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🕑 Added 2025-07-17 16:48:07 +0000 UTCChapter 249: Ace vs. Ace (Part 5)
The originally cheerful atmosphere turned icy in an instant thanks to the showdown between Dunn and Michael Eisner. It felt like the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.
Executives from Dunn Films, Marvel Entertainment, and Universal Pictures were all sweating bullets for Dunn.
Standing across from him was Michael Eisner!
That kind of overwhelming pressure could choke even the most seasoned Hollywood veterans.
This face-to-face clash was thrilling but tense enough to take your breath away!
Dunn’s hands were clasped behind his back, slick with sweat. He could feel a bead trickling down his spine in a steady line.
No wonder they called him Michael Eisner—just his glare and expression alone carried a crushing weight.
But Dunn wasn’t about to back down!
In moments like this, the best way to dodge the pressure was to shift his focus.
It was a trick Natalie, who’d majored in psychology at Harvard, had taught him. She’d given him a bunch of techniques—“breath observation,” “target shifting,” “self-suggestion,” “mental dialogue,” and more.
They were meant to help Dunn shake off work stress fast, relax, and get his energy back.
Right now, facing Eisner’s intensity, Dunn kept his eyes locked on him while letting his mind wander elsewhere.
“Finally back in L.A. Penelope Cruz, that Spanish girl, is still crashing at the hillside estate. She’s probably living it up—I should head back tonight and have some fun myself!”
“Little Taylor said she wrote a new song. Tomorrow, I’ll carve out some time to hear it. That kid’s getting cuter by the day, but her attitude’s getting wilder too. Gotta straighten her out.”
“Tim Burton mentioned the world-building for Pirate League is taking shape. With Johnny Depp on board, he’s got some fresh ideas. We should have a quick meeting to hash it out.”
“The acquisition of Dick Clark’s TV production company is going great. The major shareholders are on board with selling. Now it’s just a matter of filing with the exchange to delist it and take it fully private.”
“Nina Jacobson’s out on maternity leave for six months…”
“…”
Dunn’s mind was buzzing, jumping from one thought to the next.
Michael Eisner was dumbfounded. What was going on?
Was this kid nuts? Staring at him without blinking—wasn’t there some rumor about him being into guys? That look… it was too intense!
Even love-struck couples didn’t lock eyes this hard without moving!
Eisner, who’d come in guns blazing, started to feel rattled. Dunn’s unwavering stare was throwing him off.
This kid’s willpower was unreal!
He had no clue Dunn’s thoughts were already miles away.
Finally, Eisner couldn’t take it anymore. He took a deep breath, let out a heavy grunt, and said, “So, what’s your take on this?”
“Huh?” Dunn snapped out of it, coughed lightly, and got serious. “Simple. I just want fairness!”
“Fairness?”
Eisner narrowed his eyes, sizing him up.
Dunn replied coolly, “Yep, fairness! This whole ban thing has been a mess, and I’d love to clear up the misunderstanding ASAP. But Disney’s ban on Dunn Films has been out there for over a month, while ours on Disney has only been up for half that. Time-wise, it’s uneven.”
Everyone caught Dunn’s drift right away.
He wanted Disney to make the first move—issue a statement lifting their ban on Dunn Films.
Then, half a month later, Dunn Films would drop their ban on Disney.
Whether Dunn was bluffing or not, if he was just playing Eisner to get Disney to lift their ban first, it’d put Disney in a real awkward spot.
Even if he was legit, Disney lifting their ban early would give Dunn Films half a month to respond.
Half a month wasn’t a huge deal in terms of impact, but the optics? Massive.
It’d send a message to everyone: in this showdown between Dunn Films and Disney, Disney caved, sued for peace, and blinked first!
Then, half a month later, Dunn Films could play the bigger person—seeing Disney’s good behavior and graciously lifting their own ban as a reward.
No way Disney could swallow that!
Eisner saw through Dunn’s sly move and wasn’t having it. “That’s not happening!” he shot back.
