411-415

Chapter 411: Buying Box Office  

The U.S. stock market opens at 9:30 a.m.  

It was still early, and Dunn was flipping through a report on the movie industry. The “9/11 attacks” had shaken things up—several films slated for September had shifted their release dates, including MGM’s hard-earned Windtalkers. Aside from a few small-budget flicks, the big studios weren’t rolling out anything until September 28th. That lineup included 20th Century Fox’s Don’t Say a Word, Paramount’s Zoolander, Warner Bros.’ Hearts in Atlantis, Sony’s The Glass House, and Dunn Films’ A Beautiful Mind.  

But Dunn’s focus wasn’t on release schedules—it was on box office numbers.  

The “9/11 attacks” had undeniably hit ticket sales hard. Over the past week, box office totals had plummeted 102% compared to last year! Films that still had some buzz—like Rush Hour 2, Jurassic Park III, and Jeepers Creepers—saw their earnings drop off a cliff. Even Dunn Films’ Mr. & Mrs. Smith, now down to 500 theaters, only pulled in $590,000 last week.  

But amid all this, one freak stood out: Never Sinking.  

This blockbuster, with $460 million in North American box office and $470 million overseas, somehow raked in over $4 million domestically in the past week alone! Overseas numbers were weaker but still added $2 million to its haul. That pushed Never Sinking past Jurassic Park in total earnings, making James Cameron the Hollywood director with the highest-grossing single film—second only to Dunn Walker himself!  

Dunn wasn’t caught up in the rankings, though. What grabbed his attention was why Never Sinking was surging after the terrorist attacks. In a nation gripped by grief and fear, a movie like this—championing heroism and classic American values—had the potential to carve out a whole new battlefield!  

Dunn had his sights set on pushing Cameron into the $1 billion-director club with Never Sinking. The catch? Its ultra-American vibe made overseas growth tricky. Right now, its domestic and international totals were neck-and-neck, a rare balance that showed its limits abroad. Overseas might squeeze out another $10 million, topping out at $480million. That meant North America needed to hit $520 million to break the $1 billion global mark.  

Not an easy feat!  

But… there was room to maneuver.  

The film’s plot—Coast Guard ships battling towering waves to bring 30+ survivors home in a triumphant finale—was exactly the kind of hope America craved right now.  

What’s business, after all? Giving people what they want!  

Wall Street’s big shots were already in Europe shorting stocks, cashing in on the national crisis. Why couldn’t the movie industry do the same? Disaster, death, scandal—it’s always been the bread and butter of news and entertainment. It just needs the right packaging. And Never Sinking’s heroic spirit? That package was flawless.  

Dunn got excited and called Ron Meyer, chairman of Universal Pictures, pitching the idea of leaning into Never Sinking’s patriotic appeal.  

“The government’ll love it, the public’s eating it up—why not?”  

Ron frowned over the line. “Dunn, we’re on the same wavelength here, but Never Sinking has been out for four months. Sure, it might climb a bit, but a big explosion? Not happening.”  

“$60 million’s out of reach?”  

“No way! Best case, I’d say it grabs another $20 million before the next wave of releases hits. That’d already be a huge win.”  

“$20 million? That’s peanuts!”  

Dunn’s brow furrowed. To get Cameron to $1 billion, Never Sinking needed $520 million domestically—still $60 million short. That gap wasn’t closing itself.  

Ron picked up on something off. “Dunn, what’s really going on?”  

“You know how I… kinda stole James’s director spot for Titanic back in the day? I’ve always felt a little guilty about it. So this time, I want to use Never Sinking to push him into the $1 billion club.”  

Ron brushed it off. “Dunn, no need for that! Favors are favors, business is business—James would get it. Besides, a $1 billion director? You’re the only one in the world right now. Even Steven’s not there yet. James can take his time.”  

Dunn got serious. “No, to me, favors matter more than business!”  

Ron went quiet for a moment before saying slowly, “If you’re dead-set on this… riding the crisis wave won’t cut it. You need a new play.”  

“What?”  

“Buy the box office!”  

“Huh?”  

Dunn froze, then chuckled bitterly. “Come on, Chairman Meyer, are you messing with me? Buy tickets? What am I, Tom Cruise? I’m not pulling that kind of embarrassing stunt.”  

“No, no, Dunn, you’ve got it wrong.” Ron paused, his tone turning cryptic. “The kind of ‘buying’ I’m talking about won’t embarrass you—it’ll earn you massive praise and respect.”  

“Oh?” Dunn’s eyes lit up as his mind raced. Then it clicked, and he blurted out, thrilled, “You mean… invite disaster victims to watch for free? Help them break through their trauma and heal?”  

Ron nodded. “Not just that. The attack scenes—gruesome, terrifying. A lot of survivors could end up with PTSD, a mental health issue. Without proper support, it could lead to depression, even suicide.”  

“PTSD… yeah, I know. Tons of Vietnam vets came back with that.”  

“Exactly. So scale it up—free screenings for all victims, their families, rescue workers, cops, medics, nearby residents, everyone affected.”  

Dunn mulled it over. “Ron, I’ll need your help on this. How about this: Dunn Films buys $50 million in tickets to give free screenings to victims and responders in New York and Washington?”  

