The meeting room at Marvel Comics on Madison Avenue felt like a relic that had seen better days.
The walnut walls, which probably looked impressive fifteen years ago, were now scuffed and tired.
The table was absurdly long, large enough for twenty people, yet only four sat there, making the room feel empty.
The air hung heavy with the smell of old files, cheap tobacco, and the quiet stress of a company in trouble.
David Chen sat incredibly still, looking perfectly at ease in a suit that probably costed more than the table he was in.
Across from him was Martin Goodman, the publisher, a man in his sixties. Sitting next to Goodman was his lawyer, Irwin, a guy with a bad comb-over who looked at everything with a face of suspicion.
"Let's not waste time, Mr. Chen," Goodman started, his voice sounding like gravel. "This… tender offer you sent over. It's a problem. You're trying to steal my company right out from under me."
Chen kept his hands flat on the table. "Let's not get emotional, Martin. This is just a transaction."
"Ithaca Productions is offering thirty-five percent over the current stock price for every single share of Marvel. It is a more than fair valuation considering the financial shape the company is in right now."
"The state of my company is my business, not from some valley kid." Goodman snapped back.
"It became our business the moment you decided to go public," Chen replied, keeping his voice even. "Your shareholders have a choice to make now."
"They can stay with a company where growth is artificially capped, or they can take a significant, immediate payout. I personally suspect most of them will find that choice very easy."
Irwin, the lawyer, leaned in. "The board is ready to fight this, Mr. Chen. We will litigate. We'll file injunctions. We will tie this thing up in court for years if we have to."
"You are, of course, within your rights to do that," Chen said, giving a small, barely there nod. "But lawsuits are expensive."
"And while you're burning cash on lawyers, your shareholders will watch the stock flatline while Ithaca's offer sits right there on the table. How long do you think their loyalty is going to hold out?"
He let that question hang in the heavy air.
"Why?" Goodman asked, the anger suddenly dropping, replaced by a raw, tired confusion. "Why do you want it? You're movie guys. You have bestsellers. This is… this is a kiddie business."
Chen refocused, his eyes sharp. "That is a fundamental misreading of your own assets, Martin. You aren't in the 'kiddie business.'"
"You are in the intellectual property business. And you've been running it like a newsstand. Your deal with Independent News is a straitjacket. It limits your output, hurts your creativity, and sends profits to your competitor. Under Ithaca, we'll change that."
Goodman looked down at his hands still placed at the table, old and ink-stained from a life in publishing.
The fight seemed to drain out of him, replaced by the cold, hard logic of the numbers Chen was presenting.
"Stan," Goodman muttered, mostly to himself. Then he looked up, eyes showing resignation. "If this happens… Stan Lee stays. He runs the show and he becomes CEO."
Chen didn't react on the outside, but inside, he noted this as a key win. Stan Lee was the creative heart, the hype man for the "Marvel Age."
Keeping him wasn't just smart; it was essential for morale and public image. "Ithaca has huge respect for Stan's talent. That is a proposal I can take to Mr. Hauser."
"And me," Goodman said, his voice getting firmer. "I get a title, Chief Advisor of Production or something like that, an office and a salary. I built this place from scratch, I'm not just walking off from it."
Chen watched him. It was a small price to pay for a quiet surrender. "A ceremonial role, advisory capacity. We can arrange that."
As he spoke, another thought crossed Chen's mind, rumors from his finance contacts about another buyer, a conglomerate called Perfect Film.
They would see Marvel as a spreadsheet, a pile of assets to strip for quick money.
They wouldn't get the characters or invest in distribution, but they have money, so Chen decided to use that information to his favor.
"My worry, Martin, is that if this offer fails, you won't be left alone to run your 'kiddie business,'" Chen said, shifting his tone from negotiator to advisor.
"I heard there are other parties looking. Conglomerates, companies that see numbers, not the potential of a Spider-Man or Fantastic Four."
"They won't make Stan Lee CEO. They won't give you an office, they'll buy you, break you up, and sell the parts. They won't support your companies legacy. We do."
"Ithaca isn't the enemy, Martin," Chen finished, voice soft, sounding like pure reason.
"We are your legacy's only shot at survival. We're the only ones who can take these characters out of the discount bin and put them on the big screen."
"We can take Marvel to the major leagues. You can retire as the man who built the foundation."
