187-189 (fix)

*Chapter 187: Pulling the Rug Out*

Ever since Dunn Films struck a series of strategic partnerships with Hasbro, they haven’t slowed down their quest to acquire IP rights. Their next target? Mattel’s Barbie doll!

But Mattel isn’t like Hasbro. They’re conservative, stuck in their ways, and slow to adapt to the times. They couldn’t wrap their heads around Dunn’s “big IP” concept for comprehensive collaboration and kept dragging their feet without giving a clear answer.

Dunn didn’t think much of it at first.

In his view, this was a win-win deal. As long as Mattel wasn’t foolish, they’d surely come around.

A blockbuster movie, after all!

Plus, with Spider-Man’s smashing success, Dunn had built a personal brand as a guaranteed hitmaker for commercial blockbusters. A franchise he personally planned and produced—how could it not make waves?

All Mattel needed was a bit of time to see the light.

But now, nearly two months later, Mattel still hadn’t responded. Instead, behind the scenes, they quietly struck a deal with Disney…

Dunn didn’t want to assume the worst, but the situation was starting to raise red flags.

Disney and Dunn Films had an irreconcilable rivalry, especially during the summer box office. Disney’s crushing defeat had tanked their stock price, infuriating their chairman, Michael Eisner.

Could Disney be meddling?

The more Dunn thought about it, the more likely it seemed.

Mattel’s vision had always been narrow. They were rigid, overly focused on short-term gains—a trait likely tied to their founder, Ruth Handler, being a woman with limited perspective, fostering a conservative corporate culture.

Now, Disney had dangled their trump card, the “Disney Princess” franchise, as bait to secure a deal with Mattel. Even if Disney took over 80% of the profits, the deal still promised Mattel at least $50 million a year.

Compared to Dunn Films’ lofty concepts, theories, and visions, this was cold, hard cash!

If it were Hasbro, they might have weighed long-term benefits and done more due diligence. But for Mattel, the future was too uncertain. Money in hand was the only money that mattered.

Dunn’s expression darkened.

Was Disney behind Mattel’s reluctance to commit or even hint at collaborating with Dunn Films?

With Michael Eisner’s petty and ruthless nature, it wasn’t hard to imagine him retaliating after such a humiliating blow by attaching strings to a deal with Mattel.

Dunn didn’t care about Mattel’s fate. His focus was solely on Barbie. At this stage, only the Barbie IP could rival the “Disney Princess” brand.

But now, it seemed Barbie was slipping away…

Dunn wasn’t ready to give up. He grabbed his phone and called Alan Hassenfeld at Hasbro, getting straight to the point. “I heard Disney licensed the ‘Disney Princess’ brand to Mattel for dolls. Is that true?”

Hassenfeld, thinking Dunn was calling to chew him out as a shareholder, quickly explained, “Dunn, I’m so sorry. You know Hasbro specializes in boys’ toys. We’re way behind Mattel in the girls’ toy market. It makes sense that Disney went with them for ‘Disney Princess.’”

“I’m not here to point fingers,” Dunn said. “I just want to know—did Disney ever mention this to us beforehand?”

“No, we had no idea Disney was moving so fast on dolls,” Hassenfeld replied. “The ‘Disney Princess’ brand is barely a month old. We figured Disney would take at least six months to promote it before licensing it out to toy companies.”

“Six months…” Dunn’s mind clicked. “So, you’re saying, under normal marketing strategies, Disney would spend six months building the brand’s recognition before negotiating with toy companies for better profit splits, right?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Hassenfeld said. “A bigger, more established brand gives them leverage for better terms.” He paused, then added, “But Disney’s animations are already huge with kids worldwide, so it’s not surprising they moved quickly.”

“Not surprising?” Dunn scoffed.

His conversation with Hassenfeld only solidified his suspicions: Disney was targeting him again!

On the surface, they were battling it out at the box office.

But behind closed doors, Disney had quietly partnered with Mattel, effectively thwarting Dunn Films’ plans for a strategic alliance and Barbie IP acquisition.

What a ruthless move—pulling the rug out from under him!

Disney was playing dirty!

Fine, then. Dunn was done playing nice.

Pulling the rug out? Disney wasn’t the only one who could play that game!

A vicious plan was already brewing in Dunn’s mind. Just you wait, Disney.

He didn’t act immediately. Instead, he headed straight to Bill Mechanic’s office.

