1494-1496

Chapter 1494: Selfish Motives 

A storm was brewing, tension thick in the air. 

To Amy Pascal, this moment could be a turning point for Sony Columbia’s future. Anson’s value went far beyond what anyone could’ve imagined. 

Originally, Sony Columbia held the upper hand with Anson, giving them a rare edge over their competitors. But now, they risked losing the key to their rise. 

So, instead of panicking or getting tangled in personal grudges and power struggles, they should set aside their differences and unite with genuine sincerity to keep Anson on board. 

They could turn Spider-Man into the company’s biggest cash cow. They could build a partnership with Forest Films around Anson, developing more projects. They could mold Anson into the next Tom Cruise—or even the next Tom Hanks—ushering in a new era for the studio. 

To that end, Amy had crafted a detailed plan, all about profit and opportunity. She just wanted everyone to calm down and see this crisis for what it was. 

But… her words fell on deaf ears. 

Michael Lynton came prepared. For every point Amy made, three or four people ganged up on her. She couldn’t even get her thoughts out properly. Caught in a whirlwind of attacks, she felt utterly powerless. 

Truth be told, things were still up in the air. 

Forget whether Anson was actually negotiating with Warner Brothers about Batman. Even if he was, it was his right. He hadn’t signed any exclusive deal with Sony Columbia, and talks for Spider-Man 3 hadn’t even started. Anson was free to explore any project he wanted. All this talk of “betrayal” around the table had no teeth. 

But Michael seized the moment to stir the pot, fanning the flames and escalating tensions. To Amy, this wasn’t about the company—it was personal. Michael’s judgment, she thought, was clouded by selfish desires. 

This wasn’t good. 

Amy’s head throbbed. She’d even considered just washing her hands of it—letting Michael deal with this mess and seeing if he could pull a miracle out of it. It wasn’t her company, after all. She might be a high-level exec, but at the end of the day, she was still just an employee. 

It wouldn’t take long—six months, maybe three years tops—before Sony Columbia’s board realized Michael was making a fatal mistake. By then, it’d be too late to fix. 

That lost time could see Sony Columbia fall behind in the race among Hollywood’s top studios. Catching up would take double or triple the effort. 

But Amy couldn’t let go. 

It wasn’t just about the company she’d worked at for years—it was Spider-Man. 

Jobs? She could find another one anywhere. Opportunities were endless. But a project like Spider-Man? That wasn’t something you could replicate. 

Amy genuinely believed that Sam Raimi and Anson Wood sparked something special together. They could elevate this series beyond typical popcorn fare, carving out a lasting place in film history—one even a Sony Columbia reboot couldn’t touch. 

Chances like that didn’t come around often. 

It wasn’t just about profit, though that mattered. It wasn’t just about dreams, though those counted too. If it worked, Spider-Man could become a cornerstone of her career, a legacy of her years in Hollywood, and a flagship for Sony Columbia. 

Amy didn’t think they should let it slip away. 

But then she looked at the scene unfolding before her. 

Snarling faces, endless bickering— 

The venom, the aggression, the raw hostility poured out in words, thick with a bloody edge, all aimed straight at her. 

“Betrayal” spat out again and again, “dirty” thrown around like they were pristine fairy-tale princesses, indignantly crying victim. 

“Fire him!” “Cut ties!” “Blacklist him!” Their voices grew louder, uglier, spit flying as they proclaimed their wounded pride. 

They weren’t content with just parting ways with Anson—they wanted to “teach that kid a lesson, show him whose Hollywood this is,” flexing the iron fist of a top-tier studio to remind the little ants of their place. 

Watching this, Amy just felt bored. They were all talk. If Anson were actually here, they’d probably shut up like scolded kids. 

Normally, they’d ramble on about how there were no permanent enemies in Hollywood, only permanent interests—that profit was all that mattered to Sony Columbia. But when push came to shove, when it was time to actually talk business, they waved the flag of feelings instead. 

No, that wasn’t quite right. 

What they were “discussing” right now was profit—but not Sony Columbia’s. Their own. 

So who was really betraying the company? 

Amy ignored the clowns and pushed through the crowd, locking eyes with Michael. 

Michael Lynton stayed cleverly out of the fray, silent the whole time, blending into the background. He let others handle the dirty, ugly work while he watched, quietly pulling the strings. 

He had skill, guts, and smarts—qualities that got him this far. But he lacked vision. 

Or maybe he had vision, just one where his own interests trumped the bigger picture. 

