283-285

Chapter 283: Betting My Youth on Tomorrow 

New York boasts three elite luxury housing zones: Manhattan’s Upper East Side with its lavish duplexes, townhouses, and Long Island’s sprawling estates. 

The duplexes are the easiest to snag—if you’ve got the cash, you’re in. Townhouses, with more space for parties, are a bigger flex in land-scarce Manhattan. You need not just money but a certain social standing to score one. 

Then there’s the beachfront estates in the Hamptons on Long Island—the ultimate status symbol. You need serious fame and clout to even get a foot in the door. Think Rockefellers, Madame Chiang Kai-shek, Steven Spielberg, finance titan George Soros, the Roosevelts… 

Tucked in the suburbs, commuting to Manhattan’s core usually means a helicopter ride. It’s hands-down the glitziest, most extravagant playground on Earth today. 

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby captured the dreamy allure of this very spot. 

With Dunn’s current stature, he could absolutely claim a Long Island estate. Problem is, he hasn’t found one on the market that fits. Plus, he’s young, still climbing the career ladder—Universal’s acquisition isn’t even in the bag yet. No rush to kick back and enjoy life just now. 

So, he dropped $40 million on a Manhattan townhouse instead. Plenty good for his New York crash pad and playtime. 

That night, 16 Victoria’s Secret supermodels showed up to a private bash Dunn threw. 

As the only guy at the party, Dunn’s vibe… wasn’t exactly magical. 

A lot of the models had stable families and incomes—they weren’t looking to lean on a man anymore. His subtle hints? Totally ignored. 

Then there were the ones still hustling for their big break. But after years in the game, they’d already networked with power players and billionaires. 

In short, they’d all found their sugar daddies. 

Victoria’s Secret Angels, a game-changer in the modeling world, exploded onto the scene after their Super Bowl debut, grabbing America’s attention—and the eyes of some very calculated players. 

Dunn wasn’t the only one playing the field. Nope, it’s a guy thing! 

The supermodel circle had long been scoped out. 

Take the stunners Dunn had his eye on at the party: Laetitia Casta, Daniela Peštová, Letícia Costa—all backed by mega-rich heavyweights. 

Especially Inés Rivero, the Argentine beauty. Dunn dug around and got the vibe her backer was… that big shot from Oracle! 

A guy with clout that outranked Dunn’s—how do you compete with that? 

The rest? Either their skin tone wasn’t his thing, or he just couldn’t vibe with their icy, high-fashion attitude. Later waves of Insta-famous models might lack the same polish, but they definitely hit closer to Asian tastes. 

“Good thing Ambrosio and Lima are fresh-faced Brazilian newbies who hit up Leo’s party and crossed my path,” Dunn mused. “A year or two later, and those two prime catches might’ve been snatched up by someone else…” 

“No wonder Gisele Bündchen skipped introducing all those other beauties backstage and made a big deal out of Heidi Klum and Angela Lindvall. She knew the score.” 

“Angela Lindvall’s new to the VS show—an outsider’s rookie, hustling for a leg up. Heidi Klum’s married, but it’s shaky. She’s ambitious, not content where she’s at, and dying to climb higher—definitely looking to network with bigger fish.” 

Dunn let out a long breath. At least there were some stragglers he could snag! 

Otherwise, after all his effort schlepping to the VS show in New York, coming up empty-handed would’ve been pathetic. Leo would’ve never let him live it down. 

The next morning, Dunn woke up to find the two lovely ladies who’d been beside him gone, leaving only a faint whiff of perfume. 

He got up, freshened up, and headed downstairs. Passing the music room, he spotted Angela Lindvall, the all-American bombshell, cradling a guitar and strumming away. 

Her rhythm… wasn’t great. Not even close to little Taylor’s level. 

But when she focused, those sharp, mysterious eyes softened, giving her a whole new charm. 

Dunn smiled, strolling over and tapping the door lightly. “Mind if I come in?” 

“Sir?” 

“Just call me Dunn.” 