Inside, an unexpected guest was waiting—James Cameron.

“James, you’re here too?” Dunn’s grim expression softened, a spark of surprise in his eyes.

Cameron stood, grinning as he shook Dunn’s hand. “Haven’t congratulated you yet! Spider-Man’s box office is crushing it, leaving every other summer release in the dust!”

Dunn gave a modest smile. “That’s just because it didn’t face any real competition. In a pond full of shrimp, even a minnow looks big!”

Cameron burst out laughing.

Bill Mechanic, sensing Dunn’s urgency, asked, “Dunn, something up?”

Dunn didn’t hold back, even with Cameron there. “What’s the status on Mattel?”

Mechanic’s brow furrowed slightly. “Not great. They’re being vague, refusing to give a straight answer.”

Dunn let out a cold laugh. “Forget it. If they can’t see the opportunity, let them fend for themselves!”

This wasn’t an empty threat.

As times changed, Mattel’s conservative strategies led to declining revenue. Once Disney pulled the “Disney Princess” license and partnered with Hasbro instead, Mattel lost its spot as the world’s top toy company. Within a few years, they faced the risk of a hostile takeover by Hasbro.

Mechanic’s heart sank. He knew how much effort Dunn had put into securing Barbie. “Dunn, did something happen?”

“Disney’s a worthy opponent, huh?” Dunn’s tone dripped with icy sarcasm, his meaning clear.

Cameron glanced at Dunn, thoughtful, then chuckled. “Traditional action films are getting a bit dated. Today’s teens want something fresh, bold, and full of fight!”

Dunn laughed heartily. “James, I’ll take that as a good omen!”

Mechanic wasn’t as optimistic. “Disney’s influence won’t be toppled by one movie.”

Dunn’s face lit up with sunny confidence. “One movie won’t do it? Then two. Two’s not enough? Then ten! Disney loves a fight? Fine. From now on, every single Disney release will have Dunn Films gunning for it!”

Mechanic, who’d once worked at Disney before leaving due to conflicts with Eisner, still had some attachment to his old company. “Dunn, this is a fight to the death.”

Dunn shrugged, unbothered. “Disney’s been stabbing me in the back time and again. Think I’m going to make nice? Dream on! Even if Michael Eisner begged on his knees, I’d kick him to the curb!”

“Hell yeah!” Cameron, ever the chaos enthusiast, clapped loudly. “Dunn, I love your fire and grit. Everyone calls me a tyrant on set, but the real tyrant in Hollywood is Michael Eisner. I’m with you on taking him down!”

Dunn gave him a sly, half-smile. “James, you’re singing my tune a bit too eagerly. That’s not like you.”

Cameron’s words caught in his throat, his face flushing.

Mechanic laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s got a hurdle he can’t clear with me and wants you to pull some strings.”

“Oh?” Dunn’s eyes lit up. “New movie?”

“What else would bring him here in person?” Mechanic teased Cameron.

Cameron cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s not a big deal. Just some disagreements with the production department over the budget.”

“Budget?” Dunn couldn’t help but chuckle.

Classic Cameron, stirring up trouble over money again.

Dunn had been swamped lately, so he hadn’t paid much attention to Cameron’s new project, leaving it entirely to Mechanic. He and Cameron had worked together before and were on good terms, so Dunn was confident the project would stay with Dunn Films.

This maritime rescue story wasn’t one Cameron had tackled in his previous life. But James Cameron’s name was synonymous with blockbuster hits.

Dunn trusted him completely… except when it came to budgets.

“Don’t laugh—I’m serious,” Cameron said, fixing Dunn with a stare. “I’m looking forward to our second collaboration. Last time with Titanic, you were the producer, I was the director, and we smashed it. How about you produce this one too?”

“Sounds good. I’m excited for it,” Dunn replied.

“But I need final cut.”

“Done.”

Cameron grinned like he’d pulled off a heist. “Since you’re producing, you’re handling the budget. I’m just the director—I shoot the film. You make sure I have what I need!”

“What?!” Dunn gasped, realizing he’d been played.

*Chapter 188: "The Unnamed Maritime Rescue Project"*

Dunn had never paid much attention to Cameron’s project. He hadn’t even glanced at the script. But like Cameron, he was looking forward to their second collaboration.

Especially now, with Disney constantly targeting him!