“Easy enough, but…” Ron dragged out the word, his voice loaded. “Dunn, $50 million won’t cut it.”  

Dunn couldn’t help but laugh.  

No kidding!  

Everyone in America knew that back in June, Dunn had been aggressively shorting stocks, stirring up bearish chatter—only to get snarky pushback from economists and finance bigwigs. Now, even with the markets still closed, it was obvious: the crash was coming, and Dunn was about to cash in big.  

With that kind of windfall, skipping charity wasn’t an option.  

Charity’s the biggest industry in America! Why? Kids here are raised by the system, so they give back to it as adults—family ties take a backseat. In China, it’s the opposite: families raise kids, so grown-ups prioritize their own kin over society.  

Dunn hadn’t tapped into U.S. welfare, but he’d paid plenty in taxes. Still, this body he’d been reborn into owed its existence to this country. Charity was both a trend and a no-brainer.  

“I know. I’ve already accepted Senator Carpenter’s invite to his charity gala tonight.”  

Most of Dunn’s money sat in the Dunn Capital trust fund, still tied up in the markets. But a gala like this was more about optics than cash—donating a few million was already a big deal. Dropping tens or hundreds of millions? That’d backfire, making others feel upstaged.  

If he wanted to give big, he’d start his own fund—not crash someone else’s party. For now, his Gone Girl royalties were enough to cover these events.  

“Oh, and my movie, A Beautiful Mind—we should tweak the promo strategy a bit.”  

Ron chuckled. “Dunn, your luck… it’s unreal. A Beautiful Mind is a quiet drama with some commercial pacing, sure, but it’s light on flash. Then ‘9/11’ hits—like it was tailor-made for this moment.”  

Dunn laughed. “Luck, that’s all! I didn’t expect Never Sinking’s late run to line up like this—or A Beautiful Mind to get a boost.”  

Ron could only sigh—opportunity always finds the prepared. “ ‘9/11’ is a turning point, especially with war vibes heating up. It could shake up next year’s awards season. Play it right, and A Beautiful Mind could be an Oscar contender!”  

Dunn blinked, surprised. “Oh? Really? I heard Kirk Douglas—that old guy’s got some sway. We’ve had a little beef. You didn’t know?”  

Ron snorted dismissively. “This is bigger than him! His influence can’t outweigh a terrorist attack or war. If he’s got it out for you, he might nick a few minor awards—at most.”  

“Haha, well, here’s hoping you’re right!” 

Chapter 412: Disaster Dollars! 

Just as plenty of folks predicted, before the markets reopened, the Fed teamed up with the European Central Bank, each slashing interest rates by 0.5% to calm everyone down. 

On top of that, the Fed pledged at least $60 billion to prop up the markets. 

September 17, 9:30 a.m.—U.S. markets were back in business! 

European stocks had bounced back a bit, up around 3% overall. But European investors? They weren’t living in America. 

The second U.S. markets opened, panic selling kicked in. Stocks tanked hard. In a flash, the Dow Jones plummeted 7.1%. 

Insurance, tourism, and airline stocks took the worst hits. 

Day one: Dow down 14.3%, NASDAQ down 16.1%, S&P down 11.6%! 

That measly $60 billion rescue fund? A drop in the bucket. 

In just one day, the U.S. markets vaporized over $1.1 trillion! 

The major indexes kept sliding, rivaling last year’s dot-com crash. 

Microsoft’s stock fell from $30 to $26—a 13.3% drop. 

Disney went from $25 to $18—down 21.8%. 

General Electric slipped from $40 to $34—a 15% dip. 

Goldman Sachs dropped from $76 to $69—9.2% off. 

Ford Motor fell from $19 to $16—15.8% gone. 

Lockheed Martin, though? Jumped from $38 to $43—up 13.1%. Well, they make fighter jets. 

People tend to follow the crowd. When stockholders saw others dumping shares, a lot couldn’t resist joining the frenzy. 

But over time, seeing the government’s resolve to step in, they’d cool off. 

Especially the big Wall Street players—they’d never miss a chance to buy low like this! 

Dunn and Scott Swift had hashed this out plenty beforehand. Cashing out couldn’t wait, couldn’t drag—they had to move fast! 

The goal? Close all their short positions by the end of the week! 

It kicked off on September 18. 

That day, Dunn Capital closed out 128 stocks. Average drop: 15.8%. Profit: $35.1 billion! 

September 19: 107 stocks closed, averaging a 14.5% drop. Profit: $26.9 billion! 

September 20: 42 stocks, the hardest-hit ones—airlines, tourism, insurance—averaging a whopping 29.3% plunge. Profit: $21.3 billion! 

September 21, Friday, the week’s last trading day. 

Dunn Capital wrapped up the last 30 stocks. These were steadier, averaging a 5.4% dip. Profit: $2.8 billion. 

After three months of financial wizardry, Dunn Capital’s wild short-selling spree racked up a gross profit of $86.1 billion! 