“Dunn!” Angela flashed a sweet smile, brushing some stray hair behind her ear. “Last night… did you have fun?” 

Dunn laughed heartily. “Oh, it was great! I didn’t expect you and Heidi to sync up so well—your chemistry was right up there with those Brazilian girls.” 

Angela set the guitar down and sauntered over. They were about the same height. Tilting her head, she locked eyes with him. “Dunn, you want to keep this going?” 

Dunn paused. “What about Heidi? Isn’t she married?” 

Angela grinned. “That’s just a tiny hiccup. It only stops her from moving in with you… or, well, us.” 

Dunn hesitated. In his past life, Heidi Klum had ditched her marriage to break into entertainment, cozying up to Harvey Weinstein. 

This time around, would it be because of him? 

“What, am I not appealing enough?” Angela pouted, putting on a coy, pleading look as she pressed herself against him, radiating a vibe that screamed take me. 

Dunn chuckled. “Angie, if you’re not appealing enough, then no woman on this planet could get a guy going.” 

She smirked. “So… we keep this up? Like last night?” 

“Sure. If you’re in, move on in.” 

Faced with this sultry, one-of-a-kind “old fox” of the supermodel world—nicknamed for her unique, fox-like catwalk—Dunn wasn’t about to say no. 

But Angela wasn’t like those wide-eyed Brazilian newbies. She was American, seasoned, and savvy. She’d been posing since she was 7, debuted at 13, and had grown up in the game with a clear roadmap. 

“Dunn, AA and Adriana are Brazilian—they chat in Portuguese all the time. If I live with them, I’ll totally feel left out,” she said, throwing him a flirty glance. 

Dunn caught her drift. “You want your own place?” 

“Can’t I?” She swayed her hips, dialing up the charm. 

Dunn frowned. “Won’t you get lonely on your own?” 

She laughed. “Not at all! Plus, I’m American—I’ve got tons of friends in the scene. If you’re into it, I can hook you up. Different girls every time—how’s that sound?” 

Dunn hadn’t pegged her ambitions as this big. “Where are you thinking of moving?” 

“I’ve got my eye on a high-rise apartment. Super reasonable, just over $38 million,” she said, wrapping her arms around him like he didn’t have a choice. 

$38 million, and she calls it “just”? This girl’s got guts! 

“Manhattan center?” 

“Yup.” 

Dunn took a breath, keeping his tone light. “Angie, that’s… not exactly cute.” 

She tilted her perfect face up at him, smiling. “We’re not dating—cute’s got nothing to do with it. All I need is to keep you happy and satisfied in bed, right?” 

Her words sent his mind racing, and he fought to keep his cool. 

Angela bit her lip, her thoughts crystal clear. “I’ll stick with you for three, maybe four years. During that time, I won’t touch another guy—you can send security or a housekeeper to keep tabs on me, whatever. I’ll hold up my end.” 

Dunn lifted her chin, staring into her deep blue eyes. “And after four years, that luxury apartment’s yours, huh?” 

“It’s what I deserve!” she shot back, meeting his gaze with that classic American “it’s only fair” stubbornness. 

Dunn was floored. 

He’d heard the modeling world was bolder and wilder than Hollywood, but seeing it up close? Unreal. 

He’d done his share of deals with girls in Hollywood, but it was always subtle—hints, not hard numbers, and never straight cash. 

Angela putting a price tag on her youth like this? First time for everything! 

A $38 million penthouse, plus 35% in gift taxes, for four years of her prime. Not cheap. 

But it lined up with what supermodels chased and valued. 

At yesterday’s party, he’d learned they preferred property transfers over straight checks—same as those Hong Kong actresses with their tycoon deals. 

It dodged tax audits and money-laundering probes. 

Lots of perks. 

Seeing him quiet, Angela jumped in. “I’ve got connections. Even if some girls have their own ‘bosses,’ I can still get them for you—just gotta be discreet.” 

Dunn nodded faintly, pressing her shoulders down. “Kneel.” 