Dunn took a deep breath, locking eyes with Cameron. “James, I can meet all your budget demands. But in return, I hope you’ll agree to one condition of mine.”

Cameron sat up straight. “What’s the condition?”

Dunn’s lips curled slightly, but instead of answering right away, he chuckled. “By the way, have you guys heard? Disney’s investing in a big World War II film called Pearl Harbor. Jerry Bruckheimer’s producing, and Michael Bay’s directing.”

As Hollywood veterans, Cameron and Bill Mechanic were well aware of such major news.

Cameron smirked with a hint of disdain. “You mean that film they’re hyping up as a so-called epic to rival Titanic?”

Bill Mechanic laughed heartily. “Jerry Bruckheimer and Michael Bay are a golden duo, aren’t they? They’ve churned out a string of box-office hits that critics love. A little ambition is only natural.”

Dunn’s expression turned mocking.

Why did Pearl Harbor bomb so spectacularly in North America? Because from the moment it was greenlit, through filming and promotion, it was constantly compared to Titanic. It was an ambitious film, no question.

In many ways, it tried to mirror Titanic.

Take the runtime—both films clocked in at over three hours. The plot? Both leaned heavily on romantic love stories. The special effects? Both aimed for an immersive, lifelike feel.

But Michael Bay was no James Cameron!

Pearl Harbor’s romance was dull and outdated, and its war scenes lacked depth. Thirty minutes of planes bombing ships, relentless explosions, bodies strewn everywhere, and sheer panic—it was nothing but a horrifying slaughter. It failed to move or entertain audiences.

No doubt about it, Pearl Harbor was Hollywood’s biggest joke of 2001!

Now, Dunn’s arrival had changed history. Cameron, unable to take his Titanic profits and go explore the ocean depths, was back to making another film.

Dunn didn’t mind using Cameron’s talent to teach the arrogant Jerry Bruckheimer, Michael Bay, and their backer, Disney, a lesson!

“Disney’s investment in Pearl Harbor is more than double Titanic’s budget, and they’re banking on it big time. If all goes as planned, it’ll hit theaters next May.”

Bill Mechanic seemed to catch Dunn’s drift. “You’re saying… we should go head-to-head with Pearl Harbor?”

“Exactly!” Dunn snorted coldly. “I said earlier—Disney’s films won’t get a free pass from now on! James, didn’t you just back me in standing up to Michael Eisner? So, are you in? Will you stand with me?”

Cameron frowned, looking conflicted.

“You’re not willing?”

“Huh? No, you’ve got it wrong.” Cameron waved his hand dismissively. “I’m a director. Disney’s clout doesn’t scare me. It’s just… the timeline feels too tight.”

Dunn couldn’t help but laugh. “James, come on, that’s a bit dramatic. It’s only late June now. You’ve got nearly a year until next May!”

Cameron grimaced. “This project—I’ve been planning it since ’98, two full years of preparation. I don’t want to rush it and end up with a film that’s less than stellar.”

Dunn glanced at Bill Mechanic. “What’s the production department’s budget estimate?”

Bill Mechanic replied, “120 million, but Jamie’s been pushing for 150 million. He’s come to me about it multiple times.”

Dunn waved his hand decisively. “James, do this for me, alright? I’ll greenlight the budget—200 million dollars!”

“How much?”

Even James Cameron, no stranger to big projects, was stunned, his mouth agape.

200 million dollars!

That was, without question, the highest budget ever for a single Hollywood film!

Before this, Titanic, which Dunn had taken over, cost 165 million, with a budget of 150 million. The Star Wars films? Around 120 million each. Even Pearl Harbor, which Disney was touting as a Titanic rival, had a budget of just 140 million.

“Dunn!” Bill Mechanic sounded anxious.

Dunn raised a hand. “Bill, trust me. And trust James. Let me make this clear one more time: this film must hit the May slot next year!”

Cameron took a sharp breath.

A bigger budget meant bigger pressure.

Bill Mechanic knew Dunn’s resolve and sighed, chuckling as he looked at Cameron. “Jamie, you gonna say no?”

“I…”

“Come on, Dunn’s laid it all out. Turning him down now wouldn’t be very friendly.” Bill Mechanic reminisced slowly. “I remember when you made Titanic. Wrapped filming in late March and had it in theaters by mid-July, right?”

