Since Isabella had already realized that in the whole prep work for The Voice she was basically nothing more than a mascot, she simply gave up the "consultant" title on her own and quietly watched Columbus keep busy.
She wasn't dumb.
If she didn't understand something, she wasn't about to barge in blindly before she learned it. Last thing she wanted was to make more trouble.
And under her watch, Columbus showed what "top Hollywood connections" really looked like—
First, he made a call to Michael Barnathan, the executive producer of Philosopher's Stone and Chamber of Secrets. Fifteen minutes later the man showed up right in front of them.
Barnathan was basically Columbus's go-to producer. They'd been working together for eight years. Nine Months, The Christmas Dad, Stepmom, Bicentennial Man—all those projects had Barnathan handling the prep. So, with The Voice under Columbus's full control, dumping the nitty-gritty chores on Barnathan was just natural.
Barnathan didn't even blink before taking the job. Then, when he heard the "boss" wanted a location director and costume designer who knew British history and art, he immediately named two: Michael Ford and Raymond Hughes.
Ford was a British set designer and art director. Empire Strikes Back, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Return of the Jedi, A Passage to India, GoldenEye, Titanic—he had worked on all of them, even winning two Oscars. If anyone could bring Columbus's "historical progression" vision to life, it was him.
Sure, born in 1928, the man was 74 now and mostly retired. But just because nobody else could get him out didn't mean Amblin couldn't. They were old friends.
Hughes, on the other hand, was a well-known British costume designer and art director. He'd designed the costumes for Michael Caine's Jack the Ripper, Michael Hordern's King Lear, and Young Sherlock Holmes. Since The Voice was supposed to be a British road movie reflecting the clash between countryside and city, Hughes's touch would give it a proper local flavor.
And Columbus already knew him—Young Sherlock Holmes was his project after all.
With targets clear, Columbus dialed them up directly. A little small talk, and in less than half an hour both men agreed to join The Voice. One would come tomorrow, the other the day after, meeting them at Leavesden.
As long as the production direction was confirmed, they could start within a week.
The speed of it made Isabella purse her lips.
One minute Columbus had been describing prep work like it was hell on earth, and the next, everything was settled? Seriously?
"Putting on a show just to mess with me?"
The girl felt this guy was a real trickster.
But before she could mutter complaints, Columbus and Barnathan suddenly turned to her.
"Isa."
"Hm?"
"There's something you can help with."
"What thing?"
She thought Columbus was just bored and looking to tease her. Nope—he was serious.
"Can you call Susie? Susie Figgis. I want her as casting director."
"Because I don't know the UK well…"
Earlier, Isabella had insisted The Voice should use only British people. Rowling had been present when she said it, so Columbus decided to respect that. But since his own base wasn't in the UK, it only made sense to get someone who knew the territory.
And who in Britain knew the scene better than Susie Figgis?
The Harry Potter crew really was overpowered.
So…
"Okay, I get it."
Isabella was stunned she actually had a role to play. But Columbus's reasoning was solid, and she wanted The Voice to succeed, so she agreed.
She made the call.
"Isa, you're saying you have a project?"
"Yes, Aunt Susie."
"You're sure it's your project?"
"Of course~ Aunt Susie~ Aunt Annie knows too."
That was enough for Susie to believe her. Since her last project, Touching the Void, had just wrapped, she was free. The very next day she showed up.
And immediately, her eyelid twitched.
"Sweetheart, you're telling me you need a boy your age and a girl your age to play villains, and they both have to be British?" Susie looked at Isabella, face stiff.
"Yes… is there a problem?"
"There's a problem. A very big problem."
Susie spread her hands. "Darling, you auditioned for Harry Potter, right? You know we scoured the entire UK to find the right people, right?
"So when none of the girls who auditioned for Hermione could measure up to you, tell me—where in Britain are you going to find another girl for your Voice? The ones who wanted to act already auditioned for Hermione. The ones who didn't… why would they suddenly want to act in your project?"
"…"
Isabella blinked. Then she glared at Columbus, who sat there with his lips pressed tight, trying not to laugh.
Yeah, he'd seen this bug from the start.
When HP's casting plowed through Britain like a combine harvester through a wheat field, where were you supposed to dig up another theater-loving, talented girl Isabella's age who hadn't already been in that process? It was literally unsolvable.
So Columbus had simply kicked the ball to Isabella. Not shirking responsibility—he just didn't want to say it outright, which could sound like shooting the girl down. He knew everyone had loyalties.