Subtract short-term interest fees, transaction costs, and the capital gains taxes they’d owe later. Then knock off the $8.5 billion they’d lost shorting earlier this year… 

For the year, Dunn Capital turned a $3 billion investment into a $58.2 billion net haul—a 194% return! 

Even after taxes, they’d still have over $9 billion in cash on hand! 

Overall, the crash wasn’t as steep as the dot-com bust, but Dunn had more capital to play with this time. 

With this windfall, plus Dunn Films’ assets, he’d easily crack the top 20 on the Forbes rich list! 

… 

Dunn Capital’s bloodbath in the markets flew under the radar for regular folks, but Wall Street’s big dogs saw it all. 

Last time Dunn cashed in big during the dot-com crash, word spread fast, and he caught heat. This time, though? Wall Street stayed quiet. 

For one, they’d been humiliated. Back in the summer, Dunn loudly predicted doom, and the whole street laughed him off. 

Now, who’d dare report on him? Better to play dumb. A bunch of financial hotshots getting schooled by a movie director? Embarrassing. 

More importantly, Wall Street was too busy raking it in to care about anyone else. 

Over the past few days, the street’s top investment banks and funds had shorted everything in sight, making a killing off the national tragedy. In one week, the NYSE and NASDAQ lost $1.4 trillion in value! 

Now it was the weekend. 

The Fed and Treasury would surely roll out bigger, bolder moves to fix this mess. 

Conveniently, 90% of the Fed and Treasury’s top brass came from Wall Street banks—Goldman Sachs especially. 

Stocks had hit rock bottom—prime time to scoop them up. Wall Street was deep in strategy mode, plotting the most efficient ways to maximize profits! 

Dunn’s little stunt? Who cared? 

His haul was peanuts next to what the big banks were pulling in. 

Sure, Dunn’s profits were all his, while the banks and private funds split theirs among shareholders. Per person, Dunn came out way ahead. 

He made a fortune quietly, staying off the financial pages—but that didn’t mean he vanished from the media. 

His $50 million donation made waves in the entertainment sections. 

This wasn’t your typical charity drop. Teaming up with Dunn Films and Universal, he pushed for victims to catch The Unsinkable in theaters—a move praised by mental health experts. 

Mental illness is real illness. 

In the U.S., where people take mental health seriously—pretty much everyone’s seen a shrink at some point—Dunn’s gesture hit the right note with the country and its people. 

The praise and goodwill poured in. 

Especially that weekend, when he made a trip to New York. Fresh off cashing out his stocks, he hit up five high-profile charity galas. 

Under “Dunn Walker,” he dished out donations to various funds. 

In total, he splashed $48 million—pocket change from Dunn Capital—back into society, earning heaps of acclaim. 

Rich folks donating isn’t rare, but a young guy dropping big bucks like that? That’s a standout. 

For Dunn, it was peace of mind money. 

Even so, he didn’t dare push his luck further. Twice now, he’d shorted the markets in a crisis, pocketing over $10 billion! 

Even legends like Soros or Rogers never pulled off something that wild. 

Time to quit while he was ahead! 

No doubt, Dunn Capital’s cash would face tight federal scrutiny going forward. 

Just like Soros ended up on financial blacklists in multiple countries. 

“Scott, our days in the stock market game are done,” Dunn said, gazing out the window of Scott Swift’s office at Manhattan’s still-glitzy streets, letting out a long sigh. 

Scott raised an eyebrow. “You firing me?” 

“Huh?” Dunn laughed. “No way I’d be that low.” 

Scott shook his head, frowning. “Then what? No stock plays—what else is there? I’m a stockbroker by trade.” 

Dunn gave him a deep look. “But your field’s financial investment. Stocks are just one kind of investment, right?” 

“Oh?” 

Scott caught the hint. 

Dunn went on, “These two moves we pulled were too loud. Wall Street’s on guard now—might even send corporate spies. And don’t get me started on the feds. We’re out of the stock game! I’ve got plans for the trust fund cash. Most of it’s going into Dunn Films—big acquisition next year.” 

“What do I do?” 

Dunn grinned. “The past two years, Dunn Capital hasn’t just killed it in stocks. We’ve invested in tons of companies—Google, Apple, Hasbro, Pixar, EA. You’ve done great talking to their boards.” 

Scott waved it off. “Money talks. I bring cash, they roll out the red carpet. That kind of ‘talking’ is easy.” 

“That’s plenty!” 

Scott’s eyes lit up. “Wait, Dunn—you saying Dunn Capital’s shifting to venture capital?” 

“Exactly!” 

“But people are freaked out right now. VC’s not the move.” 

“We can go overseas.” 

“Abroad? 9/11 hit them hard too.” 

Dunn smirked. “Not everywhere. Fully market-driven countries took a big hit, sure. But some places run a half-market system with government guidance. Barely a ripple.” 

Scott’s eyes sparkled. “You mean… that big population across the strait?” 

Dunn nodded. “I’m putting up $500 million for a VC fund. Dunn Capital takes 80%, you get 20%. You’re the GM, running all investments. Focus there if you want—Korea and Japan are solid too.” 

Not 20% of profits—20% ownership. Totally different ballgame. 

Scott wouldn’t have to lift a finger. The fund launches, and he’s already a billionaire! 

