"Mrs. Haywood, the new contracts are all here for your review."
"If everything is in order, we can proceed to sign officially."
Warner moved quickly.
The next day at noon, Nathan Bailey, who had received the fax, appeared before Vivian.
He had already spent six months at Leavesden and felt like he had been exiled. So, when the ticket home was finally within reach, the scruffy, bearded man's face lit up with an excited smile.
It was the kind of joy one might feel after recovering from a serious illness, almost drooling with relief.
But unfortunately…
"Okay, set the contracts down. I'll review them once the lawyer arrives."
Vivian smiled and saw him off.
Nathan Bailey's expression stiffened. He nodded helplessly and walked away with multiple backward glances…
He didn't want to leave!
He wanted to go home!!!
Vivian understood Nathan Bailey's feelings.
But at this moment, there was nothing she could do. Signing a contract was a serious matter, so…
"Oh, Mrs. Haywood, thank you again for trusting me!"
Two hours later.
The same bald lawyer, Valentin O'Connor, sporting his usual formidable hairstyle, arrived at Leavesden in his car.
He was already aware of the mistakes made two years prior.
He had reviewed the contract when they initially purchased the script and admitted his error back then.
Hollywood was too complicated; who could have known there were two ways to calculate global box office? If a movie wasn't released worldwide, how could anyone claim global box office numbers? Using a single region's first screening date as the worldwide release was nonsense! Normally, a lawyer might argue, having dealt with many large corporations and Fortune 500 companies. But AOL-Time Warner?
Cough, cough…
They had already settled the money. If I get blamed, fine—I didn't lose out, right?
Seeing his apologetic smile, Vivian shook her head and invited the bald lawyer to sit. She didn't dwell on past mistakes. Warner was a giant among giants; if they wanted to mess with someone, most couldn't resist. Therefore…
"Let's look at the contract."
"This time, check carefully. If anything is uncertain, tell me—I can get industry experts to review it."
"Got it! No problem!"
The bald lawyer picked up the contract and got to work decisively. As he flipped through the pages, the new offer from Warner appeared before Vivian.
Previously, for The Voice project, Warner had offered Isabella £2.5 million plus a 2.5% share of all revenues—a bundled package covering the script, The Climb, acting, and producing.
Since Isabella didn't want to give up copyright, the various revenues were separated. Now, Warner's offer for Isabella's acting remained £1 million, producing still offered 2.5% of all revenues, and the £1 million for the script was removed and replaced with 2.5% of all revenues while Isabella retained the copyright.
Thus, Isabella's total income from The Voice—acting + script + producing—was £1 million plus 5% of all revenues. As for The Climb…
That was trickier.
Warner didn't know whether Isabella might suddenly add songs during filming, which was common in the industry—look at MJ and Madonna. So Warner decided to pay per song: $100,000 per song. Ten songs, $1 million. When Warner only paid usage fees, they didn't claim music copyright.
Warner still held the rights to physical distribution of music in The Voice for ten years after the film's release. During this period, whether releasing a soundtrack, singles, or albums, Isabella could take 40–50% of sales revenue: 40% for singles, 50% for albums.
Two examples:
If only one song from The Climb was included in The Voice, and it performed well, Warner could release it as a single. In North America, the highest price for a physical single was $3.99 (Backstreet Boys, Destiny's Child, Britney). Isabella would get 40% of $3.99 = $1.596 per copy. If 10 million copies sold, that's $15.96 million. Singing could earn more than acting—hence her insistence on retaining copyright.
If all songs in The Voice were good and Warner released a soundtrack, Isabella's share would depend on the number of songs she contributed. Suppose the soundtrack had ten songs: for standard ($25.99), deluxe ($29.99), and collector's ($59.99) editions, her share = (price ÷ total tracks) × number of her songs × 50%. Using collector's edition and two songs: 59.99 ÷ 10 × 2 × 50% = $5.999 per album. If all songs were hers: 59.99 ÷ 10 × 10 × 50% = $29.995.
Even if these numbers looked impressive, Warner, without holding copyrights, didn't cover production costs. Song production costs money. Unless Isabella did everything herself with a studio, she had to pay. Warner didn't allow her to include music costs in film production.
These terms only applied to original songs. Cover songs had separate rules. If Warner helped obtain cover rights, Warner held recording copyrights and Isabella earned 5% of total revenue. If Isabella obtained rights herself, she retained recording copyright, and Warner only handled distribution.
Regarding payment to original songwriters, that was her responsibility.
With Disney now meddling, Warner—or rather Barry Meyer—made their stance clear: no games, just straightforward accounting. Once capital stopped taking your surplus value, contracts had no room to grow—unless you ran your own company.