Her eyes sparkled, her smile curving like a crescent moon as she squealed, “Dunn, thank you!” 

Amid the rustling sounds, Dunn sucked in a sharp breath a moment later, nearly losing it. He yanked out his phone to distract himself, dialing his assistant, George Paxton. “George, look into buying an apartment—under $40 million…” 

“Yeah… hiss… Handle the money with Scott… Yup, I met a model. I’ll send you her info later—set it up. Security, staff, make sure they’re solid… Not ‘monitoring,’ just… hiss… make sure she doesn’t go overboard the next few years…” 

He hung up, looking down at Angela kneeling there, and grinned. 

Some money’s worth spending! 

Chapter 284: A Storm’s Brewing 

In its third week, Saw took North America by storm, screening in 2,674 theaters.  

And it didn’t stop there. As word of mouth spread, its influence grew, and the film started rolling out across Europe. Sure, it was too gory for some countries to allow in theaters—relegated to VHS and DVD—but for a low-budget B-movie to go global? That alone screamed success.  

This week, it faced off against big commercial hits like How the Grinch Stole Christmas and Charlie’s Angels. But Saw didn’t back down, pulling in $24.42 million over the week. Over the weekend alone, it raked in $13.2 million—landing fourth place behind Grinch ($17.62 million), Rugrats in Paris ($22.72 million), and Charlie’s Angels ($13.36 million). It even beat Sony’s new release The 6th Day. As for Miramax’s Bounce, despite heavy promotion, it wasn’t even in the same league.  

By now, Saw’s North American box office had topped $30 million—only $3 million shy of Girl, Interrupted, which had been out for over three months.  

Next weekend, though, it’d face a bigger test: Disney’s suspense blockbuster Unbreakable was about to hit theaters.  

…  

The original Saw, released in 2004, ran for two months and made $56 million in North America. This version? Scripted by Dunn, directed by Zack Snyder with his punchy visual style, and launched in a different era with different players—it was a whole new beast. Analysts predicted it could break $80 million in North America!  

Sure, it couldn’t touch last year’s The Blair Witch Project, but anyone in the know understood Blair Witch rode a wave of fake hype and scare tactics—basically tricking audiences. It had no staying power. Case in point: Blair Witch 2 tanked this year.  

Saw, though? It was a solid story with tons of sequel potential—way brighter prospects than Blair Witch.  

Dunn had taken a couple days off to catch the Victoria’s Secret show in New York, so this weekend, he was back on set, putting in overtime to make up for it.  

In a bar scene, Nicole Kidman held a drink, smiling at the slightly dazed young man in front of her. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”  

Russell Crowe, visibly nervous, replied, “I can’t tell you anything about work, Alicia.”  

Nicole shook her head. “I didn’t mean work.”  

Russell frowned, sighing. “I’ve realized it takes a lot of effort to get better at this social stuff. Sometimes I just blurt things out straight, but it usually backfires.”  

Nicole grinned, giving him a playful wink. “Try it with me.”  

“Alright.” Russell took a deep breath. “I think you’re pretty charming. You want to win me over, and I feel the same… but all these old-school rules say we’ve got to jump through hoops first. I’d play along before we get close, sure. But honestly? I just want to get you into bed as fast as possible!”  

Nicole’s eyes widened in surprise.  

“Cut! That’s a wrap!” Dunn called out, standing up and stretching. “The bar scenes are done—on to the next location!”  

The shoot for A Beautiful Mind was nearing its end. If all went well, they’d wrap in two weeks.  

The crew started packing up to move out.  

Russell sidled up to Dunn, lowering his voice. “Director, can we shoot my scenes next?”  

“Hm? Got something going on?”  

“Yeah. My new movie, Proof of Life, comes out December 8th. The distributors want me on the promo tour.”  

Dunn frowned, a little annoyed, but then something clicked. “Proof of Life? The Warner flick?”  

“Yeah, Warner’s handling distribution.”  