Dunn shrugged, calm as ever. “I’m a stickler for principles. If someone owes me ten bucks, they’ve gotta pay me ten bucks—not a penny less. Of course, if they try to overpay by a penny, I won’t take that either.”
Eisner waved a hand dismissively, his tone icy. “No matter what, I’m not agreeing to that!”
Dunn’s expression hardened in an instant. “Then we’ve got nothing left to talk about!”
“You—!”
Eisner sucked in a breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Dunn, do you even realize what you just said?”
The sharp edge of threat in his voice made Ron Meyer’s stomach knot. He jumped in to smooth things over. “Dunn, listen to me—don’t sweat the half-month thing. Dunn Films and Disney can just announce the end of the bans at the same time, call it quits, and move on.”
Dunn snorted, shaking his head. “Nope. Won’t do.”
Eisner’s voice dropped low. “Dunn, if Disney ends their ban half a month early, do you know what that means? Do you have any idea the pressure Disney would be under?”
Dunn burst out laughing, wild and unrestrained. After a while, he settled down and said coldly, “Disney’s under pressure? What about Dunn Films? Back in early August, Disney pulled that ban out of nowhere, breaking all the market rules. That first half month—think Dunn Films wasn’t under pressure then?”
Bill Mechanic, a steady and seasoned guy, usually played it safe. But Dunn’s old crew? They were cut from the same bold cloth as him.
Glen Feiyero boomed, “Half a month, and Disney’s whining about losing face? Well, guess what—Dunn Films was staring down bankruptcy in that half month! Mr. Eisner, your double standards are nauseating!”
Eisner’s face darkened. “Who are you? Who gave you the right to speak here?”
Glen stood tall, brimming with grit. “Name’s Glen—Glen Feiyero. I work in production at Dunn Films, produced Spider-Man. Mr. Eisner, I know you’re a big shot in Hollywood, can ruin someone with a word. But let me tell you—if you’ve got the guts, come at me!”
Eisner was livid, glaring at Dunn. “Dunn, this is one of your people?”
Dunn smirked faintly. “Mr. Eisner, drop the intimidation act. It won’t work on me—or Dunn Films. Let me be real with you: we’re a scrappy outfit. A few years back, I was a gofer on sets; Glen was just a guy at a print shop. Even if we lose everything, it’s no big deal!”
Then another of Dunn’s old crew stepped up—his assistant and buddy, George Paxton. With a mix of scorn and resolve, he said, “The barefoot don’t fear the shod. We’ve all lived dirt-poor days and handled it fine. Dunn Films doesn’t have a single coward. If we’re doing this, let’s do it for real!”
“Yeah, who’s scared of who? What’s so great about Disney?” Andrew O’Hare joined Dunn’s side, his fierce glare locked on Eisner. “This time, Disney picked the wrong fight. Dunn Films would rather die than grovel!”
Guys like Bill Mechanic and West Cotton, who’d been around Hollywood forever, still felt Eisner’s clout.
But Dunn’s crew—Glen Feiyero, Andrew O’Hare—these were folks he’d pulled up from the bottom through his “sunglasses system.” They didn’t give a damn about the rules.
Michael Eisner?
Big whoop!
To them, there was only Dunn and Dunn Films!
In a moment like this, the grit and loyalty of his core team fired Dunn up and touched him deep.
This was exactly what he wanted!
A company’s strength wasn’t just about profit—it was about loyalty and heart!
Disney’s cutthroat, profit-only style—kicking out legends, old-timers, even the Disney family? Dunn wouldn’t touch that with a barge pole.
The relentless push from Dunn Films caught Eisner off guard. The guy who’d been running the show stumbled, took three steps back, and barely steadied himself.
Eisner’s face went pale, all his earlier swagger gone. Dunn’s posse—his “warriors”—even made his eyes flicker with fear.
He was genuinely worried that if things got heated, these roughnecks might just charge him and beat him senseless.
