"Oh… I'm sorry…"
"Uncle Valentine, I think I may not have understood what you mean."
Evening of January 6, 2003.
Isabella got a call from her lawyer, Valentine O'Connor — the man with the formidable haircut — while she was in Reykjavík, Iceland.
Right after exchanging greetings, the bald man's first sentence left Isabella bewildered.
Because the first thing he said after "How are you" was, "It looks like someone has you in their sights."
Put aside the fact that she hadn't done anything recently to provoke anyone — actually, scratch that, she never caused trouble — she'd always been a good kid. Even if she'd pissed someone off, it would be some Hollywood type holding a grudge, right? She only ran in Hollywood circles!
So how on earth would Valentine O'Connor, a British lawyer, know she was being targeted?
But after the bald man explained the whole story, Isabella's brow tightened.
"Uncle Valentine, do you mean someone broke into your firm and was caught in the act? And while you were inventorying losses you found that the archives had been tampered with? Only the financial files from before 2000 show evidence of being rifled through? So you suspect whoever did it was after me or my father?"
"Yes."
The man on the phone said, "We don't often handle financial clients, and so far the only financial client who died unexpectedly was your father. The rest, whether alive or dead, haven't had legal troubles. You've been quite high-profile lately, so we wondered whether these people were aiming at you."
That question made Isabella narrow her eyes.
True — she had stepped on a lot of toes lately.
Take Ted Turner for example: since she was standing with the Ross family, Turner certainly hated her guts. And other peers in the industry, girls in the same tier — of course some of them would like to knife her.
But even if those people hated her, they probably wouldn't use Valentine O'Connor — or her convenient dead father — as an entry point.
Reason was simple.
Ted Turner has a hot temper. If he wanted to dig up dirt on the Rosses in public, or to challenge Rupert Murdoch, he'd have done it long ago. He wouldn't wait until now.
And the industry peers? No sane artist would dare move against her directly — that's courting disaster.
So…
"Uncle Valentine, are you certain of your judgment?"
"Isabella, if I remember correctly, I attended your public birthday parties before."
"But I can't imagine who'd want to get at me. So… could it be possible your guess is wrong — that my father owed money?"
Isabella thought maybe the people rifling through her father's files weren't coming for her in person, but for his money.
Her father's business had been complicated. Finance people use leverage; leverage implies loans. If he had debts, then while his death might have cleared things up, if his child suddenly got rich, creditors might resurface.
Don't tell her about contract clauses and prior non-pursuit entitling nothing later. If Western elites had half the contractual integrity they brag about, the world would look very different indeed.
Valentine fell silent for a moment at Isabella's speculation, then said, "I won't say your father never owed debt, but I can tell you that when we handled his affairs, the liquidation and cancellations went smoothly."
If Valentine said that, Isabella turned her gaze to her mother.
Valentine's call had actually been for Vivian.
Vivian didn't have a firm handle on Hollywood matters, so after a brief reply she let her daughter take the call. Of course she didn't leave — she stayed nearby.
With her daughter watching, Vivian said bluntly, "I don't handle your father's work, so I don't know if he had debts. But think: if he had real creditors, would they wait until now to make trouble?"
"In normal circumstances they would have come once you landed the Hermione Granger role."
"Or look at the house in Mayfair — it's worth millions. If your father owed money, the creditors would have evicted us right away."
Vivian's point made sense to Isabella.
So then—
"Uncle Valentine, do you know who the thief was?"
"The police say it was a bankrupt vagrant who broke into our firm just looking for cash to steal."
"Okay, got it. Thanks."
The moment she heard "bankrupt vagrant," Isabella became sure she was being watched.
Global basic education is strongest in the East — Western thieves don't know how to profit from documents. A normal thief can't make sense of legal files; only an educated person can. A bankrupt person with an education? That's a tailor-made identity for a document thief.
So…
"They're after me."
Since these people were playing that game, Isabella summoned the Warner security detail assigned to her.
Her summons left the white security guy who came to take notes a little stunned; he blinked, looked around, and stammered, "W… what?"
Isabella laughed at his dazed look, waving a hand. "No, no — I don't mean I'm being targeted here. I mean someone broke into my house in London; someone's trying to get at me."
At that, the middle-aged man's face went instantly cold.
He nodded, acknowledged, and made a call. About five minutes later he returned, handed his phone to Isabella, and whispered, "Mr. Meyer wants to talk to you."
She raised an eyebrow, took the phone and listened.
"Isabella?"