“But I’m no expert in VC.” 

“You can learn,” Dunn said with a smile. “Besides, you’ve invested in U.S. tech firms already—you’ve got experience. I’ll toss you some pointers. Feel it out as you go. You’ll make waves over there.” 

“Pointers? What direction?” 

“The internet, obviously!” 

“Oh…” 

The past six months, Scott had seen Wall Street’s true colors. 

When Dunn Capital was bleeding cash, everyone mocked him, throwing shade left and right. Now, with the big wins, he was the center of attention. 

He was sick of the backstabbing, the fake smiles, the crocodile tears. 

Maybe… 

A change of scenery wasn’t a bad idea. 

“This VC fund—can we name it after me? Scott Swift Venture Fund?” 

“No problem!” 

Chapter 413: Time to Enjoy Life  

September 24th, a new week.  

Two weeks had passed since the “9/11 attacks,” and as expected, the federal government had rolled out a slew of policies to tackle the crisis. The stock market, just as Dunn predicted, saw a weird rebound. Even Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway—a company heavy in insurance—watched its stock shoot straight up.  

That told you everything: Wall Street’s wolves were at it again, rigging the market to exploit the terrorist attack, ready to fleece the little guy.  

Dunn had just wrapped a hectic weekend in New York and was back in LA. Last night, the second episode of Band of Brothers finally aired. The ratings? Not as explosive as the premiere, but solid enough. An average of 10.79 million viewers—pretty darn good with the “9/11” cloud still hanging over everything. Subscriber growth, though, had slowed. Total subs were just shy of 11 million, a far cry from HBO’s peak of over 15 million in Dunn’s past life.  

“Dunn, Director Cameron’s here.”  

“Send him in!”  

While in New York, Dunn had set up meetings with a couple of key people back in LA: James Cameron and George Paxton. Cameron was the first up, and he’d reached out himself.  

The past week, Never Sinking—three months after its release—had snagged the top spot on North America’s weekly box office chart again! It pulled in a whopping $32.16 million domestically. The big reason? Dunn Films’ $50 million ticket donation.  

As of now, Never Sinking was about to break $500 million in North America, with a global total hitting $970 million. No doubt about it—James Cameron was on track to be the second director after Dunn to cross the $1 billion mark!  

“Dunn!”  

The second they met, Cameron’s voice cracked with emotion, and he pulled Dunn into a big bear hug.  

Dunn shoved him back with a laugh. “Heard you bought a submarine? You really diving into the sea for adventure?”  

Cameron waved it off, sidestepping the question. “Dunn, thank you,” he said, his tone heavy with gratitude.  

“No need. It boosts Dunn Films’ brand too.” Dunn brushed it off casually, like it was nothing.  

Cameron pressed, “Still, you helped me out big time.”  

Dunn scribbled a quick note and called his secretary. “Take this to finance—get it processed now.” Then he turned back to Cameron. “Compared to the profits Never Sinking has brought Dunn Films, that donation’s a drop in the bucket.”  

Rough estimates pegged Never Sinking’s box office split at $450 million. After Universal’s 10% marketing cut ($100 million) and Cameron’s 10% bonus ($100 million), Dunn Films would pocket $250million. Subtract the film’s $200 million budget, and that extra $50 million profit? That’s what Dunn donated for tickets.  

The movie hadn’t turned a profit through ticket sales alone—unheard of for Dunn Films. But in Hollywood? Totally normal.  

The U.S. pumps out 300+ movies a year, and fewer than 10 make money purely at the box office! Peripherals—TV rights, VHS, DVDs—that’s where the real cash flows. Take Spider-Man: Dunn Films raked in $420 million from those markets! DVDs and tapes alone brought in $250 million, North American TV added $68 million, and overseas TV chipped in $82.6 million.  

Even if Never Sinking didn’t match Spider-Man’s clout, $300 million in peripherals over the next two years wasn’t out of reach. That’s where the real profit lived.  

Look at last year’s Mission: Impossible 2. The box office didn’t even cover Paramount’s costs—Tom Cruise’s paycheck was too fat! Yet its profit margin beat out What Women Want, a comedy that did profit at theaters, making it Paramount’s top earner. Action flicks just kill it in the peripheral game.  

In this golden age of DVDs, a hot Hollywood blockbuster could easily pull $100–200 million globally from disc sales alone.  

Soon, Isla Fisher waltzed back in with a check, her hands trembling from the massive figure on it. Dunn shot her a playful glare, took the check, and handed it to Cameron. “James, here’s your second bonus—$50 million.”  

“This…” Cameron reached for it, then hesitated.  

He wanted it—who doesn’t love money? It was in his contract. But he wavered, knowing Dunn’s $50 million ticket donation wasn’t just about comforting attack victims.  

Dunn grinned. “Take it. You know I’m not hurting for cash. I shorted the market big this summer—remember?”  

“Well… alright.”  

Cameron took the check, looking sheepish and awkward.  

Dunn couldn’t help but sigh.  

Everyone knows Hollywood’s a money machine, a high-return gig. But compared to Wall Street? Hollywood’s hustle felt downright pitiful. Cameron felt guilty over $50 million, while Wall Street’s wolves were raking in billions off this crisis, bold as brass!  

