241-243

Chapter 241: A Truce? Get Lost!  

It’d been a full two weeks since Dunn Pictures fired back at Disney with a ban of their own.  

In that time, Dunn Pictures’ films kept racking up wins, while Disney’s releases flopped one after another. Meanwhile, big names like Jack Nicholson, Mel Gibson, and Johnny Depp stepped up, signing deals with Dunn Pictures and brushing off Disney’s threats like they were nothing.  

Things were spiraling in a direction no one could’ve predicted.  

Michael Eisner had figured that if Dunn Pictures dared to slap a “ban” on Disney, the Motion Picture Association—backed by the Big Six studios—would step in officially to rein them in.  

But that’s not what happened. Not even close.  

Eisner made some calls, checking in with the other major studios. Their responses were vague, evasive—clearly dodging the issue.  

With his sharp mind, Eisner quickly put it together.  

That kid Dunn… he must’ve paid a steep price to win over the other big players!  

But what could Dunn Pictures, with its current size and assets, possibly offer to make Hollywood’s giants drool?  

“Film rights?”  

Eisner shook his head. No way. If the majors ganged up and carved up Dunn Pictures, they’d split the rights anyway.  

“Actual cash?”  

Eisner chuckled to himself. Sure, Dunn was loaded, but he wasn’t dumb enough to just hand over his own money to his rivals. At their core, the Hollywood giants were all potential threats to Dunn Pictures.  

Eisner was no fool. He realized Dunn must’ve teamed up with Michael Ovitz and dangled some hefty promises to the other studios. Otherwise, they wouldn’t let Dunn Pictures run wild like this.  

Coyote Ugly had tanked hard at the box office, but a few tens of millions in losses? For Disney, with a market value topping $50 billion, that was pocket change—barely a blip.  

At worst, it was a bruise to their ego, giving Dunn something to gloat about.  

From the moment Eisner first targeted Dunn Pictures, he’d taken the Hollywood newbie seriously. But now, he saw he hadn’t taken him seriously enough.  

Dunn’s ability to surprise went way beyond what he’d imagined.  

“Maybe… it’s time to meet this kid face-to-face?” Eisner squinted, mulling it over quietly.  

Know your enemy, win every battle.  

Michael Eisner, a titan who’d dominated Hollywood for years, had rarely stumbled. Yet here he was, tripped up by a rookie like Dunn. Anger and shock aside, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of curiosity.  

He’d never met Dunn. Everything he knew came from media buzz and word of mouth.  

Some things look huge on the surface, but once you talk it out, they shrink to nothing.  

Eisner wouldn’t admit he was considering backing down. With Disney’s muscle, they didn’t need to bow to anyone!  

But sinking massive resources into fighting a company worth less than $200 million? That just wasn’t worth it.  

Lately, shareholders had been emailing him, grumbling about the whole mess.  

Dunn had one thing right: Disney’s film division was weak.  

Ever since Jeffrey Katzenberg left, their animated films had nosedived. Live-action? They were clinging to Jerry Bruckheimer and Harvey Weinstein to hold it together, lacking the swagger of an old-school studio.  

Getting pummeled by Dunn Pictures in such a short time boiled down to one thing: Disney’s movie business was too thin to stand its ground.  

Right now, Disney’s real powerhouse was its TV division.  

Beyond ESPN and the ABC network, Michael Eisner was dead-set on reviving the Disney Channel’s glory days.  

The Disney Channel, a pay-TV service aimed at kids and teens, had been battling Warner’s Cartoon Network and Viacom’s Nickelodeon for years.  

That wasn’t good enough for Eisner.  

In the youth and kids’ market, Disney had to rule.  

Building a cable network from scratch would take too long. To lock in a top spot fast, acquisition was the way to go.  

Eisner had his eye on the Family Entertainment Channel under 20th Century Fox. With 81 million U.S. subscribers, 10 million in Latin America, and 24 million households in Europe, snapping it up would cost at least $500 million.  