Goodman was silent for a long time, staring at the worn carpet.
"Talk to your boss," Goodman said finally, voice hollow. "Tell him my terms. Stan runs the company. I get my title. You get… you get the company."
He waved a hand, giving up. "Now, excuse me. I need a drink."
Chen stood and gave a short, respectful nod. "I will be in touch."
As he walked out of the dark boardroom into the bright New York afternoon, Chen mentally wrote the report he needed to present to Duke.
---
The humidity in Louisiana had finally broken, but it left behind a sticky, heavy dampness that seemed to weigh down the entire Easy Rider production.
Duke pulled up in his Jaguar up to the final location.
It was just a muddy field where a few tired crew members were tossing gear into the back of a truck.
The noise and the yelling were gone.
Now, it was just quiet, the kind of silence that happens after a long, loud argument.(For some reason i have always feel that the last day of recording has an air of sadness to it)
He found Peter Fonda sitting on an apple box, staring at the ruts in the mud where the bikes had been. He didn't look angry, he just looked exhausted.
"It's done," Fonda said, his voice sounding like he'd been swallowing dust for a month. "All of it."
He pointed a thumb toward the empty road. "Dennis is gone, he took off. Said he couldn't look at it anymore.'"
"You got the film, Peter," Duke said.
"We got something," Fonda corrected, standing up and dusting off his jeans. "I have no idea if it will even work."
He looked at Duke for a second, then nodded. "I'm going to the hotel."
He walked away, looking like he barely had the energy to put one foot in front of the other.
A minute later, Mark Jensen and Steven Spielberg walked out of a trailer.
Jensen looked rough, his clothes were wrinkled, and he had dark circles under his eyes. Spielberg looked like he went through war.
"Let's get out of here," Duke said.
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in a McDonald's. The change was jarring: three guys from the movie business sitting under bright fluorescent lights, surrounded by Formica tables and the smell of fryer grease. Jensen was eating a Big Mac like he hadn't seen food in days. Spielberg was just staring at his fries.
"Okay," Duke said, taking the lid off his coffee. "Give it to me. What's the plan for post?"
Jensen swallowed a bite and wiped his mouth. "The film is shipping to Burbank. Locked bay. We hired an editor, Donn Cambern. He's young, he's tough, and he isn't scared of Dennis."
He pointed a fry at Spielberg. "Steve is a natural. He knew what Dennis wanted, even when Dennis himself didn't know what he wanted."
Spielberg looked up, rubbing his eyes. "That guy wanted everything. Every shot, every idea."
He sighed, leaning back in the hard plastic chair. "I messed up, Duke. I should have pushed back on the schedule. I thought my job was to help him, but with Dennis, 'helping' just meant pouring gas on the fire."
"There was a sunset shot... we spent two days on it. Two days. The light wasn't 'working for him apparently.' The crew is standing there, burning cash, and Peter is just... staring at the dirt."
He shook his head. "And the fighting. It wasn't just the editor. It was the sound guy, the locals... Jensen almost got into a fistfight with him."
Jensen nodded, taking a drink of his Coke. "The motorcycle crash. Hopper wanted a fifth take. The stunt coordinator said no. I stepped in and said we were done."
"Dennis got in my face, screaming about how I wasnt allowed to interrupt him on set, Peter jumped in, supporting him, screaming that I was a nobody."
"It was a problem in the middle of the highway, luckily Steve fixed it."
He nodded at Spielberg. "He was the only calm one left. He pulled me back, talked Dennis down. Saved the day, honestly."
Spielberg shrugged, while murmuring. "I wish i wouldn't had stopped you, so I could have deal with Hooper too."
Duke listened, taking it all in. It was exactly what he expected.
A mess. Indulgent, chaotic, and expensive, but it was finished. They now had the raw materials.
"The past is the past," Duke said, his voice cutting through the fatigue at the table. "Now, we control the edit. Jensen, you manage the budget and the editor. No more drifting."
He looked at them. They were dirty, tired, and smelled like a swamp.
He stood up. "Finish eating. Spielberg, go to the airport. Take a week off. Jensen, you're with me, we have a comic book company to acquire."
---
My dog didn't got canine distemper(she got tested), but she's not eating for some reason unless i give food in her mouth so i'm still watching over her.