“You know I’ve got ties with Warner, so I’ve heard some things about this one.” Dunn’s tone turned serious, almost cautionary. “Russell, be careful with this movie. Keep a low profile.”  

Russell shrugged. “I’ve got a clear deal with them—I have to do the early promo stuff.”  

“No, no, you’re missing my point,” Dunn said, his voice heavy. “A Beautiful Mind will wrap in two weeks. If we prioritize your scenes, you could be done in a week. What I mean is… Proof of Life—its subject matter’s dicey.”  

This wasn’t just paranoia.  

In his past life, Russell Crowe’s role in Proof of Life had pissed off a South American crime syndicate. They put a $13 million bounty on his head, threatening to kidnap him—no ransom, just a finger chopped off each day for ten days before killing him.  

That kind of terror shook Hollywood. The FBI even stepped in, assigning agents to guard Russell for three months straight. When he won Best Actor at the Oscars, he looked exhausted, jittery, and miserable.  

Dunn didn’t want his presence here to trigger some butterfly effect that got Russell killed.  

…  

November 22nd, Wednesday. Two more big films hit the market: Disney’s Unbreakable and 20th Century Fox’s X-Men.  

Over the past two weekdays, Saw had pulled in just $2.9 million. At that rate, barring a miracle, it wouldn’t stand a chance against Unbreakable’s box office pull.  

But…  

Could a miracle happen?  

This version of Unbreakable was already tainted—Bruce Willis had landed in another scandal. Meanwhile, X-Men, another superhero flick, was hitting screens. Spider-Man had raked in over $1.25 billion worldwide. Even if X-Men hit just $250 million, it’d shake up the Christmas season!  

Opening day, Unbreakable made $2.49 million—nowhere near X-Men’s $8.63 million. It couldn’t even keep up with older releases like Grinch or Charlie’s Angels.  

…  

Joe Roth stood trembling in front of Michael Eisner, forcing a smile uglier than a grimace. “Unbreakable’s box office isn’t beating X-Men, sure, but we topped Saw, right? As for X-Men, there’s no helping it—superhero movies are hot right now, riding Spider-Man’s wave.”  

Michael Eisner pointed at Joe, fuming at his shameless spin. He was too mad to even speak.  

Yeah, Saw made $1.46 million that day—less than Unbreakable. But was that really the comparison to make?  

Disney had poured money and effort into a big-budget blockbuster, and on its opening day, it barely beat a three-week-old B-movie from Dunn’s company by a measly $1 million—and Joe was proud of that? Talk about embarrassing!  

Saw wasn’t even a main project for Dunn Films—it came from a subsidiary of a subsidiary, Focus Features. A throwaway flick! And yet, it was neck-and-neck with Disney’s flagship release. Where did that leave Disney’s decades-long Hollywood dominance?  

The main studio’s pride reduced to the level of Dunn Films’ grandkid company?  

Humiliating!  

And Joe had the nerve to crow about it!  

“Get out! Get the hell out!”  

Michael Eisner exploded, his rage like rolling thunder, radiating raw power.  

He thought of Dunn Films’ blacklist, the months of setbacks they’d suffered at Dunn’s hands—all because of the guy standing in front of him: Joe Roth!  

“Get out and don’t ever come back!”  

Eisner’s roar echoed through the office.  

Joe froze, his blank face registering the inevitable.  

What was coming had finally arrived.  

Disney’s production department was about to turn upside down! 

Chapter 285: Smug and Cocky! 

“Hey, Mr. Eisner, it’s Dunn.” 

Dunn’s voice on the phone had a smug, punchable edge. 

“Oh, what’s up?” Michael Eisner replied, keeping his cool. 

Dunn chuckled. “Just wanted to congratulate you! Unbreakable pulled in $26.75 million in a single week—beat Saw by a cool couple million. Looks like Disney’s the winner this time. Big studio muscle, huh? Impressive stuff!” 

On the surface, it sounded like Dunn was conceding to Disney, but his tone—dripping with sarcasm and a hint of mockery—told a different story. 

