Chapter 98 – Massive Revenue
Inside the president's office at Warner Bros., the executives exchanged knowing glances. There was already a tacit agreement—Warner was definitely going to invest in this project. The real question was whether the market would embrace such an unconventional film with such a massive production budget, as it had with his previous two films.
As discussed in their prior meetings, Wayne's commercial success had earned him a solid reputation. For a project requiring only a few million dollars, Warner could invest with their eyes closed. His directorial talent ensured almost no chance of failure.
But this wasn't a small-scale investment. The budget was in the tens of millions of dollars—an enormous sum in any era. Any studio would have to carefully weigh the risks and rewards before committing.
Jonathan Keller tapped the script on the table.
"DC Comics will authorize the use of their characters. If the film moves into official pre-production, we'll need to assign personnel to oversee the process."
"No problem," Wayne nodded in agreement. "Having DC's experts involved means if any creative issues arise during production, we can address them quickly."
He had no choice in this. Since he was using DC's intellectual property, their oversight was inevitable.
Wayne understood DC's concerns. They feared that the final product might deviate from the established character settings, potentially hurting their brand and revenue streams.
Kevin Tsujihara and Jeff Robinov exchanged a glance. It was clear this project was essentially approved. Even though formal reviews were still pending, those were just procedural at this point.
Everyone in the room had read the script. Even if Warner decided to pull out, it would be easy to repurpose the story—just tweak the Joker's backstory a bit, and it could become a completely different film. This kind of maneuver was common in Hollywood. Minimal changes to names or context could rebrand the project, and Warner wasn't about to make the same mistake as 20th Century Fox by handing such a director to a rival.
"Director Garfield, aside from the $50 million production budget, your proposal also calls for on-location shooting in New York?" Jeff Robinov asked, narrowing his eyes.
"That's right," Wayne nodded. "Everyone knows New York is Gotham in real life. But that would require Warner to coordinate with the city government, especially since we'll need to block off streets for many key scenes."
Wayne clearly found this aspect troublesome too, but New York remained the best option.
The city—global financial hub, beacon of wealth, a metropolis woven with both chaos and order—was a natural backdrop for his story.
He thought for a moment and added emphatically,
"What is Gotham, really? To me, it's a magnified, exaggerated version of New York—an urban hellscape that amplifies every negative emotion. A city that suffocates the lower class, one that looks dazzling on the surface but is rotten to the core."
Jeff Robinov furrowed his brow.
"Wayne, even if Warner gets involved directly, the city will never allow long-term street closures. It's New York, after all."
Of course Wayne had considered that. If on-location shooting became unworkable, he had a backup plan.
"I'm not some stubborn film-school purist," he smiled. "Nor am I a tech junkie. If it benefits the film, I don't care if the shots are real locations or miniature sets."
"But," he emphasized, "there are certain scenes that absolutely must be shot on location. For the rest, we can use CG or other stand-ins."
The executives nodded in approval. As long as he wasn't insisting on 100% real-world shooting, there were many viable alternatives—CG, practical sets, miniatures, and more.
"Warner will expedite the review process. You can go ahead and start preliminary prep," Kevin Tsujihara said with a smile.
"Once we have internal approval and settle your compensation, we'll arrange a press conference to officially announce the project."
This was standard procedure. Wayne wasn't James Cameron—yet. Even the so-called "King of the World" couldn't start a major production in total secrecy. The bigger the budget, the earlier the marketing push had to begin.
With the formal discussions concluded, the atmosphere lightened. Wayne politely stood to take his leave.
"Director Garfield, I'll join you," said Jonathan Keller from DC Comics, stepping over to him with a discreet tone.
"Let's have a quick chat downstairs."
The two, along with Wayne's agent, headed to the lounge area in the Warner Bros. building.
Seated comfortably, Keller smiled and said,
"If this film is a hit, you'll become Hollywood's most unconventional A-list blockbuster director."
"I'm just doing my job the best I can," Wayne replied modestly, though his mind was racing. Executives didn't have time for idle talk—there had to be more to this.
"Honestly, I do have a few questions about the Joker project," Keller said, locking eyes with him. "There's ambition in your script—not just for Arthur's character. You've left several breadcrumbs throughout."