Warner clearly specified revenue, formulas, payment schedules, and safeguards—this was the best contract possible.
Compared to The Voice, the Harry Potter contract renewal was simpler. Prisoner of Azkaban and Goblet of Fire signed together: £12 million total, no bonuses. Endorsement restrictions remained, with Warner approval required. Contract value £5 million, up £4 million. Restrictions modified: if another studio invited Isabella and was on the Greenlight List, she could go without Warner's permission—only one company on the list:
The Walt Disney Company
This was added after Barry Meyer was frustrated by Robert Iger.
"When everyone knows each other, anything can be negotiated."
"Isabella, I think the new contract is fine. What about you?"
That night, in the dormitory, Vivian handed the contract to Isabella.
Being a minor, Isabella couldn't sign, so theoretically, only Vivian's approval was needed for the contract to take effect. But Vivian wasn't that type of person.
"I think it's good. Warner spelled out the terms, but there are two small details…"
"Mom, will you be credited?"
After reading, Isabella looked at her mother, referring to producing credit.
In Warner's eyes, The Voice was Isabella and Columbus' project; the offer reflected that.
But Isabella couldn't accept it as a minor. When she had her own company, the 2.5% script royalties could be investment income, not going into a trust. Producing income counted as labor income and must enter the trust—even if she could withdraw only 20%.
The project had changed dramatically, so she couldn't predict final earnings. But she had confidence in herself—or Hermione Granger.
Assuming total revenue reached $200 million, 2.5% = $5 million in the trust. Nightmare scenario. HP's earnings were always handled this way.
Having her mother credited as producer was Isabella's preferred solution, legally allowed.
And…
"Isabella."
"Hmm?"
"Come here."
Vivian beckoned. Isabella leaned in, and her mother kissed her forehead.
Her actions said it all. Since her mother approved, Isabella trusted her wouldn't squander the earnings. A separate contract was needed for producer royalties. The second detail concerned…
"Kesha… you… 0.5?"
She meant giving Catherine 0.5% of script royalties—20% of the total 2.5%, the industry standard for non-creative contributors.
Catherine wrote the Screenplay by credit. Isabella treated her as a ghostwriter but wouldn't let her work for free.
"Oh~ Isabella~"
Catherine smiled, arms open. Isabella hugged her. After calming down, Catherine said, "Thanks, but 0.5 is a bit much, and I shouldn't take money—it's yours anyway."
"So, if it's just for accounting, give me £1."
"Otherwise… you'd never let me buy anything, right?"
"No way!" Isabella shook her head.
"Okay, done."
Catherine lightly kissed Isabella's forehead. Since she didn't want the money, Isabella didn't insist—she'd take care of her sister anyway.
Just as she thought the long-stalled project could finally move forward…
"Uh… there's actually one more thing…"
Do you want me to do that?
Vivian spoke again, placing a neatly bound document in front of her youngest daughter.
"This is the file Nathan Bailey sent along with the contract. It contains Warner's proposed revisions to The Voice."
Isabella and Catherine furrowed their brows slightly. After reviewing the document…
"I'm not changing it."
Isabella immediately rejected Nathan Bailey's proposed ending.
She wanted to make a dream-chasing film—why force it into a moralizing, pretentious ending?
Nathan Bailey had said that doing so might earn an Oscar, but—
She was only twelve years old!
An Oscar at twelve?
Nonsense! The judges wouldn't give her one!
Since they had reached consensus, the next day Vivian conveyed her requirements to Nathan Bailey. Upon learning that Vivian had no objections to the contract's details and only needed certain income recipients adjusted, the young man, who hadn't slept all night, suddenly perked up.
"Mrs. Haywood, please wait a moment. I'll contact headquarters to have the legal department revise the contract and send it over."
An hour later, the revised contract appeared before Vivian.
Two hours later, with the bald lawyer's confirmation, Vivian and Nathan Bailey completed the signing for The Voice.
Three hours later, David Heyman arrived at Leavesden to sign the follow-up Harry Potter contract.
The scent of ink and paper filled the studio. Signing all the contracts meant Isabella would be working for Warner for at least 36 more months.
"Wow! I didn't think in the 21st century there were still sweatshops!"
"Even worse—it's right here in London!"
"Am I really going to spend the next thirty-six months here?"
"This is a nightmare!"
Isabella leaned back, sighing deeply.
Her dramatic expression clearly showed she was an actress; someone unaware might think she had traveled through time! Her small, pained face resembled that of a miner from two centuries ago, wearing overalls and a helmet, digging coal—only weathered.
"Stop! No more acting."
Columbus rolled his eyes at the dramatics. "Sweatshops don't pay you like this."