“Dunn, what… what are you really after?”
Eisner’s voice wavered, shaky.
Dunn slipped his hands in his pockets, flanked by his crew, his presence towering. With a steely look, he declared, “I told you—I just want fairness!”
“Why’d Disney slap us with a ban out of the blue?”
“They started it half a month before we did—why should both sides end it at the same time?”
“I need an explanation. I need fair treatment. I need an apology from Disney!”
Those last lines, Dunn cranked up the volume. Nearly everyone at the victory party heard him loud and clear.
His words rang with power!
His vibe was epic!
His stance was massive!
His guts could swallow mountains!
Facing down Disney’s top dog, Michael Eisner, Dunn laid out his “three needs” with unrelenting resolve!
Disney? No big deal!
Chapter 250: Ace vs. Ace (Part 6)
Dunn’s words struck a chord with everyone in the room, finally making Michael Eisner see just how determined he was.
Even the way Eisner looked at Dunn felt oddly familiar.
There was a hint of his younger self in Dunn.
It wasn’t until this moment that Michael Eisner truly got a deep, real understanding of who Dunn was.
It seemed that unless he was willing to back down, there was no way this feud between Disney and Dunn Pictures could end peacefully.
Dunn’s stance was just too fierce!
Even after Eisner had gone out of his way to extend an olive branch, Dunn wouldn’t budge an inch.
“Dunn, making an enemy of Disney isn’t a smart move.”
Eisner’s intensity softened, his tone calm, almost like he was trying to reason with him.
Dunn shook his head lightly. “I never wanted to be Disney’s enemy. You can check the record—it’s Disney that’s been picking fights with me over and over.”
Last year, when Wedding Crashers and The Sixth Sense hit theaters at the same time, Disney’s production arm had pushed Bruce Willis to smear Wedding Crashers. That’s where this whole mess started.
But to Michael Eisner, that kind of big-studio muscle-flexing against a smaller player was par for the course. He knew the backstory and didn’t think it was a big deal.
“The movies Dunn Pictures puts out are top-notch, no doubt. But one person’s energy only goes so far! Dunn, you can’t guarantee every single film from your studio will be a box-office hit!”
Dunn chuckled. “Of course not—I’d never expect that. But beating Disney’s movies at the box office? That’s not a problem.”
Eisner choked on his frustration. This Dunn guy really knew how to hit where it hurt.
Disney’s film division was, frankly, an embarrassment.
If they’d had even a shred of fight in them, Eisner wouldn’t be stuck in this awkward spot now.
“You’ve got big ambitions, don’t you? Dunn Pictures isn’t going to stop at just movies,” Eisner said, eyeing him closely, like he was hinting at something bigger.
Dunn nodded casually, owning it without hesitation. “Sure. As times change, movies have more and more influence. To really tap into that potential, a film company needs to branch out into more areas.”
“So you get it,” Eisner said, a faint, ambiguous smile tugging at his lips.
Dunn laughed and shook his head. “Mr. Eisner, you don’t need to drop hints like that. I know Disney’s a global media giant. Even if the movie side’s struggling, you’ve got strength in tons of other fields. But if you think that’s going to scare me off, you’re mistaken.”
Eisner nodded. “You seem pretty confident.”
“Nope, not at all,” Dunn said, shaking his head with a sigh, a touch of self-mockery in his voice. “I’m just fighting like my life depends on it!”
Eisner’s expression shifted slightly, genuinely moved.
There was a reason Dunn had achieved so much at his age—why he could even stand toe-to-toe with Disney right now.
That one word—“fighting”—summed up the secret to all success.
Back when Eisner took over Disney, its market value was under $2 billion.
He’d clawed his way up with relentless, desperate moves, pushing through massive pressure and pulling off major overhauls to turn Disney into the $50 billion media titan it was today!
But as the company grew and the shareholder base expanded, the demands for profit got louder.
The bold, scrappy tactics he’d once used without a second thought were now impossible.
