and Ed Catmull could tell Simon was genuinely interested in Pixar's technology. He replied, "Simon, do you have to buy the company outright? If it's just investing, Steve would probably be thrilled, and we could help convince him."
"That would involve control issues," Simon shook his head. "I think Jobs wouldn't want to repeat his Apple experience, and neither would I. Ed, you've seen—I'm interested in using Pixar's tech for 3D animation and developing film-related CG effects. Jobs wants to produce professional computers for animation. Our visions clash completely."
They chatted like this for a bit. Simon shook hands with Ed Catmull and the others again, then left Pixar headquarters with Jennifer.
Basic Instinct's main shoot would be in San Francisco. On Tuesday, he'd come with the key Basic Instinct crew and spent two days confirming locations; Brian De Palma and the rest had already returned to Los Angeles.
Simon had visited Silicon Graphics' headquarters in Silicon Valley that morning, toured Pixar in the afternoon, and tomorrow he'd fly to Park City, Utah, for this year's Sundance Film Festival opening.
Run Lola Run had exploded last year thanks to Robert Redford's strong support at Sundance. Redford had even called him recently. Whether for the favor or their personal rapport, Simon couldn't skip it.
In downtown San Francisco's Hilton Hotel.
Jennifer returned to the living room with a pot of coffee. Neil Bennett had just finished a sweep for bugs in the suite.
She eagerly helped Neil pack his gadgets into the case. Once he left, she poured Simon a cup and sat on the nearby sofa. "This seems like OCD."
"OCD beats being bugged. Thinking about those gadgets in the Plaza suite makes my skin crawl," Simon said, setting down his files and clapping his hands toward his assistant. "Come here."
Jennifer blushed slightly and refused. "No, I'm not a kitten. Besides, you should call my dad."
Simon didn't push, smiling as he picked up the phone and dialed the James home.
It was after eight in the evening in New York. The call connected quickly, and Simon discussed New World Entertainment with James.
New World Entertainment's stock had risen again from yesterday's $15 high, closing at $16.75 that afternoon—total market cap over $400 million. Simon couldn't afford it now. After rehashing with James, he decisively decided to liquidate all of Westeros Corporation's holdings in New World Entertainment.
Simon's core goal in acquiring New World Entertainment was Marvel; its film and TV assets were secondary.
With a crowd piling on to fleece the fat sheep, Simon's smartest move was to bail immediately. Holding onto that 7% would only keep the stock propped up, maybe even helping New World Entertainment weather its toughest period.
If that happened, getting Marvel would be even harder.
Westeros's New World Entertainment shares were all unrestricted float, so despite exceeding 5%, they weren't bound by SEC reduction limits.
Early the next morning.
After Westeros publicly announced the reduction per SEC rules, it began dumping shares.
Simon arrived in Park City around 11 a.m. local time. Janet was already there, having rented the same vacation apartment as last time. She'd been in New York lately handling the Fifth Avenue apartment renovations but returned to the West Coast mainly to join Simon for the 45th Golden Globe Awards next Saturday.
Sundance's opening was still at 1 p.m.
After settling in briefly upon arrival, Simon headed to the Egyptian Theatre for the ceremony.
Thanks to Run Lola Run's success starting at Sundance last year, Park City was noticeably busier. Without Robert Redford's arrangements, Simon's group might not have squeezed into the packed Egyptian Theatre.
In pre-ceremony chats, Simon learned from Redford that submissions had doubled from last year.
With generous sponsors, screening venues for the next ten days jumped from last year's meager three to ten. Park City didn't have that many; many were makeshift. Some non-selected films even set up their own screenings, hoping to catch media and buyers' eyes during the festival.
After the opening, this year's opener carried weight.
An adaptation of Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being, starring Daniel Day-Lewis and Juliette Binoche: The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Since producer Saul Zaentz held The Lord of the Rings rights, Simon had noted this film recently.
The Unbearable Lightness of Being was set for February 5th release, distributed by Orion.
For promotion, Saul Zaentz and key crew were in Park City.
Post-opening, everyone headed to the Sundance Institute headquarters at the ski resort base for the official opening party. Simon met Saul Zaentz through Robert Redford's introduction.
Saul Zaentz was in his sixties, with thick white whiskers, lips often pursed, seeming stern.
This renowned Hollywood producer started in records. His 1975 debut One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest swept Oscars for Best Picture, Director, Actor, etc. 1984's Amadeus stunned with 8 Oscars from 11 noms.
For Hollywood filmmakers, producing two Best Pictures was a lifelong boast.
At the party.
After introductions, Saul Zaentz said, "Simon, I know you're interested in The Lord of the Rings. I heard you got The Hobbit rights. But unless you provide a solid production plan, I won't hand over the rights."