Cameron gave a wry smile. “Yeah, thanks to you. You’d just joined Fox, eager for a big win, and pushed me to speed up post-production. I went over 70 hours without sleep at one point!”

Bill Mechanic laughed, then sighed. “You know Dunn’s temper. And you know Disney’s been playing dirty behind the scenes. He needs to let off some steam. You’ll help him, right?”

Cameron glanced at Dunn, seeing the hope in his eyes. How could he say no?

“James, it’ll be tough, but do it for me, okay?”

With Dunn putting it like that, Cameron couldn’t refuse without looking ungrateful. He took a deep breath, a sharp determination flashing across his face. “Fine, let’s move fast! I’ll hold auditions within three days. Dunn, come help me out. I’ll aim to start shooting by late July!”

“Deal!”

Dunn clapped his hands, brimming with excitement.

---

Dunn finally flipped open the script for Cameron’s new film. The title was intriguing—The Unnamed Maritime Rescue Project.

The script was a whopping 210 pages!

It rivaled Titanic in scope.

In Hollywood, a standard rule of thumb is that one script page equals one minute of screen time. Even with some cuts in post-production, this film was looking at two and a half, maybe even three hours!

Dunn settled in and read slowly, eager to see what kind of story Cameron had been crafting for over two years.

It was based on a true event.

In the winter of 1952, an oil tanker en route to Boston hit a massive storm, splitting the ship and threatening to sink it. The crew sent a distress call to the Massachusetts Coast Guard.

The storm at sea was like a grim reaper, radiating terror.

Forget Coast Guard boats—even naval warships couldn’t safely set out!

The Coast Guard debated fiercely. Many believed launching a rescue in those conditions was suicide. But a young man named Bernie Webber made a bold choice. He led four Coast Guard members in a wooden lifeboat with a faulty engine, bravely setting out.

During the rescue, their unassuming 36-foot wooden motorboat faced towering waves, nearly capsizing twice. At one point, Bernie Webber closed eyes, leaving it to fate.

Yet, a miracle happened. They broke through the waves and reached the tanker.

But then came another challenge.

The Coast Guard boat was designed to carry only 12 people, including the four crew members.

The tanker had… 32 people.

With the tanker moments from sinking and no second chances, Bernie Webber made a daring, heroic decision: take everyone aboard and head home together!

If they lived, they’d live together.

If they died, they’d die together.

In the end, Bernie Webber and his team battled freezing, pitch-black seas and relentless waves, overcoming countless obstacles to reach safety.

Bernie Webber and his four crew members were awarded the federal government’s highest honor, the Gold Lifesaving Medal.

It was a gripping, inspiring story.

Even through the pages, Dunn could feel the peril, the obstacles, and the brush with death the rescuers faced.

The string of miracles represented the beauty of humanity, the essence of courage, and the greatest advocacy for valor.

This was a true story, and the personal heroism it showcased couldn’t be praised enough. It was worlds apart from the action-hero antics of Bruce Willis in the Die Hard series.

And… it was a disaster film. A shipwreck disaster film.

Dunn suddenly thought of Titanic.

To his surprise, he realized the two films shared a deeper connection.

Titanic was a shipwreck tragedy, where hundreds of lives were lost, including the male lead, leaving behind a poignant, heartbreaking love story.

It was moving but filled with regret that left countless audiences in tears.

This new film was also about a shipwreck. Yet, after Bernie Webber faced countless trials, he achieved redemption, pulling off a miracle with a broken wooden Coast Guard boat when everyone thought it impossible.

Titanic’s director might have been Dunn in name, but its true soul was James Cameron.

After the tragic shipwreck of Titanic, Cameron wanted to counter that sorrow with a miraculous rescue.

Dunn suddenly understood Cameron’s vision, his passion, and his heartfelt intent.

And… next year was 2001. The year of 9/11.

What kind of inspiration would a film like this bring to the American people?

After reading the script, Dunn could already see the film’s box-office potential soaring.

As for the title, Dunn’s lips curved into a slight smile. He’d already thought of the perfect name for Cameron.

He picked up a pen, scratched out The Unnamed Maritime Rescue Project, and wrote a new title next to it—The Finest Hours!