"Yeah, hello Mr. Meyer. I'm Isabella. Nice to get your call."
"I'm not pleased," Meyer said bluntly. "What's happening? Who's trying to get at you?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"Yeah, I only just got the heads-up…"
Isabella told him what had happened, and Barry Meyer immediately said he'd look into it.
When the call ended, Isabella felt relieved.
Right — she and capital were tied together. Why handle this herself when Warner could flex?
She and the Ross family were in a honeymoon phase. If anyone showed malice, Barry Meyer would be the first to blow up.
"Oh, Isa—"
Vivian watched the whole exchange with feeling.
"Mom?"
She handed the phone back to the security guard and looked at her mother.
"You're smarter than your father," Vivian said, lips pursed. "You know, I never liked it when Eric left Barclays. I thought individual talent can't beat a century-old bank. But… I respected his choice."
Isabella smiled but didn't laugh out loud.
She understood her mother's meaning.
When money reaches a certain scale it becomes a number. Converting that number into capital — creating social relations, stable jobs, tax revenue — that's the real metamorphosis. Those who've read Marx know: capital is not just money. If your money can't be turned into social relations, you're just a pig.
In Vivian's eyes, staying at Barclays might have earned less money, but raised social standing and avoided the jump to risky behavior. Isabella thought that was fair — but people have their own ambitions. Nobody can control another's life.
She dropped the subject and went back to vacation.
After she passed the problem to Warner, Isabella really saw what capital could do.
She mentioned on the night of January 6 that someone was after her, and the next afternoon — January 7 — as she arrived at Iceland's Stokksnes and hadn't even gone to see the rare geysers, Barry Meyer personally called.
"Isabella… it seems like this is what's going on…"
As he spoke, the name Miramax surfaced.
When Isabella learned that the people targeting her were very likely the Weinstein brothers, and that their reason was that The Voice's Oscar push blocked them, she was momentarily speechless.
"Uh… Mr. Meyer…"
"Call me Barry."
"Okay, Barry. I don't remember saying I was going for the Oscars?"
"Yeah, Isa, you're right. But we didn't publicly announce we were dropping the Oscar campaign either."
"So the Weinsteins attacked me based on a 'maybe'?"
"Uh… Isa… you know how the Weinsteins are. They'll do anything to protect their business, and they've invested a lot this year, so…"
Barry stopped mid-sentence; he trusted Isabella to understand.
Isabella did understand. "Okay, I get it. How does Warner want to handle this?"
"That depends on your attitude."
Barry said, "From what I know, once the Weinsteins found out their people were arrested by the London police, they moved quickly to destroy traces of what they'd done. They probably… realized their mistake?"
"'Realized their mistake'? Not necessarily."
Barry hadn't finished his sentence before Isabella laughed softly into the phone.
She licked her lips and said, "Barry, don't you think the Weinsteins realized something else — that if they didn't stop now, they might be finished? They're not repentant, they're scared for their lives."
Barry on the West Coast froze. He narrowed his eyes and wondered if he'd heard her right.
"Okay, I'm sorry, Isabella. Could you repeat that last line?"
"Did I say anything just now, Mr. Meyer?" Isabella replied, giggling into the receiver. "If the malice comes from inside the industry, Barry, I'll leave this to you. I just want to rest and be in top shape to film Azkaban…"
After she hung up, Barry looked up and stared at the man before him — Nathan Bailey.
Ever since Nathan had done the job Barry assigned him — helping The Voice draw blood from The Lord of the Rings — he'd become Barry Meyer's assistant.
And then… this unlucky kid ran into another streak of bad luck.
"Why did I get promoted and now Isabella has trouble on my watch?" he thought. "This is so unlucky."
But Barry didn't care about those petty complaints. He tapped the speakerphone.
"Did you hear what Isabella said?"
"Yes." Nathan nodded.
"So can I interpret her words as meaning anyone harboring malice toward her must disappear?"
"I… think that's fine." Nathan nodded again.
"So what do you think?" Barry asked, brow furrowed.
Nathan paused, then sighed, "Boss, I've told you already: you can't view Isabella with a child's eyes. Her thinking isn't like a normal kid's. Normal kids couldn't write The Voice, not even with Chris helping — they don't have the worldview or vocabulary. But Isabella…"
"Her vision is mature; many of the words in that film would be taught in university literature departments."
"She's precocious and mature, so we need to meet her with the adult world, right?"
"And in our world, the Weinsteins are dead men."
"Because any attack on Isabella will affect Harry Potter."
