November 21, 1995. Ten minutes to midnight.
Inside the packed darkness of the Hollywood Chinese Theatre, the air was thick and still.
"Easy, John," Zane whispered, giving John Lasseter's shoulder a friendly clap. The man was vibrating with so much anxiety he was practically humming. "You look like you're about to face a firing squad, not a movie premiere."
"Just a movie?" Lasseter hissed back, his voice cracking. He was wringing his hands, knuckles white. "Zane, this is everything. This is my whole life on that screen. I don't care how many times I've seen it, I'm just... I'm terrified."
Zane let out a low chuckle, though his own pulse was hammering. "Well, as the guy who just bet his entire company on your life's work, your terror isn't exactly making me feel great."
"Right. Sorry." Lasseter managed a shaky, unconvincing smile.
Zane had invited the director here, to the very first public screening. It was a calculated move, sure, but it was also a human one. Sharing this moment—this knife-edge of failure or triumph—would forge a bond stronger than any boardroom meeting. Networking with a future legend was a long-term investment, and this was a priceless down payment.
"Besides," Zane added, trying to sound casual, "you've got nothing to sweat. Once Pixar goes public, you won't have a care in the world. Just... don't forget that celebratory dinner you promised me."
The mention of the IPO made Lasseter look genuinely ill. "Don't even joke about that," he whispered, his face pale in the gloom. "To raise my share of the capital... Zane, I mortgaged my house. My car. Everything. This isn't just a bet. It's a Hail Mary pass from our own end zone. If this movie bombs, I'm not just out of a job. I'm ruined."
Zane knew it wasn't an exaggeration. Steve Jobs's plan to take Pixar public before the world even saw the movie was a move of such breathtaking, insane audacity it was almost beautiful. Lasseter had explained the logic, his voice a mix of awe and pure panic. Jobs knew that if Toy Story hit big, Disney would immediately try to pin them down, renegotiate, and own them. The only way to fight back was to have their own mountain of cash, to prove they didn't need Disney. The IPO was that mountain.
It was a high-stakes poker game against the biggest shark in the ocean.
And you're sitting there holding a royal flush, Zane thought, a sharp pang of envy cutting through him. Lasseter and the original team had insider shares. In a month, they'd all be millionaires. "Well," Zane said, giving his shoulder a final squeeze, "I think your gamble is going to pay off."
"From your lips to God's ears," Lasseter breathed.
The theater lights finally dimmed to black. The screen flickered to life.
At that same moment, across town, the employees at SpongeBob's Secret Chest were holding back curses.
"Manager... are you sure the boss hasn't completely lost his mind?"
Charlize Theron sighed, leaning her hip against a counter piled high with Buzz Lightyear action figures. The store was dead silent, the bright lights feeling like an insult at this hour. "Who opens a toy store after midnight? On a Tuesday?"
Her frustration was obvious. She needed this job. She needed the money, badly. But this... this was just humiliating. And to top it all off, she knew their notoriously frugal owner wasn't even paying them overtime for it.
"Look, Charlize, I don't get it either," James grumbled from a few feet away, where he was pretending to straighten a display of Slinky Dogs for the tenth time. "He's usually stingy, yeah, but he's sane. This... this is just nuts." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He keeps swearing this Toy Story movie is going to be some kind of phenomenon, but... I mean, come on. It's a cartoon."
That same feeling was settling in across all seven of Zane's stores. From Rodeo Drive to the Esplanade, more than twenty employees were standing around, staring at the walls, all united in the same sinking belief: their new boss was a madman, and he was about to drive his brand-new company straight off a cliff.
Ninety minutes later, the theater doors burst open.
It wasn't a trickle; it was a flood. The lobby filled with a sudden, electric roar of sound—not just talking, but excited chatter, laughter, and high-pitched, happy arguments.
"That was incredible!" "I've never seen anything like it! The animation... it looked real!" "Ten times better than Lion King. Ten times!" "Woody and Buzz! Oh my god, I loved them! And the little green alien guys!"
The crowd was practically vibrating. People were grinning, kids were bouncing, and everyone was talking at once.
Standing near the exit, John Lasseter looked like a man who'd just had a fifty-ton weight teleported off his shoulders. He sagged against the wall, tears of pure, unadulterated relief streaming down his face, a shaky laugh bubbling up from his chest.
Zane just smiled. It wasn't a simple smile. It was a smile of pure, absolute vindication. It was all happening. Exactly as he knew it would.
Then, a woman's voice cut through the happy noise. "Honey, I have to get a Buzz Lightyear toy for my nephew. Do you think they sell them here?"
The idea hit the crowd like a spark hitting gasoline. "Yeah, my daughter would love a Jessie the Cowgirl doll!" "I'll just get a keychain, but I need something!"
In seconds, the crowd swarmed the theater's concession stand, a wave of sudden, desperate consumer desire. They were met by a tired-looking teenager in a bowtie.
"Sorry, folks," the kid said, looking bored. "We don't have any toys or... or merchandise for that movie."
A collective, frustrated groan echoed through the lobby.
And that was Zane's cue.
He took a quiet breath, centered himself, and stepped up onto a small, carpeted ledge near the exit. His voice, calm but powerful, cut right through the disappointed murmurs.
"Excuse me, everyone!" he called out, a bright, charismatic smile lighting up his face. "Excuse me!"
The crowd quieted, turning to this random, confident man.
"For those of you looking to buy toys and collectibles from the amazing movie you just saw," he announced, his voice ringing with pure certainty, "you are in luck!"
Beside him, Lasseter's head snapped up. He wiped his eyes, saw the look on Zane's face, and instantly understood. He played his part perfectly. "You know a place?" he called out, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.
"I do!" Zane boomed, pointing dramatically toward the street. "It's called SpongeBob's Secret Chest, and it is fully stocked with every Sheriff Woody and Buzz Lightyear you could ever want. We're open right now, and we're just a few steps right outside this theater!"
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