*Chapter 189: Never Sinking*

Titanic grossed $1.88 billion, My Big Fat Greek Wedding brought in $420 million, Wedding Crashers earned $310 million, and Star Wars: Episode I raked in $1.18 billion…

Before Spider-Man hit theaters, Dunn had already amassed a staggering $3.79 billion in global box office across these four films, surpassing Steven Spielberg to become the highest-grossing director in Hollywood history.

After its opening week, Spider-Man added another $263 million, pushing Dunn’s total box office past the $4 billion mark. This milestone unlocked the Mirror System again, granting him his fifth “Mirror Embodiment” opportunity (the first came from a beginner’s gift package).

Though Dunn was seasoned, his current personal skills weren’t quite up to directing a film on his own. His basic stats were: Cinematography 44, Story Design 53, Visual Imagination 49, Directing 61, Camera Work 25…

Far from passing muster.

To direct A Beautiful Mind, he’d need to rely on the “Mirror Embodiment” function.

As for which director’s abilities to channel, Dunn hadn’t decided yet.

For a commercial blockbuster, picking Cameron or Spielberg would be a no-brainer.

But A Beautiful Mind, a deeply emotional character-driven drama, was beyond even Spielberg’s wheelhouse, let alone Cameron’s.

Dunn needed time to mull over his options. Luckily, he had plenty of it.

A Beautiful Mind was slated for release after the 9/11 attacks, giving him over a year—more than enough time for Russell Crowe and Nicole Kidman to dig into their characters.

Right now, Dunn’s focus was split three ways: final approvals for the Mr. & Mrs. Smith project, pushing forward Cameron’s new film, and sustaining Spider-Man’s marketing momentum.

Even his plans to take on Disney were being put on the back burner.

No rush. He’d play the long game.

With Spider-Man dominating the box office, all Dunn had to do was keep making headlines to fuel its hype.

Case in point: today, he was at a farm between Los Angeles and Burbank.

The place was buzzing with VIPs.

Here, Dunn was kicking off the groundbreaking ceremony for Dunn Films’ headquarters—the Dunn Williams Walker Tower!

The tower’s design had taken two months and multiple revisions before earning Dunn’s approval.

Visually, it resembled a “rotated fourth-order Rubik’s Cube,” exuding a surreal, almost magical vibe.

The main building was four stories tall, square in structure, with each floor offering 80,000 square feet (about 20,000 square meters), accommodating 800–1,000 workstations.

Dunn’s personal office space took up half of the fourth floor, with the rest dedicated to archives, confidential meeting rooms, the CEO’s office, the CFO’s office, and other executive areas.

Dunn Films had a grand future ahead, and a single four-story building might not cut it for the company’s growth and staffing needs.

What to do?

Dunn had learned from others’ mistakes.

Apple and Amazon, for example, had poured $500 million each into new headquarters after outgrowing poorly planned originals—a jaw-dropping expense.

Microsoft, by contrast, had been smarter about it.

Instead of a single towering headquarters like Apple or Amazon, Bill Gates built a sprawling Microsoft campus.

Beyond the main building, the campus included 11 auxiliary office buildings to meet Microsoft’s operational needs.

If expansion was needed, they could simply carve out more land within the campus and construct additional buildings—no need for Amazon’s drastic rebuild.

This horizontal campus model wasn’t as efficient as Apple’s vertical approach but offered flexibility and scalability, better suiting a fast-growing company.

Dunn could foresee his company’s rapid expansion. Rebuilding a new headquarters every few years wasn’t an option. Microsoft’s campus model was the way to go.

So, Dunn Films’ headquarters campus would start with two buildings: the main “Dunn Tower” and a three-story “Marvel Tower” next door.

Once completed, both Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Studios would relocate to the Marvel Tower.

The first phase of the campus construction was projected to cost $320 million: $250 million for Dunn Tower, $70 million for Marvel Tower, and $20 million for infrastructure improvements like transportation and green spaces in the area.

Dunn Films, having invested heavily in movies and TV shows, didn’t have the cash for this. Naturally, Dunn Capital footed the bill.

It didn’t matter much. When Dunn Capital injected $100 million into Dunn Films, Dunn had transferred most of his Dunn Films shares to Dunn Capital in a deal.

This setup would streamline future major acquisitions and asset restructuring for Dunn Capital.

…

After spending the morning schmoozing with the mayors of Hollywood and Burbank and other bigwigs, Dunn finally left the empty plot.

Cameron, right on cue, caught up and hopped into Dunn’s car.