For a moment, Amy couldn’t tell which was worse—the lack of foresight or the selfish greed. 

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and raised her voice. “Michael, is this what you think?” 

In an instant, every rustling glance in the room turned to Michael. 

Bathed in their stares, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t ask Amy’s opinion—he knew she was waiting for her chance to speak. But he didn’t answer her directly either, keeping his cards close. Instead, he casually spread his hands. 

“I agree with everyone here.” 

“I get it—Spider-Man’s box office success tied Peter Parker to Anson’s image. If it’s not absolutely necessary, we’d all love for him to keep playing the role for the next ten, fifteen years. But that’s not realistic.” 

Amy let out a cold laugh. “No, we keep him not because he’s tied to Peter Parker, but because audiences will pay for him. He’s the reason they show up.” 

Michael shot back, “Not anymore. The second he’s linked to another superhero, Peter Parker stops being just Peter Parker. The fourth wall breaks, the audience’s connection snaps. We’re out here promoting Spider-Man 2, and Anson’s wrecking it.” 

Amy scoffed. “Oh, Jesus Christ, what is this, 1979? ‘Not pure anymore’? Are we running a bloodline test? An actor can only play one role? Bullshit! Besides, nothing’s even set with Warner Brothers, and you’re all losing your minds over nothing.” 

Back and forth, neither budging—an all-out clash! 

Chapter 1495: Who’ll Come Out on Top? 

Back and forth, neither side budging—an electric clash of sparks.  

Over the past year and a half, Amy Pascal and Michael Lynton had sparred countless times, both behind closed doors and face-to-face. But nothing compared to today. They both knew this was the decisive moment, and they were pulling out all the stops, holding nothing back.  

Michael went first. “It’s about sincerity, Amy. That’s what this boils down to.”  

“You brought him up, and he turned around and ditched you without a second thought. Love ‘em and leave ‘em—just like some sleazy guy who ghosts after a one-night stand. You shouldn’t cling to him, even if he is Anson Wood.”  

Amy laughed outright. “Thanks for the concern.”  

“But let’s be real—those words hit the nail on the head. I’m the one who gave him his shot, and I’m not even mad. So why are all of you losing your minds over there? Feeling insecure because you couldn’t lock him down? Or just jealous and pissed off?”  

Whoa.  

The room buzzed with murmurs. Amy wasn’t some pushover, and it showed.  

She’d been running Sony Columbia as CEO for years—an old fox who’d seen it all. Even a wounded camel’s still bigger than a horse, and no one should underestimate her.  

Michael wasn’t about to get tangled up in a back-and-forth with her. “Amy, no need to sit there sniping at us. We all know Anson’s your golden boy.”  

A little jab—not just at Amy, but at Anson too.  

You could feel it: the room’s eyes shifted toward Amy, dripping with malice and glee, sizing her up with a mix of mockery and humiliation.  

But Michael didn’t give her a chance to fire back. “We’re not happy with Anson’s move. That’s not how you treat a partner.”  

“Look, the movie’s about to hit theaters. We’re pouring everything into planning the future here. And this is how Anson responds?”  

Amy smirked. “Pouring everything in? You sure about that, Michael?”  

She couldn’t care less about their smears and cheap shots. People see the world through their own lenses—dirty minds twist everything into something ugly. She wasn’t about to take responsibility for their pathetic little views.  

“If anyone here hasn’t been at every meeting, I don’t mind catching you up. Anson’s agent, Edgar Cook, reached out to us more than once, asking to sit down and talk about what’s next. But Mr. Lynton here kept saying the timing wasn’t right.”  

“We’re the ones who turned down the chance to negotiate. Not once, not twice, not even three times—four times total.”  

“So what exactly were you expecting?”  

Sharp, biting, and dripping with sarcasm.  

Michael stayed cool, meeting Amy’s gaze head-on. “Sincerity. That’s what we were expecting.”  

“Sure, Edgar Cook asked to meet. But we all know what they were up to.”  

“Spider-Man 2 is about to drop, and they’re nervous about the box office. They wanted to lock in a deal before it hits, riding the hype to squeeze out a bigger paycheck and a fatter cut. Greedy and sneaky.”  

“Amy, why don’t you tell everyone the truth? We were waiting for the movie to come out. If it’s a hit, we’d happily offer him a big contract—proof of our sincerity. If it flops, we’d still keep the door open, but we’d need to rethink the budget for the next one.”  

