"Citibank has offered a seven-year loan at 4.25 percent annual interest, slightly lower than Crédit Lyonnais. However, they require a 10 percent equity stake in Daenerys Entertainment as collateral and priority rights on any further financing we seek over the next three years. I believe the terms are viable. The company's performance is exceptional; a 10 percent pledge poses no risk to control, and the priority clause leaves considerable room for negotiation."
The $100 million five-year loan Daenerys Films had taken from Wells Fargo at the end of the previous year carried a steep 6.5 percent rate. With the improving North American economy and the studio's growing strength, borrowing costs had steadily declined, now matching those of many triple-A-rated corporations.
In the executive office at Daenerys headquarters, Nancy Brill outlined the results of her recent New York trip. Amy listened attentively on the surface, but her thoughts drifted.
Capable, energetic, ambitiously driven.
In just two months, this petite woman only a few years older than herself had triggered a deep, instinctive sense of threat in Amy. Though Nancy's integration of the consumer products division had yet to show clear results, her commercial acumen and negotiation skill during the Blockbuster investment had already earned Simon's approval.
By rights, the board seat Blockbuster had granted should have gone to Amy as CEO, yet Simon had given it to Nancy. That stung, and Amy could not help regretting that she had personally recruited her from Hasbro.
If Simon ever needed someone to replace her, Nancy might well be the ideal candidate.
That subconscious anxiety had driven Amy to work harder lately. She also dared not use her authority to obstruct Nancy.
Simon's pre-Christmas mandate for interdepartmental cooperation had been designed precisely to prevent internal strife. If she tried to undermine Nancy and he found out, only she would suffer. Unlike publicly traded studios, Daenerys was privately held; as owner, Simon's word was final.
Her mind wandered further, settling on Janet's smiling face at lunch.
Skimming company perks was commonplace among Hollywood studio executives.
In the late seventies, Columbia Pictures chief David Begelman's embezzlement of $61,000 for personal travel expenses had become the industry's biggest scandal when exposed.
The press had feasted on it, and Begelman resigned in disgrace.
Yet within the industry, almost no one condemned him. Instead, the whistleblower was vilified for making a mountain out of a molehill and dragging Hollywood's dirty laundry into the public eye.
In the end, Begelman left Columbia and continued thriving. The informant, Cliff Robertson, was blacklisted and saw his career destroyed.
Ron McMillan's behavior had been no different from Begelman's or from many studio heads.
After more than two years in the business, neither Simon nor Janet could possibly be unaware of such practices. Yet Simon had allowed Janet to force McMillan out, sending a clear message: a warning to executives not to follow the old Hollywood playbook.
Both the mandatory cooperation policy and this disciplinary action demonstrated Simon's determination to build Daenerys into a lasting, expanding empire.
Clearly, anyone who could not keep pace with his ambition would be left behind.
"Amy?"
The voice across the desk snapped her out of her reverie.
Collecting herself, Amy said, "Nancy, 4.25 percent is attractive, and the priority right is negotiable. But you don't know Simon well yet. He won't agree to pledging equity. And 10 percent is far too high."
Nancy raised an eyebrow, quickly grasping the implication. "Only little boys cling to their toys and refuse to share. He's a grown man. Besides, I just explained there's no real risk."
"Fair enough," Amy said with a faint smile, glancing at the clock on her desk. "It's already working hours in Melbourne. I'll call him tonight to discuss it."
Nancy followed her gaze to the row of mini clocks displaying Los Angeles, New York, and Melbourne times, silently resolving to have her assistant buy the same for her office. Aloud, she said, "I'll call him. And Amy, I think you should be more assertive with him. You're too compliant."
Amy nodded, not arguing over the call. She simply smiled. "He is our boss, after all."
...
Melbourne.
It was the second day of shooting on Batman.
Filmmaking was rarely glamorous; the more spectacular the final product, the more tedious and repetitive the process. A production of this scale carried immense daily pressuren hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions, spent every day.
Batman's budget was generous, yet Simon still faced constant unexpected issues.
Only two days in, the crew encountered a serious problem: leaks.
Disney had ultimately failed to buy its way to the annual crown with Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and Rain Man's surge was only beginning. Thus Pulp Fiction, with $156.93 million, remained 1988's domestic champion.
Two consecutive Simon Westeros films, two consecutive yearly number ones. Even without his billions and other accolades, his new project would command intense media scrutiny.
Batman prep had revealed almost nothing publicly. With principal photography underway, mainstream outlets worldwide had dispatched reporters to Melbourne along with swarms of paparazzi and die-hard comic fans.