Spielberg had saved him once; he'd stand with Spielberg for life. Not about IQ or EQ—it's just how the world works. Your seat decides your words.
"So Aunt Susie, how would you solve this problem?"
Isabella shot Columbus a glare before looking back at Susie. She wasn't mad—truthfully, she got it. Columbus and Rowling already had tension. The fact they could even work together was fragile enough. It was better if someone from Isabella's "side" said the uncomfortable thing.
Besides, casting a little girl as a villain had been Columbus's bright idea in the first place.
Susie watched them play charades, exchanged a look with Columbus, and sighed. Everyone had their binds. But they also really wanted to make a good movie.
"This is hard, but not impossible," Susie said. "If you insist on only the British Isles, you won't start shooting in August. But if you expand to the Commonwealth—Australia, New Zealand—you'll have plenty of choices."
The Commonwealth was basically an empty shell by then, but still the British Empire's lingering shadow. Picking from there didn't really feel like betraying the "all British" stance.
And honestly, Isabella hadn't meant that rule too literally. She wasn't deeply attached to Britain. She lived by simple principles: if someone treated her well, she'd treat them well. That was it.
So… Commonwealth?
"Okay, no problem."
Isabella nodded.
"Then it's settled. I'll prepare. In three days I'll fly to Australia. Oh, the boy can still be found in the UK. Since Harry and Ron's candidates don't overlap with you."
Susie came fast and left fast. And Isabella gave Columbus the cold shoulder.
She could understand his move, but didn't approve.
Brother, we're grasshoppers tied to the same rope here! Why waste time not being direct?
Her sulky turn made Columbus glance at Barnathan.
"Go buy some snacks in London."
"Alright."
"And remember, Isa doesn't like sweets."
"Got it."
Isabella wasn't actually angry, so when the snacks showed up she reluctantly smiled again. Though… the smile didn't last.
Watching Rupert gnaw away—ice cream cone in one hand, hot cocoa in the other—made her teeth ache.
"Rupert, do you really like ice cream that much?"
"Mm-hmm."
He nodded like a pecking chick, mumbling through mouthfuls, "Isa, you know my dream? To have an ice cream truck! I don't have time now, but once I'm done with HP, I'll set up a street stand!"
Legendary. Isabella respected that dream.
Daniel's eyes sparkled too, his sundae forgotten in hand.
"Count me in when you do. I want to join."
"Sure, sure!"
"…."
With the casting director, location designer, and costume designer confirmed, The Voice was finally on track. Once the project team was formally established, Barnathan did the standard routine: registering a company to handle the books. That's when Disney and Endeavor moved in, flexing their influence by recommending their own people.
At first, Isabella thought Disney would push an American. She hadn't told Bob Iger she only wanted Brits. So when the résumé came through, her first thought was—oh no, how do I say no to an American?
Then she saw the name: Keira Knightley.
Wait—that was Elizabeth Swann from Pirates of the Caribbean.
Barnathan noticed Isabella's pause and assumed she was interested. So he explained her background: "Keira's British. Both parents are in the industry. Since they were busy, she basically grew up on sets, started acting at nine. She even played Natalie's handmaiden in The Phantom Menace. Lucas liked her, so he mentioned her to people.
"Now Jerry Bruckheimer is making Pirates of the Caribbean for Disney, based on the theme park ride. Since the heroine is the governor's daughter, British, Keira got cast. But because she's still a no-name, Iger wants to slot her in our film for exposure."
Barnathan added, "Their male lead has a rough reputation—Johnny Depp. So Bob's nervous and wants to give the project an extra push. Timing works too. We start in August, Pirates starts in September or October."
So yeah, Keira was industry-born. Mom was an actress-turned-playwright, friend of Ian Charleson (of Chariots of Fire), even wrote about him. Dad owned a West End theatre.
Disney had even once tried to make her a "Disney Princess" with Princess of Thieves. That bombed, while The Princess Diaries made Anne Hathaway a star. Irony of ironies, Hathaway later stumbled, while Keira bounced back with Ella Enchanted and Pirates. The tables turned.
Not Isabella's problem.
So Keira would play her sister? Fine.
"How much is her fee?"
"Fifty thousand."
"Fifty thousand? Pounds?"
"Yeah. She hasn't had a breakout hit. That's the type-cast rate."
"Okay, no problem."
That was dirt cheap.