“Our stance is fair and square.”  

“But what did they do? Ran off to Warner Bros., stirring up the market with a third party to pressure us.”  

“I don’t like it,” Michael said bluntly.  

“We need to see sincerity. That’s it.”  

Take it slow—one bite at a time. You can’t chew if you stuff your mouth too full.  

With Spider-Man 2 right around the corner, starting a war with Anson now wouldn’t do anyone any good.  

Michael knew how the board thought. They wanted the movie to succeed. If his fight with Amy tanked the box office, sure, it might take her down—but it’d hurt him too. A strategy that costs you 800 to kill 1,000? He wasn’t playing that game.  

Plus, the Anson-to-Warner-Bros. buzz was still just gossip—no hard proof. If Michael jumped the gun, he might walk right into Anson’s trap and lose his edge.  

No need to rush. So he tossed out a peace offering to cool things down: sincerity.  

He wasn’t just asking Anson to grovel with an apology—he wanted real concessions.  

If Anson would sign on for a third and fourth movie at $10 million a pop, Michael had no reason to ditch him. It’d show the board he could play the game, while also knocking Anson down a peg. Missing out on the “$20 million club” would keep him from true superstar status. And once Anson’s usefulness ran dry, Amy might drop him too.  

Michael had the whole chessboard mapped out. In his eyes, Amy didn’t stand a chance—she was just flailing. In the end, he’d have both her and Anson right where he wanted them, holding their fates in his hands.  

The room was full of sharp people. They caught Michael’s drift right away, nodding along. The plan was… tolerable.  

“We need to see his sincerity,” someone echoed.  

Amy felt a lump in her chest—too heavy to swallow, too stuck to spit out.  

She knew Anson wouldn’t bow and scrape. She also knew Michael was stalling, buying time. But she couldn’t say no. It was the best way to calm things down and keep the ball in the air for now. Let the bullets fly a little longer.  

Her mind drifted to Anson’s text.  

After the rumors exploded, Amy had been a mess—pacing like a caged animal. After agonizing over it, she’d texted Anson straight up: Were the Batman rumors true?  

He didn’t reply right away.  

She knew he was having dinner with Jeff—plenty of eyes were watching—but the wait still drove her nuts. Everything felt like it was spiraling into chaos.  

She worried Anson could just walk away, dust off his hands, and become Batman without a backward glance. He didn’t owe her a thing. But if he did, she’d lose everything—years of clawing her way up at Sony Columbia, gone.  

She wasn’t sure if Anson would help her out. But it felt like she was out of options.  

Five minutes felt like five centuries.  

Finally, right before she headed to the meeting, his reply came:  

“Stay patient. This is just the start.”  

No yes, no no—not even a hint about the rumors. But reading it, the knot in Amy’s chest loosened a bit.  

Anson was smart. He wouldn’t leap to Warner Bros. without a plan. He had to know Michael would pounce at the first chance.  

Last time, Michael caught him off guard and still couldn’t pin him down—Anson slipped away unscathed. This time, there’s no way he’d fold without a fight.  

With that thought, Amy steadied herself. She lifted her chin slightly and looked at Michael.  

Stay patient. This is just the start.  

Who’d come out on top? Too early to call. No point in celebrating—or surrendering—yet.  

Chapter 1496: Jobless Wanderer 

Alfonso Cuarón sat quietly at the dining table, staring blankly at the empty cereal bowl in front of him. His mind was a complete void—no thoughts, no ideas, just sitting there, lost in a daze. Not even a flicker of emotion stirred within him. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true— 

Bewilderment. 

That was it, just a vague sense of being lost, unsure of where to go next. 

Two weeks ago, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban had premiered. It was the first time the series had strayed from the holiday season, diving into the fierce competition of the summer blockbuster lineup. 

The wave of praise and acclaim had fueled high hopes for its box office performance—Alfonso, as the director, included. 

Over its opening weekend, the film rode the explosive summer box office surge, raking in a whopping $93 million in three days. It set a new record for the series’ debut, and the entire team was buzzing with excitement. 

But the joy lasted exactly one weekend. 

By week two, the backlash hit like a tidal wave. Families protested, casual viewers complained nonstop—too dark, too heavy, too scary. The criticism spread like wildfire. 

The result? A brutal 62.7% drop in the second weekend, pulling in just $34 million. At that point, its cumulative earnings lagged behind Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and barely edged out Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. 

Disappointing, to say the least. 