This was Saw’s fourth week in theaters, and its North American box office had soared past $57 million. 

Meanwhile, Unbreakable’s opening week couldn’t touch How the Grinch Stole Christmas’s $82 million or X-Men’s $64 million. It didn’t even beat Charlie’s Angels—only edging out Saw by a measly $1.75 million! 

With a $75 million production budget and $45 million in marketing, Unbreakable’s $26.75 million debut was a colossal flop. 

By contrast, Saw was a historic triumph. In terms of profit margin, it could wipe the floor with Spider-Man! 

So when Dunn called up Michael Eisner with this “sincere” congrats, the sarcasm and taunting behind it were painfully obvious. 

On the other end, Eisner stayed silent for a long stretch. Dunn didn’t rush him—just waited. 

Finally, Eisner’s voice came through, low and heavy. “Dunn, it’s time to put the blacklist thing to bed.” 

Dunn’s lips curled into a smirk. Lounging in the film crew’s break room, he sipped his coffee with a loud slurp, then drawled, “Blacklist? I’m not in a hurry. Heh, what I’m really curious about right now is your old pal Joe Roth.” 

Eisner’s brow furrowed. He got Dunn’s drift. After a pause, he said flatly, “If Unbreakable doesn’t bounce back next week, I’ve got grounds to question Joe’s competence in front of the board.” 

Dunn scoffed, unimpressed. “Next week? There’s four or five big commercial flicks in theaters right now, and more new releases coming. You really think Unbreakable’s got a shot at a comeback?” 

Eisner’s tone hardened. “Disney’s not Dunn Films. We do things by the board’s rules here!” 

“Fine, let’s all play by the rules then. My terms haven’t changed.” Dunn leaned back, cocky and carefree—he wasn’t the one sweating. “Besides, Disney’s been greenlighting new projects left and right. I haven’t blacklisted a single actor. The whole ‘blacklist’ thing? Just talk. It’s meaningless.” 

Eisner’s temper flared. Dunn playing dumb like this—he had no counter for it. 

What he cared about wasn’t Dunn Films’ blacklist. 

He cared about Disney’s dignity! 

A titan like Disney, blacklisted by a scrappy little outfit like Dunn Films for months with no resolution? His reputation was in tatters. 

“Alright, you’ll hear something by the end of this month or early next,” Eisner snapped, clearly fed up. 

Dunn’s rudeness and arrogance were infuriating! 

Fast forward to December, and Dunn’s fourth directorial effort, A Beautiful Mind, wrapped production! 

After over three months of shooting, he was back in Los Angeles. 

Year-end meant a pile of work, and Dunn finally had time to tackle it. 

First up: the blacklist. 

Just yesterday, Disney had axed Joe Roth as head of production, handing the reins to Richard Cook. 

“Mr. Eisner, it’s Dunn!” 

Back in his office, Dunn kicked his feet up on the desk, reclining in his chair, and dialed Michael Eisner again. 

“What’s up?” Eisner’s voice was muffled, his mood obviously sour. 

Joe Roth, one of his loyal lieutenants, had been forced out by Dunn’s pressure—a humiliating blow to his career. 

Dunn grinned. “So, Saw just crossed $70 million at the box office. Not bad, huh? The team’s planning a little celebration party. I told them it’s not worth it—$70 million’s no big deal—but they insisted…” 

“Enough!” Eisner cut him off, bristling at Dunn’s fake modesty. A $1.5 million movie raking in over $70 million in North America, and it’s “no big deal”? 

Quit pretending, you smug jerk! 

Eisner was fuming. “Get to the point. I’ve got a meeting.” 

Dunn switched to a soothing tone, like he was the wise elder. “Mr. Eisner, come on, don’t be like that. Sure, we’ve had some rough patches lately, but that’s all behind us now, right? We teamed up and took down that jerk Joe Roth…” 

“Hold on!” Eisner’s voice sharpened. “What’s that? Teamed up? Don’t talk nonsense!” 

