Link was in his car before the waves even finished rolling in at Malibu.
The dream was built; now it was time to cash the check.
Back at the Pangu office, the atmosphere was colder than a meat locker.
The neon glow outside bounced off the floor-to-ceiling windows, making the conference room look even more unsettling.
Bender slammed New Line Cinema's meeting agenda onto the table, his throat dry.
"Ten a.m. tomorrow, the New Line board meeting."
He managed a grim smile. "Link, I just got word. They brought in the risk analysts from Wall Street."
He collapsed onto the couch, looking completely drained.
"We're cooked. Those financial sharks only care about the bottom line. They'll use their spreadsheets to crush Cameron's dream into dust."
Link didn't reply. He walked to the window, watching the lights flicker on along Sunset Boulevard.
The neon seeped into the night, like a tide of capital: cold and brutal.
He knew Bender was right.
Talking art to those dollar signs was like trying to explain Shakespeare to your dog.
He needed a different language—one they actually spoke.
That night, 11 p.m.
Link was the only one left in the office.
He leaned back in his chair, took a long drag, and blew a smoke ring that dissolved in the desk lamp's light.
He closed his eyes, his mind sinking into the void.
The pale blue light screen silently appeared.
[Influence Points: 4000 (-1000)]
Without hesitation, he keyed in the target—The New Line Cinema Board of Directors.
[Running the Sim—]
Data streamed like a current deep in his mind.
Seconds later, the cold analysis appeared.
The investors' three biggest sticking points:
Over-the-top budget, tragic subject matter, and overseas market uncertainty.
Success Rate: Less than 10%.
Link gave a wry chuckle:
"Ouch."
Just as he was about to shut it down, the screen jolted.
A new path opened up, like a flash of lightning splitting the night sky.
[Optimal Path: The Cash Machine Club]
[Success Rate: 92%]
Link opened his eyes, and a confident smile returned to his lips.
"Martha." He picked up the phone, his voice steady, every word like steel.
"Get Marketing, Legal, and the Light Magic VFX team on a call. Now."
"We've only got three hours to put together a presentation that will shut up every suit on Wall Street."
---
New Line Cinema, the following morning.
In the top-floor boardroom, the AC was blasting so hard it was an icebox, sending a shiver down everyone's neck.
On one side of the long table sat Robert Shaye and a row of stone-faced executives; on the other, only Link and James Cameron.
Cameron wasn't sitting. He was pacing the room.
"When the iceberg hits, it's not a 'boom'! It's a tear! It's God taking a dull knife and slicing open the belly of a giant ship—"
He grew more animated, gesturing wildly.
Shaye and the board said nothing, watching him like a guy who needed a straitjacket and a shot of something strong.
Link leaned back, quietly sipping his coffee. He knew Cameron was responsible for creating the dream, and he was responsible for writing the check for it.
Cameron finally finished, stopping to gasp for air as he looked at Shaye.
Shaye cleared his throat, forcing a professional smile.
"Very... very moving, James."
He picked up the budget proposal, flipped to the last page, and slid it to the center of the table.
"One hundred twenty million dollars?"
His tone was sharp, like a fingernail on a chalkboard.
"James, Link. Are you two out of your minds?"
One director sneered, "$120 million? For a romance? We could make ten horror movies with that kind of money!"
Another chimed in, "And it's a tragedy! Are audiences going to pay money to watch pretty people drown?"
A wave of suppressed laughter rippled through the room.
Cameron's face instantly went dark.
Just as he was about to blow up, Link raised a hand, signaling him to hold on.
He stood up and slowly walked to the center of the table.
"Gentlemen," he began, his voice surprisingly calm. "You're absolutely right."
Everyone froze.
"If this were just a movie, it would indeed be a guaranteed losing bet."
He paused, and his tone changed, the shift in his voice like a hammer coming down:
"But... who told you I'm selling you a movie?"
He pulled a stack of professionally bound documents from his brief case and handed them over.
"This is Pangu Pictures' market assessment and profit model."
Shaye frowned as he opened it.
The first page was a global box office projection chart.
North America accounted for less than half; Europe, Japan, and Southeast Asia were all heavily highlighted.
"The Asian market?" one director scoffed. "They're still renting VHS tapes over there."
Link replied coolly, "Not for long. Global box office will be the primary growth driver over the next decade. And only one thing can unlock it... the visual spectacle."
He turned the page.
It was covered in a dense list of ancillary revenue streams:
"Exclusive licensing for 'The Heart of the Ocean' jewelry, the soundtrack, art books, a documentary, and..."
Link looked up at Shaye and added:
"A 1:1 scale bow section experience at an Orlando theme park—Disney has already given us the green light."
The boardroom went instantly silent.
The directors who had been laughing just moments ago all shut up.
Shaye stared at the document, his fingers trembling slightly.
Link returned to his seat and continued in a flat tone:
"Regarding the budget, we're structuring this as a split-equity investment: Pangu will contribute $40 million for 35% equity and handle the technical production; New Line will contribute $40 million for 30% equity and control North American distribution."
"The remaining $40 million..." He offered a slight smile. "20th Century Fox's European division is interested in jumping in."
"This..."
Shaye stared at the document, his voice tight.
"Link, these numbers... how can you back them up?"
Link tapped his temple.
"Logic."
He smiled again.
"And also because Pangu Light Magic's VFX costs are thirty percent below market rate. That difference right there? That's pure profit."
He scanned the room.
"I'm not here asking for money today."
"I'm here to invite you to join a club that will cut annual dividend checks for half a billion dollars."
He paused, his voice suddenly dropping low, like a heavy, muffled blow:
"The Cash Machine Club."
The room fell into a dead silence.
No one was laughing anymore.
Shaye just sat there, silent for a full thirty seconds, then slowly uttered:
"Link... you're a madman."
Link smiled.
"You have to be a madman to build a dream."