Barry inhaled deeply.
Right.
He'd been shocked because he'd felt an unusual maturity from Isabella. His earlier line — that the Weinsteins 'knew they'd made a mistake' — had been meant to hint to Isabella that the Weinsteins had been detected and would stop. But Isabella's words were different.
She said: anyone with malice should die.
Whether their acts succeeded or failed mattered not.
That's the worldview of Warner, the Ross family, and Ted Turner. Capital thinks: you touch my money tree, I'll crush you. If I don't crush you, others will think me merciful and challenge me all the time.
Barry didn't want to move on the Weinsteins because Miramax's backers had power. If Warner attracted the attention of international human rights organizations, those groups could annoy them incessantly. If Warner pissed them off, they could nitpick any violent scene and accuse the studio of propagating contempt for human rights.
Warner could ignore them — the North American ratings board is stacked with the Big Seven — "I'm judge and player, what are you?" — but the film industry is more than just Warner. If Warner fell, the slice of the pie would shrink for everyone.
If Warner was attacked, others in the industry would join the chorus. Plus Warner itself wasn't united; Ted Turner might seize the chance to grab power.
That's the real reason Miramax survived slickly in Hollywood for so long.
The Weinsteins' notorious reputation was known to everyone, but no one wanted to touch that cesspit — until MeToo appeared.
Because her dad once said — only magic can defeat magic.
"Sigh… So, what do you think?"
Barry Meyer turned to Nathan Bailey.
Nathan really didn't want to answer that question, but he had to.
With a bitter smile, he shook his head. "Boss, personally, I think the Weinsteins need to be taught a lesson."
"Because our authority is not to be challenged. We can't let anyone think Harry Potter can be made a target."
"And besides…"
"Isa's special."
"She just helped us take down New Line — barely a week later, she gets bullied?"
"And we tell her to ignore it?"
"If that word gets out, who's ever going to dare help us again?"
"So, we do it ourselves?" Barry Meyer gave a wry smile.
Did he not understand that logic?
Of course he did.
He just didn't want to throw a bomb into a cesspit — because that would splash filth all over him.
The question hung in the huge office, sinking it into silence.
Neither man had a great solution.
But—
About five minutes later, Nathan Bailey's eyes suddenly lit up. He looked toward his boss.
"Boss, if I remember correctly, the Lord of the Rings rights weren't originally held by New Line, right?"
"Right."
Barry nodded. "New Line bought them from Miramax. Why?"
He hadn't yet grasped where Nathan was going.
Nathan continued, "If I'm not mistaken, the deal for those rights was a mix of cash and box office royalties. Publicly they said twelve million plus five percent, but in reality it was twelve million plus two-and-a-half percent and another two-and-a-half percent?"
Barry's eyes narrowed.
He thought for a moment — then suddenly understood Nathan's meaning.
"Yes—"
He nodded firmly.
"Okay!"
The confirmation lit Nathan right up; he clapped one fist into his palm.
"Boss! Then we call Robert Iger, yeah?"
"As long as Bob's willing to help us take down Weinstein, we can wrap this up perfectly."
"And then…"
"Our The Voice will have a cleaner path to the Oscars!"
"I know Isabella doesn't want to shoulder the Oscar campaign expenses — and as for her own money…"
"Personally, I think we should pay for it ourselves."
"For two reasons."
"First, Isa really can't win an Oscar — or rather, she can't win the big one. That Best Actress statuette is destined to stay out of reach. Making her pay for a campaign she can't win would be unfair."
"So, footing the bill ourselves to get her a nomination? Not a big deal."
"Second, those little gold men — several of them are actually useful to us."
"Take Best Original Song, for instance."
"The soundtrack for The Voice and Isa's personal mini-album haven't even dropped yet. Our original plan was to release the soundtrack and EP together with the VHS after the movie's theatrical run. But now…"
"With Weinstein gone, why not push her for an award?"
"If her song wins an Oscar, our profits multiply."
"And there's another bonus…"
"Ted Turner's been itching to sell off parts of Warner, hasn't he?"
At that, Nathan paused and looked his boss straight in the eye.
Barry's mind began turning fast, weighing Nathan's words.
First, the "twelve million + 2.5% + 2.5%."
That was indeed the final price New Line paid Miramax for The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit rights.
New Line had paid twelve million plus a five-percent cut of box office. But within that five percent, half — 2.5% — bypassed Miramax and went straight into Weinstein's personal pocket.
And those rights had always been Miramax's.