Pricey, sure, but once merged with the Disney Channel, they’d dominate affordable family entertainment.  

Compared to that massive market, movie profits were peanuts.  

Eisner smirked at himself. Dunn? Just a wet-behind-the-ears kid with a bit of talent, hopping around Hollywood because he could churn out a few decent films.  

Was it worth stooping to his level?  

Maybe Disney’s string of movie flops had worn him down. Maybe Dunn Pictures’ hot streak and A-list endorsements had thrown him off. Or maybe it was Dunn’s knack for rallying the other giants that had him second-guessing.  

Either way, Eisner wasn’t raging like he had been weeks ago. He felt calm now, brushing off Dunn’s jabs in the papers with a scoff and a shrug.  

“Yeah, it’s time to meet him.”  

…  

The schedule for A Beautiful Mind wasn’t tight, so Dunn took his time filming.  

Eight hours a day, two days off every weekend—no overtime pay needed.  

Mel Gibson wrapped his cameo in no time. The guy didn’t even stop to breathe—just hopped on his private jet straight to the Unsinkable set.  

Then Dunn got a call from Bill Mechanic with some unexpected news.  

“Dunn, Michael Eisner wants to meet you!”  

“Who?”  

Dunn blinked, caught off guard.  

Bill Mechanic spoke slowly. “Disney’s chairman, Michael Eisner!”  

Dunn burst out laughing. “You’re kidding, right? What, is he gonna beg for mercy on his knees?”  

Bill’s tone was dead serious. “Dunn, this isn’t a joke. Eisner passed the message through Ron Meyer. Sounds like he’s sized up the situation and doesn’t want this ban fiasco dragging on.”  

Dunn waved a hand, telling the crew to take a half-hour break, then strolled back to his trailer. “So, Michael Eisner’s waving the white flag?” he said coolly.  

Bill sighed. “Not exactly waving it, no. But with Mel Gibson on our side, the optics are huge. Keeping this up isn’t worth it for either of us.”  

Dunn raised an eyebrow. “What’s your take, Bill?”  

“Like he said, the ban’s just a sideshow,” Bill replied, pausing. “If Disney’s stepping back, and we keep pushing, the other majors won’t be happy.”  

Dunn smirked. “You’re right, Bill. But Eisner’s thinking the same damn thing! Why should I play along with him?”  

“Dunn, you—”  

“Hmph! He started this ban nonsense. Now it’s spinning out of control, and he wants us all to just call it quits? On what grounds?”  

“Because he’s Disney!”  

“Ha!”  

Dunn let out a cocky laugh, then turned icy. “Disney’s nothing special. Don’t tell me I’m full of myself, Bill. Eisner’s been king too long—thinks everyone’s his servant. He’s gotten too comfortable with that attitude!”  

Bill sighed again. “Dunn, dragging this out screws us both. The ban’s gotta end eventually.”  

Dunn’s voice stayed level. “Sure, it messes with the market rules—can’t stick around forever. I get that. But solving it? That’s on my terms, not his.”  

“Dunn, you’re letting your temper get the better of you again.”  

“Nope, Bill, I’m wide awake and cool as hell right now,” Dunn said, steady and firm. “Dunn Pictures is new. I’m not letting it end up like DreamWorks. This is the perfect chance to make a statement with Disney—show all of Hollywood that Dunn Pictures isn’t some pushover they can kick around!”  

Chapter 242: "Blockbuster vs. Netflix" Showdown 

No matter what Michael Eisner’s game plan was—shifting internal conflicts, making peace, or even throwing in the towel—Dunn wasn’t about to give him an inch!  

Since April, Disney had been hammering Dunn from every angle, nearly crushing him. If it weren’t for Spider-Man pulling through, plus the connections and foresight Dunn had built over the years, Disney would’ve swallowed him whole—bones and all.  