Simon stood with Saul Zaentz in a hall corner and shook his head. "Saul, without the rights, I can't invest in developing the project upfront."
Saul Zaentz shrewdly replied, "You could start with The Hobbit."
"But I'd prefer the Lord of the Rings series first," Simon said, hesitating before looking earnestly at Saul Zaentz. "Saul, I know you might not need money, and this might seem abrupt. But to show my sincerity—$10 million. What do you think?"
Though the party was noisy, Saul Zaentz heard the offer clearly.
$10 million?!
Instinctively wanting to question it, he knew he hadn't misheard.
But.
Impossible.
Hollywood's top novel or script rights fetched about $1 million max. Simon Westeros had just raised the market price tenfold.
Feeling the young man was throwing money at him, Saul Zaentz wanted to look angry, but his face showed more shock and disbelief.
No one in Hollywood—or the world—would pay $10 million for a novel's rights. In this era, that could fund a solid film.
Saul Zaentz had heard of Simon's big spend on Charlie's Angels TV rights. Though the price wasn't public, it couldn't be the rumored $10 million. And that included over 100 episodes—tangible assets. The Lord of the Rings was just uncertain adaptation rights.
After long hesitation, Saul Zaentz couldn't refuse outright. "Simon, I need to think about it."
"Of course," Simon nodded. "But Saul, I'd like your answer before the weekend ends."
Saul Zaentz shook his head. "That's too rushed."
Simon insisted, "I don't want to wait long."
Saul Zaentz paused. "Simon, since you have The Hobbit, you know those rights include a fixed profit share—7.5% of net profits from films, TV, etc., to the Tolkien Estate."
Simon nodded. "I know."
Saul Zaentz said, "Then, for the rights, I'd need a share too—at least 5%."
Simon refused without hesitation. "Saul, I'm paying $10 million—no shares. You might think if Simon Westeros offers $10 million, he won't mind more. But I guarantee: only $10 million, and only this weekend. After, I'll cool off, and we start over. Also, if you agree, you must sign a confidentiality agreement—never reveal the price."
Listening, Saul Zaentz pondered inwardly.
Partnering with other studios, he'd likely get $1 million transfer fee max, maybe easy profit shares. But even at 5%, the studio would need over $200 million profit for him to match Simon's offer.
The Tolkien Estate got 7.5%—he was just reselling, unlikely to get 5%, maybe 1-2%. Factoring 'Hollywood accounting,' matching $10 million in shares was slim.
After silence, Saul Zaentz raised his glass to Simon. "Simon, before leaving Park City, I'll give you an answer."
Simon pulled a card from his suit pocket, borrowed a pen from Janet's bag, wrote his vacation address, and handed it over. "Saul, I'm looking forward to good news."
Janet had quietly listened to Simon and Saul Zaentz. Once Saul Zaentz walked away somewhat dazed, she linked arms with Simon, smiling. "$10 million—that's the price of a top Fifth Avenue mansion."
In his memories, due to New Line Cinema's notorious deadbeat tactics, Peter Jackson, Saul Zaentz, the Tolkien Estate, and others sued over The Lord of the Rings profits—each suit involving tens of millions.
Though unsure of Saul Zaentz's exact original share, buying The Lord of the Rings rights outright for $10 million was a steal.
Thinking this, Simon gently held the woman. "Lately, things haven't gone smoothly. Everyone sees Simon Westeros as a fat sheep. I suddenly wanted to try treating myself as one—see if some things get easier."
Sensing faint frustration in Simon's tone, Janet leaned in, brushing her cheek against his. "You're no fat sheep, Simon. Those who think so will find out they're the fools."
Simon smiled. "That's what worries me too."
Janet puzzled, "Why?"
Simon was about to explain when Robert Redford approached from the crowd, greeted them, and asked, "How'd it go?"
Hollywood gossip spread fast; Simon's interest in The Lord of the Rings rights wasn't secret.
At Redford's question, Simon shook his head. "Saul said he'd think about it."
"Hollywood's classic novel rights often take grinding—rushing won't help," Robert Redford consoled, fingering his glass. "Simon, actually, we've gotten many scripts lately—some excellent. I was thinking, could you invest in a few? Even one. They're talented directors or writers, like you—just need a chance. Costs won't be high—two or three million each."
Simon was actually keen on producing interesting indie films; Daenerys could cultivate loyal filmmakers this way. Before Redford finished, he nodded readily. "I'll be in Park City all weekend, Bob. Send the scripts over—I'll pick a few to invest in."
Though confident, Robert Redford hadn't expected such quick agreement. He didn't hesitate, smiling. "I'll have them sent tomorrow. Also, for distribution, if you need, I can help."