Before Pirates of the Caribbean blew up, Disney's film division was mostly built around animation, with live-action as a side dish. So at the moment, their library of live-action projects was pretty thin.
And most of what they did have were novel adaptations.
For example, the first project Isabella saw was called Ice Princess.
It was based on an unpublished manuscript by Meg Cabot, the author of The Princess Diaries. The story followed a girl who gave up her studies to chase her dream, eventually becoming a champion figure skater.
Isabella had no recollection of this one.
She skimmed the synopsis and tossed it aside.
But even if she had remembered it—and even if it was well-written—she wouldn't have taken it anyway.
Because Ice Princess was another "follow your dreams" story, same as The Voice.
An actor can't just keep milking the same kind of role.
That's how audiences get tired of you.
Next up was Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen.
That one she remembered—it was a 1999 New York Times bestseller by Dyan Sheldon.
The story's about a New York girl who dreams of being on Broadway, but because of her family, she's forced to move to boring, rundown New Jersey. She's miserable… but eventually becomes a local legend.
It rang a bell for Isabella because it had been turned into a movie back in her past life—the one called Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen, starring Lindsay Lohan.
Box office? Meh. So...
Pass.
Even if it had made money, Isabella wouldn't have done it.
Same reason as Ice Princess.
After she went through all the book-based stuff, two superhero projects popped up next: Enchanted and Sky High.
The first one was about a fairytale princess who falls into the real world and has a bunch of whimsical adventures. In Isabella's past life, Amy Adams starred in it. The film did fine. But Isabella still passed.
Not because it was bad—just because the main character was a bit too "sweet, naive, and sparkly."
Playing someone like that would clash hard with Hermione Granger's sharp, intelligent image. So…
No.
The second project was Disney's attempt to cash in on the superhero craze.
Fox had mutants, Sony had that spider "Man," Warner Bros had Harry Potter on the left and DC on the right. There's no way Disney could afford to be left out.
So they brought in Bob Schooley and Mark McCorkle, the guys behind Kim Possible, and had them write a teen superhero movie.
That's how Sky High came to be.
It was about the son of two superheroes who doesn't have powers. His parents send him to a superhero school, where after lots of humiliation and effort, he turns from loser to hero.
Even if Isabella couldn't recall this movie from her past life, she was sure it had either bombed or been terrible.
Because original superhero movies never sold. The market was too small.
She clearly remembered how even Will Smith's Hancock—an original superhero flick—failed to profit, and that was Will Smith at his peak.
Audiences only wanted heroes that came from comics. So Sky High?
Pass.
After rejecting all the adaptations and superhero projects, Disney didn't have much left.
Among the original concepts, only one piqued Isabella's interest: The Game Plan.
A sports comedy.
It told the story of a football player who discovers he has a daughter from a previous marriage. His manager wants him to abandon her to focus on his career, but the player decides family matters more.
Basically, a typical Disney family film.
The kind you don't have to think about to make or watch. Critics hate them, box office loves them.
Still, Isabella couldn't take it.
It was a star vehicle—a film tailor-made for Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson.
He'd started crossing over into Hollywood around 2000. Since he already had fame from sports, studios loved building projects around his persona.
But, bluntly speaking, not all star vehicles are created equal.
And The Rock's status wasn't on Isabella's level.
Taking his project would be downgrading herself.
Sure, people do that sometimes—for fame, money, whatever.
But The Rock?
Not worth it.
"Man, Disney really is hopeless."
Less than an hour later, Isabella had finished Robert Iger's email.
She tossed her mouse aside, leaned back, and grinned at her sister.
"Looks like Bob's only getting a big fat 'Sorry' from me."
"Yeah, I figured as much," Catherine said.
Thanks to Chris Columbus's coaching, Catherine could now tell a good project from a disaster just by reading the summary.
She knew most of what Iger sent was garbage.
Still, she said, "Enchanted and The Game Plan aren't completely useless. They'd work for a newcomer."
"Oh? Producer Haywood, you mean that newcomer Margot?" Isabella laughed.