Under relentless pursuit, set photos appeared in tabloids after just the first day.
The crew continued shooting today, but producer Joe Silver spent the day issuing copyright statements to major media and tightening security protocols.
Ordinary set photos were not catastrophic. But leaks of the Batmobile, Batcycle, actor costumes, or script details could severely damage the film.
Daenerys had already released official Batman stills. Catwoman, Black Mask, the Batmobile, and Batcycle remained under wraps, to be revealed according to the planned marketing schedule.
Audiences craved mystery and surprise. Premature exposure would disrupt the rollout.
Fortunately, designs and costumes were copyrighted.
Formal statements deterred most reputable outlets from publishing leaked images to avoid lawsuits. Unscrupulous tabloids were another matter; the crew countered with stricter on-set security.
To gel the team, the first two weeks focused on dialogue scenes. Ignoring external chaos, everything ran smoothly.
Australia lacked America's rigid union work rules, but the Batman crew still adhered to an eight-hour day: nine to five.
Today's scenes were set in the headquarters of Roman Sionis/Black Mask's family cosmetics empire, JANUS, filmed inside a thirty-story tower overlooking the Yarra River in central Melbourne.
At five o'clock.
The day wrapped on schedule. Crew dispersed. Simon's locally hired assistant director handed over the day's script notes.
Simon paused his conversation with Joe Silver, flipped through the pages, and asked the round-faced, tousled-haired young man beside him, "Peter, how's it feel?"
The young man was Peter Jackson.
Yes—the future director of The Lord of the Rings trilogy.
At twenty-eight, Jackson's face was still round but not yet the later heaviness. In recent years he had scraped together his debut feature, Bad Taste, with friends in spare time, but it had made little splash.
Hearing Batman would shoot in Melbourne and hire some local talent, the New Zealander had eagerly applied.
The production initially dismissed the unknown cult filmmaker, but when he offered to take any job even runner he landed a production assistant role.
Upon arriving, Simon spotted him, chatted, and promoted him to personal assistant director.
Though seven years older than Simon, Jackson remained somewhat reserved.
If honest, he found Hollywood crews extravagantly wasteful two days' spending could fund several more Bad Tastes. He kept that to himself though. "Very good, Simon."
Simon smiled, unbothered by the caution.
In his memory, Jackson had always been diplomatic, lacking the sharp edges common among Hollywood directors. Understandable, rising from tiny New Zealand to Hollywood required setting aside artistic pride.
Having brought him aboard, Simon intended to mentor him but not force his growth.
Opportunities would come; success depended on Jackson's own effort.
They chatted idly. After reviewing the day's notes and confirming accuracy, Simon gathered the principals to discuss tomorrow's schedule before everyone dispersed.
The crew was housed at the three-star Kendal Hotel in Collingwood, northeast of the city.
Janet's father had hoped Simon would stay at the Johnston estate, but Simon preferred avoiding long commutes. The hotel was booked solid for the production, so he stayed with the team.
Back at the Kendal, Jennifer approached in the lobby with Sophia Fache and several others trailing.
Simon greeted Sophia, let her introduce the rest, then led the two women away.
In his sixth-floor suite, Jennifer went to the bedroom to select suitable clothes for the evening dinner with the new arrivals nothing too casual.
To prevent repeats of the Plaza Hotel incident, Jennifer now personally managed Simon's daily needs. Even housekeeping staff were dispatched by the Johnstons.
After a long day, Simon sank into the sofa, leaning back wearily.
Sophia brewed coffee, brought it over, and settled in an armchair. "Regarding Gucci, i believe it's an excellent opportunity. Since Rodolfo Gucci's death in 1983, the family has been in constant turmoil. Maurizio Gucci jailed his uncle Aldo over tax evasion to seize control, but he lacks business talent and the company has declined steadily. Aldo, released last year, countersued, seeking to split the brand and even freezing Maurizio's shares in court. Gucci is severely weakened now; many family members want to sell. We could acquire outright control."
Simon listened, then asked directly, "How much?"
"Roughly $135 million," Sophia said, adding quickly, "Gucci has over a hundred boutiques in Europe and North America, a complete product line, and immense brand value. Without recent turmoil, this price would be impossible."
Simon regarded her. "$135 million aside—SuFi, you originally told me you wanted to start with wine. If I take Gucci, do you believe you can run it successfully?"
Sophia nodded without hesitation. "I want to try."
"This isn't something you can just 'try,'" Simon said, setting down his cup and sitting upright. "$135 million is nothing to me personally, but you know how many people in this world would beg for even a tenth of that and never get it."