“How’s the investigation going?”  

That afternoon, George Paxton stepped into Dunn’s office. Dunn had tasked him with secretly digging into sexual abuse scandals in American sports.  

“Not good,” Paxton said, his face dark.  

“Running into roadblocks?” Dunn raised an eyebrow. “If the pushback’s too strong, drop it. Safety first.”  

Paxton shook his head, gritting his teeth. “No, I mean the findings—they’re bad. As for threats? Hmph, even if it costs me my life, I’m seeing this through. Those animals—I won’t rest until they’re behind bars!”  

Dunn got the picture. The investigation had traction… and it was ugly.  

Paxton’s voice dropped. “There’s this girl, Alice, training in gymnastics. Her parents are farmers from Pennsylvania. She was abused by the team doctor during practice and told her folks. They talked to the doctor—and ended up believing him, thinking she lied…”  

Dunn waved him off, cutting in. He couldn’t stomach more. These stories hit too hard—he might snap, roll up his sleeves, and dive in himself.  

A scandal this big in sports needed careful handling. Dunn had a key role to play, tied to his broader Hollywood strategy. It couldn’t leak early.  

“I didn’t call you back for that. I’m building a house—you found a spot, right?”  

Dunn was flush with cash. Dunn Capital had $9 billion liquid, with $500 million going to the Swift Venture Fund and $7.5 billion earmarked for Dunn Films’ future big acquisitions. That left $1 billion for his personal life and spending.  

He’d already ordered a $250 million customized Boeing 747 private jet from Boeing. His current Gulfstream V was too small—no bedroom. Fine for short domestic hops, but long international flights? He needed something bigger. Bill Gates had a Bombardier Global Express and a Boeing 757, after all.  

Big yacht? Check. Big plane? Check. Now it was time to drop serious cash on a top-tier luxury estate!  

Across the U.S., the creme de la creme of private estates were Bill Gates’ futuristic tech mansion (built in the early ‘90s for $1.2 billion) and Larry Ellison’s under-construction Japanese palace ($2.1 billion). Dunn wasn’t messing around—he planned to sink $2.5 billion into the most extravagant estate in America!  

Beverly Hills was out—too cramped. Thankfully, LA’s elite zones stretched beyond that, mostly along the coast with killer ocean views, like New York’s Long Island. From north to south: Malibu, Bel Air, Beverly Hills, Manhattan Beach, Palos Verdes, Rolling Hills, Santa Monica, Newport, and Laguna Beach.  

Paxton chimed in. “We locked it down last year—$12 million for the land, over 500 acres. Twenty times the size of Ellison’s place. This is California—even with money, you can’t snag as much land as Gates did.”  

Dunn smirked. $12 million just for the dirt? California’s rich zones were on par with New York’s.  

“Where?”  

“Palos Verdes,” Paxton said, pausing before adding, “It’s in the estates district—west and south sides face the sea, wide-open views, and there’s a port big enough for a tanker.”  

Dunn nodded. “Cool, let’s check it out later. You’ve talked to a designer?”  

“Yeah, Richard Meier’s team. Big name—worked with Hollywood heavyweights like the Smiths, Hoffmans, and Douglases. His U.S. Federal Courthouse wrapped up last year.”  

“Big rep, huh? Even designed a place for Kirk Douglas. Interesting.” Dunn’s lips curled. “Set up a meeting when there’s time—I want to talk to him.”  

One designer might not cut it. This time, Dunn was going all in, aiming to make his mansion a landmark in Palos Verdes—and all of LA! 

Chapter 414: Zero Tolerance 

Dunn’s demands for his luxury estate left Richard Meier’s design team dumbfounded. 

All they could say was, This guy knows how to live! 

He basically wanted to mash up Bill Gates’ and Larry Ellison’s mansions into one. 

It’d be split into an inner and outer courtyard. 

The inner courtyard—his and his “lady’s” private domain—needed top-tier, high-tech security and tracking, just like Gates’ place. Every move by anyone stepping inside would be monitored from a central control hub. 

The twist? No outside men allowed. The design had to be delicate and feminine, catering to a woman’s taste. 

He even suggested tossing in some medieval European-style female sculptures. Once the estate was done, Dunn planned to snag some elegant salon oil paintings of women’s figures to hang up—adding a touch of art and romance. 

The outer courtyard would be packed with features: a helipad, sports courts, a fishpond, fake mountains, a pavilion garden, and a seaside lookout—pretty much mirroring Larry Ellison’s setup. 

But unlike Ellison’s, this one would have a standout main building beyond the staff quarters—a front-facing showcase. 

Dunn’s studio and guest hangout spot would be in the outer courtyard’s main house. The inner courtyard? His personal kingdom, off-limits to any outside guys. 

Richard Meier, with 30 years designing for big shots and billionaires, had never seen a request this “absurd.” 

The inner courtyard needed a layout that left room for those future salon paintings. 

Artistic pursuit, huh? 

Sure, 200 years ago, salon-style oil paintings were the thing—until the Impressionists took over. Nowadays, they can’t touch Impressionist works in auction prices or artistic cred. 