"Mhm," Catherine lifted a brow. "Of course. We already talked about her, remember? So…"
"What do you think?"
If little Robbie (Margot) was ambitious, smart, and her family didn't object to her acting, then pulling her up wouldn't hurt.
Not because she was pretty—though she was.
Hollywood was full of pretty girls.
Of course, Isabella wouldn't help for free.
If she started an agency, signed Robbie, and found her a project—that'd be the smart move.
Make some profit while helping her rise.
Even Spielberg took a cut from his protégés' IP rights.
Chris Columbus's Gremlins, Robert Zemeckis's Back to the Future—both owned by Spielberg's Amblin.
And Spielberg didn't just take; he shared profits and gave them creative control.
That's why people respected him—he looked after his people.
Young filmmakers usually had no power to negotiate for rights. But if someone like Spielberg fought for you and still gave you a fair cut?
You'd worship him forever.
Starting a company sounded easy but was a logistical nightmare.
For Isabella, finding projects for Robbie would be simple.
Like, she could just call Bob Iger and get direct access to Disney's script library.
Even without knowing Barry Meyer personally, Warner Bros wouldn't slam the door on her.
Paramount, Fox, Universal, Sony—she didn't know their execs yet, but come on. None of them would ignore her call.
So as long as Robbie signed with her, Isabella could find her work—or even make her famous—without breaking a sweat.
The only reason she hadn't done it yet was because she hadn't really known Robbie.
Helping someone you don't know isn't charity—it's stupidity.
You don't have to kiss her shoes, but at least show some respect when asking for help. That's basic social sense.
Now, though...
She had to admit, Robbie's attitude was good.
The real problem was time. Isabella had none.
She hadn't even visited her own company headquarters—Beaver Mouse—since it was founded a year ago.
Too busy.
Her sister Catherine couldn't run a company either—if she left, Isabella would have no assistant-slash-playmate—and besides, Catherine was still a kid.
She'd been born January 18, 1987, so even after her upcoming 2003 birthday, she'd only be sixteen.
Way too young.
As for their mom…
She could, but she had to keep an eye on Isabella's filming schedule.
Without her, the Harry Potter set would grind to a halt.
"Fine, fine, fine. Let's just wait a bit," Isabella sighed. "See if anyone discovers our little Margot first."
After listing all the roadblocks one by one, Catherine could only shake her head, half-laughing.
She glanced out the window. London's sky was already dark.
It was 5:30. She stood up. "You done working?"
"I still need to send Bob a sorry email."
"Okay. I'll go check what's for dinner."
"Sure, I'll join you when I'm done."
Writing the reply wouldn't take long.
Once Isabella finished and stepped out of the bedroom, she'd finally be free for a while.
She sat at the dining table, eating a meal prepared by Warner Bros' Michelin-star chef.
And since there was nothing left to do, they all decided to take a little trip.
Vivian suggested Australia at first.
But as soon as she said it, little Robbie—who was eating with them—started shaking her head furiously.
"No, no, no, no, Aunt Vivian, can we not go to Australia?"
"Why?"
Vivian blinked at her.
Though it was phrased like a question, Isabella and Catherine could already see the mischievous smile in their mother's eyes.
"She's teasing the kid."
Isabella shot her sister a look.
"Because she can't tease us anymore."
Catherine nodded back, smiling knowingly.
"Aunt Vivian, I know why you want to go to Australia," little Robbie said seriously. "You probably want to visit my home, right? That's fine, but… if I go back, my mom probably won't let me come out again."
She didn't notice the sisters' silent exchange—she was too busy explaining herself earnestly.
"My mom really doesn't like troubling other people. If she finds out I've been staying in London without a job… she'll definitely scold me."
"And then… I'll probably be grounded…"
"So… I don't want to go back."
"Oh~~ okay, okay, okay~~"
Vivian had half-expected that answer.
Only a strictly disciplined family could raise such a thoughtful, sensitive girl like Robbie.
Still, no amount of guessing could compare to hearing the truth straight from the person herself.
If you don't say it—don't honestly say it—how can anyone know what you really think?