Then she looked at Endeavor's picks. Jude Law and Sadie Frost. They wanted them for her dad and mom in the film.
On paper, no big deal. But the choice reeked of "our people."
Jude Law was British. His Hollywood debut was Clint Eastwood's Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Then came The Talented Mr. Ripley with Spielberg's goddaughter Gwyneth Paltrow. Then Spielberg's A.I. And Columbus? His connection here was obvious.
Sadie Frost was Jude's wife, also British. On the surface, fine. But dig deeper: her father, David Vaughan, was a well-known psychedelic artist who designed the Beatles' tour sets. More importantly, the Queen's only sister was a huge fan of Vaughan.
And that was the real kicker.
So obsessed that all of David Vaughan's artistic endeavors were bankrolled by her.
Why was Jude Law able to get in with Spielberg and the others?
Easy.
Because his wife was a powerhouse.
Her connections in the film industry were all A+ level. She knew Martin Landau, Gabriel Byrne—while others saw Francis Ford Coppola as The Godfather, to her he was just someone she could ring up.
So…
"I'm curious—do these two really need my project?"
After reading through the résumés, Isabella couldn't help but laugh.
She thought Endeavor must be out of its mind.
They pushed forward two people who were the least in need of resources.
"Oh, darling, you've got it wrong. It's exactly because they don't need resources that Endeavor is pushing them."
Barnathan, who was going over the documents with her, explained: "Patrick holds a ton of agency contracts. If we handed our project to people who actually need it, they'd fight over it till next year without any result."
"By tying up with us and doing things other agents can't, that's Patrick's real play. He takes projects just to flex, not to let his clients scrap over them. So…"
"Uh-huh?"
Barnathan had been around Leavesden for two years.
He knew Isabella was sharp, so he didn't need to spell it out.
She caught his drift, sighed a little, and in her head there was only one thought:
"Balance exists in all things."
She just wanted to quietly make a movie. Instead, she'd lost count of how many palace-intrigue dramas she'd been forced to watch already.
These people really had too much energy to burn.
"So how much for the two of them?"
"For a project like ours, Jude's 300,000, Sadie's 200,000. Pounds."
"That cheap?"
"Darling, not everyone debuts aiming at a billion-dollar box office."
"Hahahaha~~~"
Isabella laughed, and just as she was about to return Endeavor's files to Barnathan, she realized she had one résumé left unread. On it was written… Christian Bale.
"This is…"
She shook the résumé of the future Batman.
"Oh, Endeavor wants Christian to compete for Uncle's role."
Barnathan explained, "And they're confident, because Christian isn't ordinary either…"
Batman, of course, wasn't ordinary.
As a child, Christian had already worked with Spielberg.
But that was only the surface. The deeper story was about his father.
His father's name was David Bale: a social activist, animal rights advocate, board member of the Humane Society of the United States, and trustee of the powerful Ark Trust Fund.
Impressive enough titles, right?
But the real flex was his father's choice in partners.
In 2000, David Bale remarried. His new wife? Gloria Steinem.
Yes—that Gloria Steinem. Leader of America's second-wave feminism, founder of Ms. magazine, politically active since the 50s, a scourge to every elephant in politics, and a major vote-puller for the donkeys.
Basically, she alone could be considered a voting bloc.
Christian Bale's family practically had magic powers. Getting him roles was laughably easy.
Not everyone had that kind of dad.
"How much is he?"
"Also 300,000. Pounds."
"Perfect. So now we're just missing a grandpa?"
Isabella decisively closed the résumés.
No need for casting rituals here. Any hesitation would be an insult to power.
"From the looks of it, yes," Barnathan nodded.
"Okay, then you all figure it out. I'm out."
She bounced away.
When casting turns into a game of connections, she wasn't about to get tangled.
The social politics were too convoluted—hand it to the Sorting Hat and it would just babble nonsense.
She was just a teenage girl. Staying pretty and out of the way was good enough, right?
But just when Isabella thought all she needed was to play cute and let things slide, after wrapping reshoots that day, Maggie Smith suddenly called out to her.
"Issa."
"Yes, Professor Maggie?"
"Got a moment? Coffee with me?"
"Sure."
She followed her to a café, flopped into a chair like she had no image to maintain, thinking the old lady really just wanted coffee. But once the door closed, Maggie revealed her real purpose.
"Your new project still needs a grandfather, doesn't it?"
"Uh… yes… Professor Maggie, you have someone in mind?"