Dunn chuckled, all carefree swagger. “Close enough! Joe Roth was my old nemesis, and you helped me get him canned. We made a good team this time. Let’s let bygones be bygones. I’m a big-picture guy—my best trait!” 

Eisner gritted his teeth at Dunn’s shamelessness, keeping his response icy. “What about the blacklist? How’re you handling it?” 

“Done! Like I said, the past is the past. We’re moving forward. The blacklist was just a misunderstanding! How about this: tonight, third floor of the Beverly Hills Hilton, Saw’s throwing a celebration party. I’d love for you to come!” 

Eisner wanted nothing to do with it. Last time, he’d crashed Spider-Man’s party uninvited and made a fool of himself. 

Now, Saw had squeezed Unbreakable’s breathing room—another nightmare for Disney, just like Spider-Man. Celebrate? His heart was bleeding! 

Dunn, sharp as ever, didn’t give him a chance to say no. “Look, I get it—the blacklist hit Disney’s industry cred hard. Since we’re both ready to bury the hatchet, let’s figure out a clean way to wrap this up. We’ll sort it out together.” 

The blacklist was a thorn in Eisner’s side. 

He was sick of it. He just wanted this absurdity over with, to get Disney back on track. 

“Dunn, our book’s about to blow up!” Isla Fisher had been tied up revising her new novel, Gone Girl, for weeks. Now, it was finalized and off to the publisher. 

Dunn, still savoring his chat with Eisner, flashed a smug grin. Seeing his little secretary Isla stroll in, he waved her over. 

She smirked, plopped right onto his lap, and wrapped her arms around him tight. 

“Didn’t it just go to the publisher? Already a hit?” 

“There’s buzz already! Second-tier distributors have ordered over 500,000 copies!” Isla couldn’t hide her excitement, her hands looped around his neck, her sweet breath brushing his face. “You don’t get it—my last two books combined sold maybe 3,000 copies.” 

“Really? Sounds like your writing’s leveled up big time.” 

“Nah, I know the truth—it’s your story that’s gold. And… the booksellers are only ordering this much because your name’s on it.” Her eyes sparkled with admiration. 

Dunn smiled. “I heard you’re thinking of ditching acting to focus on writing?” 

Isla giggled. “Acting’s whatever. Writing’s where it’s at—way classier than showbiz.” 

Dunn shook his head. “By the way, Spider-Man’s about to wrap its run. How’s the distribution side looking?” 

“They’re set to pull it December 25th. Universal’s negotiating with some TV networks for cable rights. Word is, they turned down a $20 million offer from A Network.” 

“$20 million?” Dunn scowled, annoyed. “Tell Universal anything under $30 million, TARZ TV’s taking it! Damn it, my own movie, and Universal’s got the reins. Frustrating as hell.” 

Isla pursed her lips. “Aren’t you planning to buy Universal? Once that’s done, you’ll control distribution—your movies airing on your own network.” 

Dunn nodded firmly. “Exactly. Movies, TV, animation, games, publishing, music—it’s a closed-loop entertainment ecosystem. Turning the company into a full-blown conglomerate takes time, but short-term, Universal Pictures is the key!” 

Isla, just a secretary, didn’t quite follow. “Oh, and Universal said they’re working with VH Video and DVD factories on two editions—standard version’s $19…” 

Dunn waved it off. “Let Universal sweat that stuff. They get 10%—they’ll push it hard. I’m not stressing over it.” 

“Also, Mr. Ovitz wants to meet. Legendary Pictures’ second co-financing project’s ready to lock in partners—he needs to talk it over with you.” 

“Cool, set it for tomorrow afternoon. I’ll head over myself. Sort out the schedule.” 

“And Six Feet Under wrapped filming. The TV team’s asking if they should loop in TARZ TV. The show’s tone doesn’t really match TARZ’s past lineup.” 

“No need! TARZ’s old strategy’s gotta change—it’s gotta lean on Dunn Films’ TV division to thrive. That’s the future. Forget it, just get Bill in here—I’ll talk to him myself!”