"Hehe."
Isabella bit her lip and laughed.
Indeed, after signing the contracts, she was wrapped in joy.
Guaranteed annual income of $10 million for the next few years—pretty good!
At this rate, her net worth would soon surpass her cheap old dad's.
Huh? Earth Online suddenly seemed easy!
While giggling, she looked at Columbus. "Director, did you sign too?"
"Of course. You think Warner would let me off?"
Columbus thought Isabella's question was silly.
"And your contract…"
Isabella's curiosity perked.
If Warner was letting her off easily, Columbus should be getting more.
"Ten points."
Columbus understood her question. "Not only did it increase by 2.5, it's now full-series."
"Wow~~~"
Isabella's voice twisted with admiration.
She was jealous. She understood Columbus's words: he was getting the legendary 10+10!In Hollywood, 10+10 meant $10 million base salary plus 10% box office revenue.
In reality, full 10+10 meant $10 million base plus 10% of all revenue.
Box office alone didn't make Hollywood money; most films lose money. Real profit came from video sales, merchandising, and distribution rights.
To sit at the table, you needed to reach into these areas.
Fixed salaries = entry level.
North American box office share = mid-tier.
Global box office share = superstar.
Even superstars were pawns if they didn't touch the studio's reserves.
And now…
"Isabella, aren't you a bit too excited?"
"Huh? Director? Why do you say that?"
"You seem a little crazy. Didn't you just get 5%?"
"Hehe~"
Isabella laughed.
She was only pretending to envy Columbus; truly, she was happy for herself.
Her 5% also applied to the entire revenue series.
Maybe making money was fun, maybe it made her feel elevated—after signing, she giddily lost control for a while. Only when Vivian scolded her did she calm down.
Once normal, they turned to business.
The date: June 5, 2002. The Chamber of Secrets wrap was scheduled for late July. With tasks assigned to specific people, work could proceed step by step.
But The Voice presented a tougher challenge.
Warner wanted filming to begin immediately after Chamber wrapped. Preparation time: only two months. Normally sufficient, but under current circumstances…
"We need a professional casting director, a professional cinematographer, a professional stylist, and most importantly, an executive producer to handle everything when I'm unavailable."
Columbus flipped through the script as he spoke.
The Voice script had been completed by April, and storyboards were mostly finished. Simply put, anyone could pick up a camera and start filming.
Previously, Columbus simplified preparations, so Isabella thought starting The Voice wouldn't be difficult. But now, after hearing him…
"Director."
Having been scolded by her mom, she was a good girl again and raised her hand.
"I understand the need for a cinematographer and stylist, but why a casting director?"
"Bob needs one female role, and Endeavor has two leads. Including me, that's six main roles. Finding two more—can't you just recommend someone?"
Isabella trusted Columbus's eye.
But…
"Oh~ Isabella~ are you trying to do the producer's job?"
Columbus raised his head, teasing her. "Next, you'll want to learn directing and kick me out, huh?"
"…"
She pouted.
He hadn't responded to her earlier joking excitement, and now he was teasing again.
Her frustration amused him.
When he noticed Isabella sneakily glancing at her mom for permission to retaliate, he felt satisfied and said:
"Isabella, here's the thing. Even though Bob and Endeavor each need lead roles, their recommendations still go through auditions. That's the rule in this industry. To keep playing here, we must follow the rules."
"Even if their candidates fit, other roles still require open auditions. Hence, the casting director."
"For example, we need a boy around your age—a rival in the first phase of the film. Honestly, Malfoy fits; he looks like a villain. He could play a trained choir boy, but together with you, audiences would be distracted. So, open casting is unavoidable."
"Also, in national competitions, your opponent cannot be an adult. We want the protagonist to be an untrained singing prodigy. Only a genius can be defeated by another genius, making the audience thrilled. Adults would undermine this narrative."
"Finally, in the finals, your opponent must be a peer and female, with abundant resources. This clash makes audiences root for you—they identify with you, or you embody their aspirations."
"So tell me, without a casting director, where would I find a little girl like that?"
"Not from Hermione Granger's backups, right?"
"No way. If we did, the media would report a 'Real vs. Fake Hermione' showdown. Win or lose, HP couldn't continue filming."
"Casting is serious, especially when you're famous. Do we still need a casting director?"
Columbus raised the script, eyebrow cocked at Isabella.
She nodded decisively.
At that moment, the joy she'd felt vanished.
Columbus's meticulous planning made her realize how complex filmmaking really was.
She could relax now only because Chris Columbus was strong.
And she…
Admitted she was being carried along.
10+10 should belong to Columbus.
Approved!
Hehe~