But Dunn was crystal clear: he wanted French salon paintings—specifically ones showcasing women’s graceful forms. His intent was obvious—he expected Meier to design around that. 

Those paintings? Mostly of naked ladies. 

What was he up to? 

No outside men allowed, paired with Dunn’s well-known personal style… 

The inner courtyard… 

Wasn’t this just his playground for fun? 

Was he trying to turn it into some Roman palace vibe? 

Dunn didn’t care what the old architect thought. He’d laid out his demands plain and simple. 

Fifteen months from now, he wanted to move in, bags in hand! 

Three months out, his custom Boeing 747 would be ready. Ten months, his private yacht would arrive. Twelve months, Dunn Films would shift to its new HQ campus. Fifteen months—Dunn would settle into his new digs! 

The grandest, flashiest, most mysterious home in America! 

“Inner courtyard, outer courtyard—ha!” 

Dunn was pretty proud of himself. 

This kind of ancient Eastern wisdom? No way these culture-starved Americans would get it. 

Charlize Theron stood out from the other girls at the hillside estate. She never lacked film offers—her only wish from Dunn might’ve been an Oscar nudge. 

She’d just spent a month vacationing in South Africa. 

Now back in LA, she’d landed a new gig. 

But when she returned to the estate, her face was all gloom. She brushed past Penelope Cruz’s friendly wave without a glance, storming straight to the study to find Dunn, fuming. 

“What’s up? You look ticked.” 

“Someone messed with me!” 

Charlize Theron sounded like a pouty kid, eyes welling up, lips trembling, looking downright pitiful. 

Dunn chuckled, waved her off, and patted his lap. “Alright, quit the drama. Come here!” 

She’d been a model before—tough as nails. No way she’d cry that easy. 

Sure enough, the next second, Charlize snapped out of it, a mix of frustration and helplessness on her face. She shot him a playful glare, then sauntered over, plopping into his lap, arms around his neck, pouting, “I was messed with.” 

Dunn grinned. “Penelope? Tonight, we’ll team up and teach her a lesson!” 

“Ugh, I’m serious!” 

Charlize turned her head, clearly annoyed now. 

“Hm?” Dunn sensed something off. “What happened?” 

She hesitated, then spilled it slowly. “I signed on for this movie, Red Dragon—you know, the Silence of the Lambs prequel. It was all set—I’d be the lead, opposite Anthony Hopkins. But this afternoon, the director said there’d be a quick audition. I didn’t think much of it.” 

“And?” 

“He told me to meet him at a hotel.” 

“What?” 

Dunn’s eyes widened. He got the picture. 

Hotel auditions were common in Hollywood, but more often than not, they screamed “casting couch.” 

“You went?” 

“I figured my name was big enough. The Unsinkable proved I’ve got the chops—I shouldn’t have to play that game for a role.” 

Dunn smirked, unimpressed. “Even if it’s just an audition, you don’t go to a hotel! That’s practically an invite. Your bad!” 

“You!” Charlize bristled. “I got screwed over, and you’re yelling at me?” 

“Hm?” Dunn’s face darkened, eyes narrowing, voice dropping. “Screwed over? Don’t tell me he laid a hand on you?” 

Charlize shrank a bit. “Well… no, not that.” 

Dunn glared, exasperated. “Then what’s the problem?” 

“But he had dirty thoughts!” 

“No kidding! You’re gorgeous—every guy who sees you has dirty thoughts.” 

Charlize didn’t know whether to laugh or fume, shoving his chest. “You’re still not gonna help me get even!” 

Dunn sighed. “What am I supposed to do? This stuff happens all the time. He made an offer, you said no, you walked away—no harm, no foul. Unless… you’re hung up on that Red Dragon role? Playing Hannibal’s sidekick—it’s a total flower-vase part.” 

He’d cashed in on the casting couch himself—why wouldn’t he defend it? 

He could play the game, but others couldn’t? That’s nonsense. 

If it’s not forced like Harvey Weinstein’s stunts, a willing deal’s fair game—God himself can’t judge that. 

Charlize had a body as lush and curvy as Penelope Cruz’s—among Dunn’s flings, only the supermodels could compete. 

Holding her this long, Dunn’s interest started to stir. His hand slipped under her shirt, roaming as he whispered in her ear, “Alright, let’s have some fun. It’s been a while—I missed you.” 

Charlize wouldn’t say no, but her face stayed tight, teeth gritted. “He said some nasty stuff!” 

“Hm?” 

“He said… he wanted to taste Dunn’s woman!” 

Dunn froze mid-move, staring hard at her. “You serious?” 

Technically, Charlize wasn’t “his woman”—just a casual fling. But that kind of provocation? Dunn wouldn’t stand for it. 

She met his gaze, calm. “I wouldn’t dare stir trouble with your name on the line. It’s the truth.” 

“Hmph, interesting!” Dunn’s mood soured. He lifted her off his lap, set her on the desk, and paced the study a couple steps before asking, “Who’s the guy?” 

“Brett Ratner.” 

Dunn’s eyes narrowed. He knew the name. 

Yeah, that jerk’s rep was trash. 