"If you'd like, I can recommend someone." Maggie Smith said it plainly: "Someone who can guide your acting, because I've heard… that project has a lot of Americans?"
Christian Bale was British, but had been living in the U.S. since the 90s.
He had a green card.
Jude Law and Sadie Frost were the same—they'd headed stateside and rarely came back.
They had green cards too.
Keira Knightley? No contest. Disney's chosen girl wasn't about to sit around in Britain.
She had one as well.
So, technically, while they still held UK citizenship, in practice… cough. You get it.
In that case, let's just say—even though The Voice was Isabella's project, with Warner as the backer and Columbus directing, firmly on her side, in the past two years she'd really just been acting on instinct.
If the efficiency-obsessed Americans overshadowed her, then…
Wouldn't the girl end up calling Maggie in the middle of the night for help? The old lady would never get a break.
Not that Maggie would admit to being worried.
She wasn't worried the outsiders would sideline Isabella. She was the iron-hearted, stone-faced headmistress, the grumpy old dean.
Even if her tone was sharp, Isabella was grinning as she listened.
Of course she knew she'd be the greenest one in the new cast. So…
Yikes. Bringing in an acting coach straight to the set—wasn't that insulting?
Was she really that hopeless? No way…
"If possible, I'd be very glad."
Yes! An acting coach was exactly what she needed.
Not taking insurance when you can is just dumb.
"Okay, then I'll have Anthony contact Barnathan directly."
Done deal.
Maggie loved her honesty.
Yes meant yes. No meant no. Needing help wasn't shameful. Refusing help when you needed it—that was shameful.
Isabella thanked her with a smile, then asked: "Professor Maggie, who's Anthony?"
"Anthony Hopkins."
"Uh???"
Her smile froze.
She thought she'd misheard.
Maggie, calm as ever, continued: "Anthony was once understudy to Sir Laurence Olivier, in stage theater. We all taught him acting. At the Royal Theatre, he'd call me Dean. Privately… he calls me sister."
"…"
Isabella was speechless.
She'd seen The Silence of the Lambs. Which meant…
She really was the weakest in the whole cast?
No way. She sulked a little.
Okay, she was faking it.
"And his fee?"
"For your kind of project, he usually takes a million."
"Okay, no problem."
100 + 30 + 30 + 20 + 5 = 185.If you added Isabella's own million, The Voice's cast salaries totaled 2.85 million.
Still under Hollywood's 30% line.
Hollywood had an unwritten rule: leads' salaries couldn't exceed 30% of a project's budget.
Not mandatory, just industry consensus.
Once that threshold was crossed, projects rarely worked out.
So, at that point, The Voice's budget was still safe.
Well… the total budget was 10 million. Columbus's directing fee didn't count—that came separately from Warner. If it had to come from the production budget, the project would collapse.
Anthony Hopkins's addition was a total surprise for Isabella. His mastery of acting was beyond question. With him on board… Well, when Columbus heard that Maggie had shoved Hannibal into the cast, he laughed and told Isabella he'd never seen anyone treat an Oscar winner like a babysitter.
That made her want to sock him.
What did Columbus mean by that, huh?
Mocking her?
Really?
But she was too well-bred to stoop to his level.
Hmph!
╭(╯^╰)╮
With the leads all set, Isabella suddenly realized that putting together a cast wasn't hard at all.
Easy-peasy.
She was amazing.
While she happily wrapped up her final scenes in Chamber of Secrets, ready to embrace her very first new film, The Voice, over in…
Australia.
Queensland.
Gold Coast.
At a suburban circus school, a bob-cut girl was practicing static trapeze.
After nailing all the moves and landing neatly on the mat, her little friend rushed over with a towel and water. "Ohhh, Margot! You're amazing! That was beautiful!"
"Thanks."
The girl wiped her face, sipped water, and mentally replayed her routine.
"I think that monkey roll just now wasn't good enough. I need more practice."
"Huh? You're still training today?"
Her friend looked shocked.
"Of course. Why?"
Margot frowned at her, and the friend reminded her: "Don't tell me you forgot—you promised to go to Movie World with me today. No extra training!"
Her words made Margot freeze.
She really had forgotten.
But the next moment, she grinned brightly. "Ohhh, I was just testing if you remembered! Okay then, since you do, let's stop for today…"
"Wait a sec, I'll shower and change, then we'll go to Warner Bros. Movie World together!"