Now, Dunn had played his trump card: the "package investment plan." With backing from several industry giants, he finally had the firepower to take on Disney head-to-head.  

And Michael Eisner, seeing the tide turn, wanted to back off? Fat chance!  

You get to swing when it suits you, then bail when the going gets tough? What kind of fantasy world is that? Talk about arrogance!  

Dunn had shown his hand—he wasn’t walking away without a big win. Even if it was just to vent his frustration, he was going to use this chance to teach Disney a lesson! Michael Eisner needed to get it through his head: Dunn might be young, but he’s got serious chops, and he doesn’t take kindly to being pushed around!  

Negotiate nicely, and everything’s on the table. Play dirty? Dunn wouldn’t hold back either.  

Back off?  

No way!  

Plus, pulling out now would kill the ban drama before it even peaked—people might think Dunn was scared of Disney.  

Dunn had this planned out from the start: Disney was the stepping stone for Dunn Films to climb to the top of Hollywood. Everything was in place; all he needed was the final push!  

Back off now and waste it all? Not a chance!  

If they were going to play, they’d play big!  

Dunn Films was going to stand on Disney’s shoulders and look down on Hollywood!  

When that happened, making a move to acquire Universal Pictures would be a no-brainer—Universal would fall right into Dunn Films’ lap.  

…  

Over 40 years, Sumner Redstone had taken Viacom from a family business to a global media titan with bold, brash moves.  

Whatever Viacom’s future held, right now, Redstone was king of the hill.  

Since the 1950s “Paramount Decree” split film production and exhibition, studios couldn’t handle the whole pipeline—making, distributing, and screening—anymore. Everyone knows the real money’s in that kind of monopoly control!  

Viacom owned Paramount Pictures but couldn’t touch theater chains. So Redstone got creative, finding a new way to dominate: video and DVD rentals!  

It was a brilliant move!  

Hollywood’s movie market runs like an assembly line with phased sales: theaters first, then pay-per-view, cable TV, network TV, and finally video/DVD sales and rentals.  

Theaters are the big money-makers, no doubt. But as film output skyrocketed, the rental business became a bigger deal in that sales chain. It’s the last stop—and a critical one.  

In theaters, one print usually serves one screen.  

Rentals? One copy gets reused endlessly—pure profit!  

If Viacom could lock down that final link, they’d have a chokehold on Hollywood.  

And guess what? Redstone pulled it off!  

In 1993, Viacom snagged Paramount. A year later, they dropped $840 million to buy 81.5% of Blockbuster.  

Redstone’s ambition and guts were on full display!  

Blockbuster’s CEO, John Antioco, knew Redstone’s vision and his own role. With that mindset, Blockbuster went on an acquisition spree, snapping up anything that boosted their channels or film rights.  

After a few years, Blockbuster lived up to the hype, nearly monopolizing the rental market. They had over 60,000 employees, 4,141 company-owned stores in the U.S., plus 2,000 franchise locations, and overseas, 1,951 owned stores and 454 franchises.  

No question about it—Blockbuster was the world’s top video and DVD rental company, owning over 90% of the North American market.  

Every day, Hollywood’s cash flowed through Blockbuster.  

Viacom, thanks to Blockbuster, had a louder voice in Hollywood—one even Paramount couldn’t match.  

But even with over 90% of the rental market, about 10% still belonged to small retailers and upstarts.  

And now, with an economic downturn hitting, one of those newbies was struggling and looking to sell.  

Reed Hastings and his assistant Shawn Anderson were headed to Blockbuster’s HQ. They’d scored a meeting with CEO John Antioco.  

Their goal? Sell their two-year-old startup to Blockbuster.  

“Reed, I still think our asking price is nuts!” Shawn said nervously on the way.  

Reed Hastings glanced at him. “$50 million—too high?”  

Shawn grimaced. “Reed, come on. The dot-com bubble’s bursting—we can’t get that kind of offer. And Blockbuster’s a traditional rental company. They don’t do internet.”  