Wayne sighed inwardly. As expected of DC's top executive, even the subtle hints in the script hadn't escaped him.
"You're right. No point hiding it," Wayne admitted. "I don't plan to stop at Joker. I hope this opens the door for more DC character adaptations. Don't you think your entire catalog of heroes fits my style perfectly?"
Keller, momentarily thrown off by the half-joking honesty, began mentally running through the heroes and stories under DC's umbrella. Wayne wasn't wrong—DC's gritty and tragic themes did align surprisingly well with his vision.
While Keller sat there pondering, Wayne spotted his agent and accountant coming downstairs. With a nod, he excused himself.
"How did it go? Is everything settled?" Wayne asked once they were in the car.
Colin Howard pulled out some paperwork and showed it to him.
"Most of it's been finalized. There might still be residual payments due from the Director's Guild rules, but that's long-term revenue—only a small percentage."
The document was crystal clear: Get Out of Death Town had grossed $165 million at the North American box office. Although a few remote theaters were still screening it, those earnings were negligible—purely theater chain profits.
Globally, the film had brought in over $300 million, but the overseas revenue had nothing to do with Wayne.
According to the director contract he signed with Warner Bros., if the film's domestic box office reached ten times its production budget—$50 million—he would receive 5% of the North American gross as a performance bonus.
At $100 million, that share would increase to 10%.
At $150 million, 15%.
While Warner had always believed in his potential, they clearly hadn't anticipated such an explosive box office return.
As a result, per the terms of the agreement, Wayne was now entitled to 15% of the North American gross—a staggering $24.75 million.
This income was guaranteed. Apart from filing taxes by April 15 next year, Wayne didn't need to lift a finger for it.
"Look at that number, Wayne—what a beautiful, blinding number!" Jimmy was flushed with excitement, practically waving his arms in the air.
He had every reason to be thrilled. A significant portion of that windfall would be coming his way. It was far more than what CAA had ever paid him.
"Tax shelters, Jimmy. Colin!" Wayne was also elated, but his first reaction on seeing the number was a pang of distress. In North America, taxes were the one thing you could never escape. In a country built on rebellion against taxation, the only two certainties were death and taxes.
With over $20 million in cash at stake, just mentally estimating the tax bill was enough to make Wayne's face twitch in pain.
Despite the lingering imprint of an Eastern soul in his body, Wayne had fully transformed into a textbook Jewish capitalist.
"Colin, I need you to set up a charitable foundation ASAP. Jimmy, help him expedite everything."
There were plenty of perfectly legal tax avoidance methods in the U.S., and one of the most effective was charity. That's why nearly every high-earning figure in Hollywood had their own charitable foundation.
Most celebrities ran all their income through their foundations. Everything from clothing and dining to real estate was paid out of the foundation's account. The internal workings of this setup were virtually impossible to audit thoroughly.
Wayne was planning to do the same. Once his foundation was registered, all his living expenses—including the upkeep of his estate—would be routed through it.
Even if he did end up spending some real money on legitimate charity, it was still better than handing it over to the IRS. At least he'd earn a little goodwill in return.
"Warner Bros. will wire the revenue share to Garfield Studio's account tomorrow," Colin Howard said calmly. "I'll begin the charity registration process right away—don't worry about that."
In fact, as Wayne's accountant and financial advisor, Colin found this job far less stressful than working under his own father back in the Howard family. Most of his work involved keeping an eye on Wayne's stock holdings in New York, with barely any concern over returns.
Sure, it didn't challenge his full skill set—but who wouldn't love a high-paying, low-stress gig?
"Wayne," he added, "do you have any plans for large cash expenditures coming up?"
That question reminded Wayne about the stock portfolio he'd all but forgotten since his initial purchases.
"I recommend continuing to buy shares in Microsoft and Oracle," Colin advised. "You could also look into other internet companies. These two have shown stable growth in their valuations. Honestly, anything remotely linked to the internet right now is shooting up like crazy."
Colin's suggestion snapped Wayne back to reality. Buying more of those two stocks was easily the safest investment. As long as he exited before the inevitable bubble burst, he'd be in great shape.