“Bulletproof glass, huh?” Cameron tapped the window, clearly impressed.

Dunn chuckled. “James, there’s a supporting role audition this afternoon, right? I’ll skip it. I’ll show up for the leads.”

Cameron huffed. “You’re the producer, and you’re bailing on auditions? This isn’t just any supporting role—it’s the male second lead!”

“Second lead?” Dunn paused. “Didn’t we agree on Brad Pitt for that?”

The new film, titled Never Sinking, had Cameron’s approval and was registered with the Motion Picture Association. Besides the male lead, rescue team captain Bernie Webber, there was the second lead, Ray Sybert, the oil tanker’s interim captain.

Ray Sybert, an assistant engineer on the tanker, was a quiet, respected figure known for his vast knowledge.

When a storm hit the tanker, Sybert, as the highest-ranking crew member onboard, stepped up, rallying the crew and leading a series of self-rescue efforts to buy time for the rescue team.

Though technically the second lead, his screen time rivaled the lead’s, requiring a seasoned actor with box-office draw.

Cameron had initially pitched Brad Pitt, and Dunn had agreed.

The role of Ray Sybert demanded substantial acting chops. While Pitt’s recent films had flopped, his acting was solid enough.

Cameron grinned. “That was when the budget was tight, and I couldn’t afford a bigger name. Now? I’ve sent an invite to Tom Hanks.”

Dunn frowned. “Tom Hanks? He’s tied up in Europe with Band of Brothers. No way he’s free.”

“I know. So I also reached out to Johnny Depp, Robert De Niro, Harrison Ford, Sylvester Stallone, Mel Gibson, and Will Smith.”

Dunn gaped at him. “That’s a huge age range!”

Cameron laughed. “Ray Sybert’s the second lead, and there’s no personal or emotional subplot. Age isn’t a big deal.”

Dunn thought for a moment. “Johnny Depp’s out.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve got other plans for him. Tell him to skip the audition.” Dunn shot Cameron a serious look. “Also, Mel Gibson’s already on Mr. & Mrs. Smith. You didn’t know?”

Cameron shrugged. “Of course I did. But Mel called me himself, saying he’s eager to work with me.”

“No way!” Dunn blinked, stunned. “He wants to shoot two blockbusters at once? Is he nuts?”

Cameron smirked. “You know Mel’s a workaholic. He’s got four films coming out this year alone.”

Dunn fell silent.

If Mel Gibson wanted in, Dunn couldn’t find a reason to say no. In terms of star power, Mel could outshine any competitor, and he and Dunn went way back.

“I talked to Bill,” Cameron said, sensing Dunn’s hesitation. “Scheduling conflicts won’t be an issue. Mel’s done this before. He can handle it. Mr. & Mrs. Smith is an action flick—his comfort zone. For our film, he’s a supporting role. About 45 days of shooting should do it.”

Never Sinking and Mr. & Mrs. Smith were both commercial films, requiring minimal prep to nail the characters’ personalities.

This was a far cry from A Beautiful Mind, which demanded a blend of acting techniques, deep immersion, and lived-in performances to convey layered characters.

Dunn nodded. “If Mel passes the audition, I’m on board. But here’s the issue: if Mel plays Ray Sybert, can Matthew McConaughey handle the lead?”

The lead role was already locked in—Cameron planned to cast Matthew McConaughey, whom he’d passed over for Titanic.

Mel Gibson was the biggest star in the game. If he played Ray Sybert, the film would lean hard into his charisma for box-office appeal.

That could easily overshadow the lead.

“I trust Matthew,” Cameron said confidently, clearly having thought this through. “He’s worked with directors like Spielberg and Zemeckis, going toe-to-toe with actors like Jodie Foster, Morgan Freeman, and Anthony Hopkins. He can hold his own.”

Dunn shrugged. “You’re the director. If it flops, it’s your headache.”

Cameron laughed. “My headache? If this project tanks, you’re the one sweating over that $200 million budget!”

Dunn smirked. “$200 million? Pocket change. To me, a filmmaker’s reputation and influence matter way more than money.”

“That’s because you’re filthy rich,” Cameron muttered, shaking his head. “Honestly, compared to the male leads, casting the female roles is the real headache—especially the second female lead.”

“Female roles?” Dunn’s eyes lit up, a grin spreading across his face. “Leave that to me!”