Since Robbie didn't want to return to Australia, they'd just pick somewhere else to travel.
After a quick discussion—
"Let's go to Iceland," Catherine suggested. "We might even see the northern lights this time of year."
"No problem," Isabella replied instantly. "I can have fun anywhere."
"I'm fine with it too," said Vivian, nodding. "As long as I don't have to plan anything."
As she said that, all three of them turned to look at Robbie.
Their meaning was clear: Well?
"Me? I'm fine too," Robbie said.
For a moment under their collective gaze, she looked nervous. But soon, her face brightened into a warm smile—the kind that comes from feeling genuinely included.
With the destination settled, they called Warner.
When Isabella accidentally let slip to Warner's security team that she wanted to visit Iceland—
On January 2, Warner's people took them shopping for supplies.
On the morning of January 3, as the four of them got up, the security team informed them that their flight to Iceland was booked for 3 p.m.
The local guide, vehicles, and even the northern lights tour routes and convoy had all been arranged.
Ah, the power of capital.
Like having a real-life Doraemon. Heh~
But while Isabella and her group were leaving London, documents related to her—and her father—were flying across the Atlantic like snowflakes.
They crossed North America, traveling from old London to the sunny West Coast.
When the Weinstein brothers finally finished digging through hundreds of pages of reports, their faces were filled with disappointment.
"How can there be nothing wrong?" Harvey said in disbelief.
"Martin, are you sure this information is reliable?"
Bob's brow furrowed, eyes sharp as he stared at Martin Lewis across the table.
Even though Bob always said "the public never craves the truth," when it came to attacking Isabella, they needed real dirt.
Pure fabrication wouldn't sway Ted Turner.
If Turner were willing to take down the Ross family using false rumors, he'd have done it already.
But he hadn't—because he couldn't.
And because the Ross family wasn't exactly defenseless.
If you flipped the table…
They had guns too.
So the brothers' top priority now was to dig up something real. But the matter was tricky, so they turned to an ally—Martin Lewis—for help.
And now—
"Of course the information's solid," Martin said casually, puffing on a cigar. "I got it from the British government and Barclays."
"Eric Haywood's record at Barclays was quite clean. He didn't do anything shady. Probably because of his department, too—private banking. It's a very particular branch. If the staff aren't squeaky clean, the clients will riot."
Martin Lewis was a Brit.
He wore many hats—writer, radio and TV host, producer, strategist.
But his most important title was member of Amnesty International—in fact, one of its "Round Table Knights."
His claim to fame had been raising Amnesty's early operating funds.
Between 1976 and 1981, he organized countless charity events and invited celebrities to perform, funneling all proceeds to Amnesty International's accounts.
Uh…
Amnesty International isn't exactly a group most normal people know deeply.
To put it vaguely—it wielded as much "magical power" as Christian Bale's stepmother.
Bale's stepmother fought for women's rights; Amnesty fought for human rights.
And—
The whole organization was, well… heavily Jewish in its core structure, waving the banner of "human rights" while engaging in... ahem... let's just say, "global activities."
Details are easy to find online—the encyclopedia entry's second line already defines it clearly.
So, when even that powerful network said Isabella's father had nothing wrong with him…
The situation became a real problem.
The brothers' frustration made Martin Lewis cough lightly.
"You two really hate this little girl that much?" he asked.
"It's not hate," Harvey said flatly. "She's just in our way."
"You could always try for the Oscars again next year."
"We can wait. Others can't," Harvey shot back bluntly.
His honesty made Martin chuckle.
He flicked ash from his cigar, crossed one leg over the other, and said leisurely, "Alright, alright. Don't get too worked up."
"Since you've come to me, I'll make sure it gets handled."
"After Eric Haywood passed away, all of his affairs were handled by a lawyer named Valentine O'Connor."
"Our people are already investigating him."
That reassurance finally made the Weinstein brothers exhale in relief.
They smiled, about to thank him when—
Riiiing—
The phone on the table rang.
It was Martin's. He picked it up at once.
But before he could even say a polite "Hello," a panicked voice came from the other end—
"Martin? Our men have been caught."
"What???"