Reed shook his head, unshaken. “Blockbuster or not, the future’s online. Traditional rentals are going to get eaten by internet leasing. Blockbuster looks unstoppable now, but if they don’t adapt soon, they’re toast!”  

Shawn sighed. “That’s not convincing. We’re in a tech crash—traditional businesses are running from the internet, not jumping in.”  

Reed stayed calm. “That’s why we’ve got to lay it all out for John Antioco. If he’s a sharp guy with vision, he’ll see our shine!”  

“Our shine?”  

“Yep. Blockbuster’s done for. The future of rentals belongs to a hybrid like Netflix—online and offline together!” Reed’s voice rang with confidence.  

Shawn couldn’t help but roll his eyes.  

Where was Reed getting this swagger?  

Netflix had just 120,000 users, with monthly actives under 10,000—less than 1% of the North American market.  

Blockbuster? 300 million users!  

It wasn’t even a fair fight.  

Sure, Netflix’s model might look slicker, more forward-thinking. But next to a titan like Blockbuster, who’d listen?  

And here Reed was, hyped to lecture Blockbuster’s CEO on the wonders of online payments.  

It was absurd!  

Fifteen percent of Blockbuster’s revenue came from “late fees”—penalties for overdue rentals.  

Online payments? That’d cut off that cash flow!  

With digital billing, users could dodge late fees entirely. If a rental ran long, they’d just pay online to extend it.  

That kind of “customer-friendly” move was pure internet logic—total opposite of traditional business rules.  

Blockbuster thrived on the old-school rental game. Online payments? No way they’d bite.  

And without online payments, streaming and digital rentals were off the table too.  

Strip those away, and what’s left of Netflix?  

120,000 users.  

Would Blockbuster, with its 300 million, even blink at that?  

Forget $50 million—John Antioco probably wouldn’t cough up $500,000!  

Reed’s vision was nice, but Shawn saw zero chance of it working.  

“What if… I mean, what if Antioco shoots us down? Lower the price?” Shawn asked cautiously.  

“Lower it? No way!” Reed snapped. “When Netflix got its second round of funding, we were valued at $50 million. Now we’ve doubled our users, and our model’s sharper. $50 million’s my floor—it’s what we owe our investors!”  

Shawn let out a long sigh. “This is tough.”  

Reed smirked coldly. “If John Antioco can’t see Netflix’s worth, then we’re done talking. We’ll sit back and watch Blockbuster’s empire crumble!”  

…  

Just as Shawn feared, John Antioco showed zero interest in Netflix.  

Since Redstone tapped him as Blockbuster’s second-ever CEO, Antioco had stuck to Redstone’s bold, aggressive expansion playbook.  

If Blockbuster didn’t want it, it wasn’t worth a second glance.  

Reed Hastings trying to sell Netflix? Just a tiny blip in Blockbuster’s investment radar—not even a footnote. But when Reed pitched transforming Blockbuster with Netflix’s model, Antioco’s patience ran out.  

Put yourself in his shoes: backed by Viacom, trusted by Redstone, steering a brand toward industry domination—who’d take kindly to some kid throwing cold water on that?  

The result? Predictable.  

They parted ways, and not on good terms! 

Chapter 243: Netflix’s Future  

Reed Hastings’ pitch to sell Netflix to Blockbuster for $50 million? Total flop.  

Unless you’re looking at it with some futuristic hindsight, Reed’s failure makes perfect sense.  

It’s the dot-com crash era—internet companies like Netflix are getting the cold shoulder, and that’s no surprise. Over the past few months, more than a hundred tech firms have gone belly-up.  

Even if Netflix’s business model was solid, couldn’t Blockbuster—with all its resources and connections—whip up its own “Netflix” for $50 million?  

Stepping out of Blockbuster’s headquarters, Reed glanced back at the building, then checked his watch.  

From the moment he walked in to when he left, it hadn’t even been 20 minutes.  