Charlize added, “He’s only in his 30s, but he’s on a roll. Directed both Rush Hour movies—huge box office hits. Especially Rush Hour 2. Even with the attacks messing things up, it did solid numbers, made New Line a ton of cash.” 

Dunn sneered. “Looks like he’s gotten too full of himself! A couple low-budget wins, and he thinks he’s hot stuff!” 

Others might not know, but Dunn did. 

Rush Hour succeeded because of Jackie Chan, period. He wasn’t just the star—he was the action director and choreographer. Ratner was basically a clueless puppet following orders. 

Sometimes he couldn’t even grasp the moves, so Jackie had to demo and explain—over and over. Total amateur leading a pro. 

The action was all Jackie. The comedy? Chris Tucker owned that. A typical Black comedian—average acting, but oozing charm, quick wit, and verbal flair. 

That electric clash between them was the heart of Rush Hour’s success. 

And now, this small-fry glory had Ratner thinking he could take a swing at Dunn? 

Charlize smirked. “Maybe he figured I’d been gone a month and you’d ditched me.” 

Dunn nodded, voice icy. “Perfect. Kirk Douglas, fine—he’s got clout. But this nobody dares step up? Thinks I’m a pushover? Who’s handling Red Dragon?” 

“Universal Pictures.” 

“Universal?” A slow, savoring grin crept onto Dunn’s face. “Oh, this’ll be easy!” 

If it were Disney’s Miramax, it’d be trickier—dealing with Roy Disney would cost him something to axe Ratner. 

But Universal? One phone call. 

Dunn didn’t hesitate. Late as it was, he dialed Ron Meyer. 

“Calling this late—what’s up?” 

“I hear Universal’s working on a movie, Red Dragon?” 

Ron paused. “Yeah, sounds familiar.” 

Dunn kept his tone flat. “Your pick for director—Brett Ratner—I’m not happy with him.” 

“What? He piss you off?” 

“Yup.” 

“Dunn—” 

Dunn cut him off, no room for debate. “Save the pep talk. I’m furious about this guy! I don’t want him succeeding—I want results!” 

Charlize, watching from the side, gaped in shock. 

That was Ron Meyer, Universal’s chairman—and Dunn was laying into him like that? Talk about bold! 

Chapter 415: A Beautiful Mind  

September 28th finally brought a wave of new movie releases.  

But with the shadow of the terrorist attacks still looming, all the films skipped the glitzy premieres and advance screenings, opting for quiet debuts instead. Among them was A Beautiful Mind, directed by Dunn himself.  

Maybe it was the insane fortune he’d made in the stock market lately, but Dunn’s head was a little in the clouds. A nagging thought kept popping up: a billionaire worth over $10 billion, still grinding it out on the front lines of filmmaking—didn’t that look a bit undignified? Shouldn’t he step back, play the big boss pulling strings from behind the scenes?  

So when A Beautiful Mind hit theaters, Dunn wasn’t exactly on edge about it.  

Universal Pictures, though? They were all in—handling promotion and distribution was their gig. No red-carpet premiere, but they still booked a Hollywood theater for a small screening, inviting the film’s stars, some guests, and a handful of critics. It was a low-key affair—mostly about Hollywood networking and getting early reviews for this awards contender.  

As the director, Dunn couldn’t say no.  

Unlike his usual high-profile entrances, though, he slipped in through the theater’s side door this time—no fanfare, no fuss. At this point, Dunn was way past needing splashy appearances to grab attention. Too much spotlight now would just make him seem loud and restless to the public.  

Backstage, he greeted lead actor Russell Crowe first, then gave Nicole Kidman a playful pat on the shoulder. “Heard your performance in The Hours is killing it. Even Meryl Streep’s singing your praises.”  

Nicole’s lips curved up, her eyes glinting. “Thanks.”  

Dunn leaned in, lowering his voice. “Keep it up. I’ve already talked to Kathryn—production and editing for that one are gonna revolve around you. With Meryl Streep and Julianne Moore as your supporting acts, you’d have to try not to win something!”  

Editing’s the heart of a movie—it’s what showcases an actor’s chops. Take later awards bait like The King’s Speech, Darkest Hour, The Theory of Everything, or The Iron Lady—they all sacrificed plot depth and wide shots for tight close-ups, zooming in on the actors’ every expression to flaunt their skills.  

The gold standard? Heath Ledger.  

The Dark Knight made him a global icon—his Joker became the ultimate villain in fans’ hearts. But credit goes to Christopher Nolan. Originally, that film was all about Christian Bale’s Batman. Then Ledger passed away, and Nolan reworked it fast, turning the Joker into the star.  

The movie broke commercial norms—tons of in-your-face close-ups for the creepy villain, while Batman got distant shots. It left casual fans thinking Bale got out-acted. Truth is, Ledger was unreal, but Bale was no slouch. It all came down to editing.  

Meryl Streep became an Oscar “curse”—nailing every role—because her films always built the edit around her performance.  

Nicole shot him a sly, teasing glance. “Isn’t that a little mean?”  

Dunn rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Fine, I’ll tell them to keep it fair and square in post.”  