Sure enough, the third week brought another bloodbath. The weekend numbers plummeted again, a 48.4% freefall that sent the film crashing to new lows. 

Three weeks in, Prisoner of Azkaban’s total box office trailed both of its predecessors—and not by a small margin. The gap had widened to over $20 million. 

In other words, despite a record-breaking opening, the film fizzled out. Its cumulative earnings curve fell far short of expectations, struggling to cross the $200 million mark. It was already doomed to be the series’ lowest performer. 

A failure? 

Not quite. 

But success? That hope was long gone. 

Anyone with a shred of sense could see the film hadn’t totally tanked because of the Harry Potter brand. The novels’ massive influence provided a safety net—however bad the movie, the box office wouldn’t completely collapse. So, failing to ignite a explosion of ticket sales? That was a failure. 

And the blame? 

Silently, the arrows pointed to Alfonso. 

Truth be told, his work as director earned praise from professional critics and hardcore fans. But Harry Potter was a global phenomenon, aimed at teens and family audiences. Their opinions often had little to do with cinematic artistry. 

Was the movie too dark? Not commercial enough? Not market-friendly enough? 

On the flip side, did it dig deep into its themes and ideas? Not really, it seemed. 

This left Alfonso grappling with confusion: 

Where did he fit? 

Call it commercial—his work wasn’t quite that. Call it art—his films didn’t feel that profound. Say he catered to the masses—he still wanted some self-expression. Say he was too niche—he didn’t want to make self-indulgent, isolated pieces either. 

A bit of this, a bit of that, yet always keeping a safe distance—never fully committing. Half-baked all around, neither here nor there, landing in a hazy, ambiguous no-man’s-land. 

Even he wasn’t sure of himself anymore. 

He’d always thought he was resolute—determined to make films, to bring the visions in his head to life, to capture the people and worlds around him. 

But now? He wasn’t so sure. 

The more films he made, from Mexico to Hollywood, the more experience he gained. Logically, he should’ve matured, right? Yet the more he learned, the less wise he felt. The unknowns just kept piling up. 

Did he really understand what he was doing? Did he know what he wanted? Did he grasp what his work was chasing? 

Or… was it all an illusion? A vague sense of self-satisfaction with no real shape? 

Trapped in the murky gray zone between commerce and art, he felt adrift. 

Right now, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban was still in its promotional phase, but the whirlwind of press tours had little to do with Alfonso. 

The spotlight had always been on the three young stars—millions of eyes glued to them. The director and supporting cast were just along for the ride. 

And now, Alfonso stepped back even further, letting the trio take center stage. The movie’s promotion was everywhere, but the director? He wasn’t busy. He sat alone in his tiny apartment, lost in thought, letting his mind wander unchecked. 

Warner Brothers hadn’t said a word, but Alfonso knew the next Harry Potter gig wouldn’t be his. 

In other words, he was a jobless wanderer— 

Again. 

Two years ago, Y Tu Mamá También had made waves in Hollywood. “Alfonso Cuarón” became a name that rippled through the industry for the first time. Eager and fired up, he’d seized the chance to take another swing at Hollywood. He locked himself away, pouring his heart into a script: 

Children of Men. 

Technically, it was a custom job. Warner Brothers owned the adaptation rights to the novel and invited Alfonso to rework the script. He dove in with gusto, channeling all his passion into it, crafting something he was truly proud of. 

Then he handed it over to Warner Brothers. 

And… 

Nothing. 

Later, when he followed up, they told him it “wasn’t the right time to develop this script.” They shelved it, and that was that. 

Alfonso was out of work. 

Just as he seriously considered heading back to Mexico, Warner Brothers came with an offer: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. 

He’d never read the Harry Potter books. He wasn’t sure he should take the job—could he even pull it off? What if it turned out like Great Expectations all over again? 

After consulting his friend and fellow director Guillermo del Toro, Alfonso bought the books, read them carefully, and decided to take the plunge: 

A chance for himself, a glimmer of hope for his Hollywood journey. 

All told, he spent six months preparing for Prisoner of Azkaban. He threw everything he had into it—physically and mentally exhausting himself, even falling ill after shooting wrapped. He’d given his all, hoping to create something exceptional. 

But Hollywood wasn’t a fairy tale. 

People loved to think of it as a cradle of dreams and miracles. Reality begged to differ—Hollywood didn’t believe in fairy tales. 

So here he was, jobless. Again. 

(End of Chapter)