A faint smirk tugged at Reed Hastings’ lips.  

His assistant, Shawn Anderson, let out a long sigh, his face a mix of bitterness and frustration.  

The Netflix sale falling through meant the company’s cash flow was about to dry up. If they didn’t want to shut down, there was only one option left: layoffs.  

Shawn’s position was shaky. If Netflix started cutting jobs, they’d keep the core team, and even as Reed’s assistant, he’d be on the chopping block.  

He snuck a cautious glance at Reed, expecting disappointment or despair after the failed talks. Instead, he was stunned to see a flicker of sarcasm and mockery on his boss’s face.  

When Reed shot a disdainful look back at Blockbuster, Shawn’s eyes nearly popped out.  

Boss, seriously? You’re still dreaming about Blockbuster refusing to adapt and crashing down?  

Even if Blockbuster was doomed, with its massive assets and clout, it’d take a decade to burn through everything. Netflix, on the other hand? Without cash soon, bankruptcy was staring them down.  

Reed caught Shawn’s panicked expression and smiled lightly. “Hey, Shawn, ever seen a movie called Wedding Crashers?”  

“Yeah, funny comedy. Dunn Pictures made it, right? I know that one,” Shawn replied, nodding mechanically.  

Reed grinned. “Do you know who the lead actress was?”  

Shawn tilted his head, thinking for a second, then shook it. “Just remember she was this sweet, cute girl. Some small-time actress.”  

“Her name’s Reese. Reese Witherspoon.”  

“Oh, right, Witherspoon!”  

Shawn wasn’t sure if he actually remembered or was just playing along. He looked at Reed curiously, unsure where this was going.  

The two strolled away from Blockbuster’s HQ, and Reed said slowly, “Funny thing is, Miss Witherspoon and us? We’ve got a little connection.”  

Shawn laughed, shaking his head. “Reed, you’re a riot. Sure, we’re in the movie biz, but we’re miles away from Hollywood stars.”  

Reed gave him a deep look. “Shawn, I’ve told you before—keep an eye on our alumni network. It’s good for business!”  

Shawn blinked, confused. “Alumni network? Wait, is Reese Witherspoon a Stanford grad too? No way!”  

Reed smirked, half-laughing. “Surprised?”  

“What? For real?”  

Shawn’s jaw dropped a little.  

Reed squinted at the traffic in the distance. “You know Google, right? The world’s top search engine. Founded by two of our Stanford buddies—well, underclassmen, technically. When Google needed funding, they got to Dunn Walker through Reese Witherspoon’s connection.”  

“Dunn Walker?” Shawn’s eyes lit up, even more shocked. “You mean the Hollywood Dunn?”  

“Yup, that’s him,” Reed said with a chuckle. “You might not know this, but Miss Witherspoon’s his secretary.”  

Shawn’s mouth opened, then froze, his expression stiffening.  

Something this big, tied to his own alumni circle, and he had no clue? Talk about embarrassing.  

“Reed, I think I get it. You’re thinking… we could reach Dunn Walker through our Stanford sis?”  

“Exactly!”  

Shawn frowned, mulling it over. “Tough sell. I’m a Dunn fan—I know a bit about him. Half a year ago, he made a killing in the stock market, landed on the rich list. But… he’s still an outsider.”  

He didn’t spell it out, but the subtext was clear.  

Not long ago, Dunn had sunk a fortune into Apple stock and even joined their board. To Shawn, that was basically throwing money away—downright dumb.  

Reed, though, paused, deep in thought. Was Dunn really clueless about investing?  

Sure, the Apple move was baffling. But Google? That was booming. And then there was another internet company…  

“By the way, heard about that company rebrand?”  

Their core business overlapped with online payments, something Netflix dabbled in too, so Shawn perked up. “Yeah, they rebranded. The company bought Xfinity, merged, and now it’s called PayPal. Once they’re fully integrated, PayPal’s gonna be the top online payment platform.”  