She didn’t buy it, letting out a coy little laugh. “By the way, I’m interested in that other movie of yours.”  

“Which one?”  

“The one from your book—Gone Girl.” Her tone turned slightly bold, almost predatory. “Can I play the lead?”  

Dunn chuckled. “Nicole, you’re insatiable! You haven’t even wrapped The Hours yet!”  

Her perfect brows furrowed slightly. “You’ve got someone else in mind?”  

“Nah, my head’s not even on movies lately.”  

“Then don’t forget about me!”  

“We’ll see!”  

Spotting Ron Meyer in the distance, Dunn tossed out a vague reply and strolled over with a grin. “Haven’t thanked you for last time yet.”  

Last time, Dunn had asked Ron to pull Brett Ratner off Red Dragon. With just three weeks until shooting, it was a last-second call, but Ron agreed—fired Ratner and, per Dunn’s suggestion, brought in Silence of the Lambs director Jonathan Demme.  

Demme had been struggling lately. A third-tier Hollywood director, he’d hit it big with Lambs, then faded fast. Last year, he’d judged Cannes and helped Dunn out; now Dunn was returning the favor.  

Ron waved it off. “My part was easy. But you, Dunn—you’re making some big moves!”  

Ratner had dared to sling an insulting jab Dunn’s way, and Dunn wasn’t about to let it slide. Yanking him off Red Dragon was just step one. Dunn had teamed up with Legendary Pictures’ Michael Ovitz to send word to Hollywood’s heavyweights: no patchwork film investments with Ratner directing.  

Blacklisting a second- or third-tier director? Dunn had the clout for that now!  

Kicking Tom Cruise off Minority Report was a taller order—he’d used the Sunglasses System’s “Contract Steal” trick for that. But Ratner? He wasn’t even in Cruise’s league at his peak.  

Dunn’s face hardened. “Some people get a taste of success and forget their place. No respect, no fear. If I don’t teach him a lesson, he’ll think Hollywood’s a playground!”  

Ron nearly cracked up.  

Dunn’s rant sounded exactly like the bigwigs griping about him a few years back! Disney blacklisted Dunn Films; now Dunn was blacklisting Ratner. Same game, different players. Position shapes perspective.  

Dunn was a titan now, smacking down 32-year-old “young” Ratner with the same vibe Disney had thrown at him last year.  

But there was a difference. Dunn had clawed his way out of Disney’s chokehold, carving a bloody path to the top. Could Ratner do that with just the Rush Hour series under his belt?  

Ron mulled it over, then leaned in, voice low. “Warner, Fox—they’ll play ball. Paramount and MGM too. The snag’s New Line. They’re under Warner but run solo, and Rush Hour’s a cash cow. They might not back off now.”  

“New Line?” Dunn raised an eyebrow, expression blank. “I’ll call Bob Shaye later, see where he stands. If he can’t decide, hmph, I’ll decide for him!”  

A Beautiful Mind was Dunn’s fifth directorial gig. His first four had racked up a wild $474 million worldwide. This fifth one? A big shift—it was a drama.  

At least on the surface.  

As the gentle pacing unfolded, the screen came to life.  

Nicole Kidman shone. Their first classroom meeting? She nailed the poised young woman’s mix of pride and admiration. On their first date, folding a handkerchief and tucking it into his suit pocket—subtle scheming with a heap of care. Stargazing together, tracing constellations—a nerdy guy’s premeditated romance. It all flowed naturally.  

After marriage, “Nash”’s schizophrenia worsened under pressure, disrupting their lives. “Alicia” juggled raising a kid and his erratic condition—not exactly a picnic. She wasn’t that dreamy girl anymore, but she stayed graceful, radiant, her smile now layered with time’s weight.  

In this slow, bittersweet vibe, the film built to its peak.  

“Nash”’s illness spiraled—he hallucinated three people: a roommate, an agent, a little girl. They haunted him, driving him mad, despairing, trapping him in his own mind.  

Thank God for “Alicia.”  

She stuck by him quietly, guiding him through every hurdle, helping him accept himself, face reality, embrace the ordinary.  

Life’s full of letdowns—family, looks, background, fate. They can mess with your head. The simplest fix? Accept it. Embrace the world.  

Nash did.  

He broke free, won a Nobel Prize.  

Back at the university, the roommate, agent, and girl were still there.  

So what?  

Nash had shed his baggage. Like love and marriage—once a blazing fire, now a quiet stream. He wasn’t frantic or crazed anymore. He didn’t fight to banish the illusions—they just existed.  

He watched them with a faint, almost amused smile, like reminiscing about love’s sweetest days.  

Nash: “You’re not real. I made you up.”  

Girl: “Why?”  

Nash: “Because in ten years by my side, you haven’t aged a day.”  

The line dropped, and the screening room dissolved into tears.  

It wasn’t just the girl who hadn’t changed.  

Like Nash said in his Nobel speech:  

“My quest took me through the physical, the metaphysical, and the delusional—and back. In my career, I made my greatest breakthrough. In my life, I found my greatest discovery: the only logic lies in love’s mysterious equation. I’m here tonight because of you, Alicia. You’re my reason, my everything.”