Because at the start, Weinstein wanted Disney to finance the project.
So…
Anyone who's spent time in the real world knows exactly what that means.
Job occupation crime.
Embezzlement.
Once that label's on it, letting Disney smash Weinstein with its own hammer looks perfectly legitimate.
Even Amnesty International couldn't complain.
Yeah!
Let's break your magic wand and see how you cast spells now!
A human-rights group against federal law?
Go ahead, try it — the CIA's waiting at the door!
No one's scared of you!
Then came the second point — Ted Turner wanting to sell Warner assets.
That referred to Warner Music.
Ever since AOL merged with Time Warner, the entire group had been bleeding money and desperate for cashflow.
AOL had no valuable physical assets; its market cap was just the internet bubble — impossible to sell off. Time Inc. didn't have much worth selling either.
So everyone's eyes turned to Warner Bros.
And yes, Warner had plenty of quality assets — the most "sellable" being Warner Music.
Because with the rise of the internet, the music industry was collapsing. Everyone thought physical music was dead; only Steve Jobs's digital model could survive. So, offloading the remaining physical assets while they still held value was the best way to cash out — nobody really knew how far digital would go.
And piracy was rampant.
Of course, Warner itself didn't want to sell!
Warner Music was Steve Ross's personal legacy — the Ross family's private field. How could they sell it off just to cover the conglomerate's losses?
They weren't insane!
But unfortunately, with AOL's Steve Case, Turner Broadcasting's Ted Turner, and Time Inc.'s executives all pushing to carve up Warner, the Ross family couldn't hold the line — especially since Warner Music had been losing money for years.
So…
"You really think Isa's mini-album and the Voice soundtrack can save Warner Music?" Barry asked.
"No," Nathan said immediately. "But with hype, we can at least boost performance."
"With better performance, we can speak up at the shareholder meeting."
"We can argue that physical still has a future — people just lost direction."
"As long as we stall the deal, we gain breathing room, right?"
"And even if none of this works out, we'll still win the Ross family's favor."
"They'll see we're fighting to preserve their stake in the company."
"The harder we fight, the longer we get to keep our seats."
Nathan's words echoed in the large office.
Barry looked at him, a complex expression on his face. After a long pause, he chuckled and shook his head.
"Nathan, sometimes I really want to say — you're one unlucky bastard."
"But other times, I think — your head's still full of that youthful fire."
"So—"
"Let's avenge our little princess."
"Take down Weinstein!"
"I'm calling Bob!"
Before the words were even cold, Barry grabbed the landline and dialed a number.
A few seconds later—
"Hi, Bob, it's Barry. Your Disney princess just got bullied."
"W… What? Barry, are you out of your damn mind?"
"Hey, hey, Bob, no need for insults. I'm serious! Isabella's been bullied — someone tried to destroy her. You're really not gonna help her get revenge? She just helped you, didn't she? You wanted her to promote your projects — she did! You wanted an introduction to Jobs — she gave it! She's done everything you wanted, and now she's been attacked — and by someone under your Disney banner!"
"…"
On the other end, Robert Iger felt constipated.
It sounded like Barry Meyer was trying to challenge his IQ.
He was Disney's COO — only the Chairman and CEO outranked him, and that guy was already getting flamed by shareholders.
So when Barry said Disney had bullied Isabella… wasn't that basically saying he had bullied her?
And him, bully Isabella?
He wasn't that stupid!
Just a few days ago he'd had a perfectly cordial call with her!
So—
"Okay, okay, Barry, could you please stop with the long sentences?"
"I think your logic's getting… a bit weird."
"Can you just calmly tell me what actually happened?"
If not for their years of working together — and the fact that they were practically grasshoppers on the same rope —
Robert Iger would've hung up ages ago.
His exasperation only made Barry laugh.
He knew Iger well — venting a bit first meant he'd then listen properly.
So—
"Okay, here's the deal, Bob — your Miramax guys went after Isa…"
It wasn't complicated, so in less than three minutes Barry laid out the whole story.
And once Robert Iger saw the big picture — like some god surveying the chessboard —
his face instantly darkened.
"Barry, have your people send me all your investigation materials. I'm in Burbank right now."
"And if you can pull the New Line–Miramax deal contract, even a copy, send it too."
"I'll verify everything myself before I give you a reply, okay?"
"Okay~~"
Barry smiled broadly at that.
Before he even hung up, he tilted his head toward Nathan Bailey.
Catching the signal, he nodded once and left without a word.