At that, both Shawn and Reed’s faces lit up with a flicker of excitement.  

Maybe Dunn’s investment game wasn’t so weak after all!  

Google was already the king of search engines, and PayPal was on track to dominate online payments.  

Better yet, Netflix’s online payment system—where users paid to rent movies—lined up perfectly with PayPal. They could totally team up and win together!  

And Netflix wasn’t just some pure internet play—it tied into movies too. Dunn, a Hollywood heavy hitter who’d even invested in Hasbro, wouldn’t blink at a downstream video rental gig, right?  

“Back when Google and that company got funding, Reese Witherspoon was the one pulling strings. If Dunn’s as sharp as Wall Street says, he’d see Netflix’s potential in a heartbeat!”  

Reed clenched his fist, determination flashing across his face.  

Blockbuster had been his top pick, but they were too big, too arrogant to care about Netflix.  

Now, there was just one shot left: Dunn Capital.  

Dunn’s name carried weight in Hollywood, Wall Street, and Silicon Valley. If he lived up to the hype, he’d step in to save Netflix, right?  

This was their last lifeline.  

But even if Dunn passed, Reed wouldn’t back down.  

He believed in Netflix’s model with every fiber of his being. No funding? Fine—he’d push forward anyway. Slash salaries, cut staff, dip into his own pockets if he had to.  

Netflix would have a future!  

…  

Another weekend rolled around, and for Dunn, it was good news galore.  

First, Johnny Depp officially signed a five-movie deal with Dunn Pictures. Top pay: $20 million. First flick, Pirates League: Curse of the Black Pearl, locked in at $8 million.  

Second, some Hong Kong tycoon named Liu shelled out $3 million to get his “girlfriend” a cameo in a Dunn Pictures blockbuster. Easy money—Bill Mechanic sent them straight to France to join the Mr. & Mrs. Smith set.  

Third, after over two months in theaters, Spider-Man finally passed Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace at the global box office post-summer season, hitting $1.19 billion! It was now the second-biggest film in history, just behind Titanic.  

Fourth, Dunn’s private Gulfstream V jet was finally decked out and ready to fly!  

With Disney’s drama taking a new turn and Spider-Man smashing Star Wars records, it was a double win. Tradition called for a celebration bash.  

Bill Mechanic invited Dunn to swing by LA that weekend—hang out, have some fun, and talk about the “ban” situation.  

With his new private plane ready, Dunn was pumped. First jet he’d ever owned, this life or the last!  

He roped in Natalie, plus A Beautiful Mind stars Crowe Russell and Nicole Kidman, and they hopped on his Gulfstream V, jetting from the Atlantic’s west coast to the Pacific’s east.  

The Gulfstream V was top-tier for business jets back then, but space was tight—six seats max. Forget a bedroom, bar, or bathroom; that was Boeing 747 territory, not Gulfstream.  

Still, Gulfstreams were sleek, handy, and cheap to run—about $3 million a year in costs. Compare that to a 747 private jet, which came with four or five flight attendants standard. Gulfstreams? One was plenty.  

Speaking of flight attendants, Dunn’s eyes couldn’t help drifting to the lone one on board.  

She rocked a red-and-white uniform, mid-twenties, sexy and stunning. Catching Dunn’s gaze, she flashed a warm smile.  

The crew—pilot, attendant, all of it—came courtesy of Gulfstream. If the client wasn’t happy, they could swap them out.  

As private jet attendants go, she was cream-of-the-crop American talent.  

But Dunn felt something was off—missing a little flavor.  

She was gorgeous, no doubt, but lacked that soft, gentle, refined vibe he’d seen in Asian flight attendants.  

“Okay, stop staring! You’ll scare her off!” Natalie whispered, giving his arm a sneaky pinch.  

Dunn flinched slightly and muttered, “Relax, I’m not into her!”  

“Yeah, right!”