With Disney’s muscle, if Eisner could just cut loose and go all out, he could absolutely crush Dunn Pictures.
But pulling that off? Forget it. The second there was even a whiff of that kind of move, the shareholders and board would clamp down hard. If it blew up, they might even boot him out.
By comparison, Dunn right now was like Eisner back in the day—fearless and ready to gamble everything.
Because for a small player, if you don’t fight, you’re dead!
Small companies have their edge; big ones have their baggage!
Eisner might still have his sharpness, but Disney’s scale forced him to play it safe.
Stock prices and brand value were Disney’s bottom line.
As for Michael Eisner’s personal pride? To the capitalists on the shareholder board, that was worth jack squat.
“Looks like… coming here today was a bad call.”
Eisner’s tone was surprisingly calm, maybe dulled by too many hits, all his edges smoothed out.
Dunn smiled. “At least I’ve made my bottom line clear.”
Eisner’s mouth twisted in a wry, self-deprecating smirk as he sighed. “Alright, I won’t keep you. I’ve got stuff to handle tomorrow—I’ll head out.”
Every word of Dunn and Eisner’s exchange landed in Ron Meyer’s ears, and Dunn Pictures’ collective performance genuinely caught him off guard.
Watching Eisner walk away, his figure looking a little worn and lonely, Ron Meyer’s expression was complicated. He raised his glass to Dunn.
Dunn got the hint, grinned, and waved the crowd off before joining Ron Meyer in a quiet corner. They clinked glasses and took a sip.
“Dunn, you’re playing with fire!”
Ron Meyer’s tone was earnest, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of admiration.
To see someone so young handle Michael Eisner like that—it was impressive as hell.
Dunn shook his head. “No risk, no reward, right?”
“That’s Disney we’re talking about!”
“So what?”
Dunn smiled at Ron Meyer. “By the way, I heard most of Universal Pictures’ assets got carved up by Vivendi?”
Ron Meyer’s face darkened, clearly annoyed.
Vivendi Group had gone too far!
Universal’s publishing, gaming, TV, stations, music—all those divisions had been steadily stripped away. It was practically a hollow shell now.
“Old pal, remember what I told you back then?” Dunn lowered his voice. “Rally Universal’s execs. The movie business is Universal’s core. As long as that stays solid, Universal’s still Universal!”
Ron Meyer studied him closely. “You’re getting at something, aren’t you?”
Dunn grinned, playing it coy. “You know what I mean. Universal’s my biggest partner—I don’t want it getting dragged down by Vivendi HQ’s dumb moves. Vivendi might be a media giant, sure, but it’s not Hollywood.”
Ron Meyer mulled over Dunn’s words. “You think Vivendi’s strategy is off?”
“You think it’s on?” Dunn shot back, blinking quickly.
Ron Meyer’s mind clicked.
When a massive multinational like that screws up its strategy, the losses pile up fast—and we’re not talking a few billion bucks to patch it.
Take AOL and Time Warner—six months after their merger, they’d already bled over $40 billion!
No question, the next few years would see AOL Time Warner selling off assets to stem the red ink.
So what about Vivendi?
If Vivendi started hemorrhaging cash, who’d they sell?
Ron Meyer locked eyes with Dunn, finally catching his drift.
This guy still had his sights set on Universal Pictures!
Dunn met Ron Meyer’s gaze and smiled. “Ron, the future’s anyone’s guess. But right now, I hope you see it clear: Dunn Pictures has the strength and the guts! Even against Disney, I’m not backing down!”
“Stubborn resistance, huh?”
Ron Meyer was a Hollywood vet—still the big boss at Universal, a heavy hitter. Unlike Bill Mechanic, who’d been kicked out by Fox, he wasn’t about to roll over for Dunn.
Hearing the faint mockery in Ron Meyer’s question, Dunn shook his head firmly. “No—fighting to win!”
Ron Meyer brushed it off. “Today was just a war of words.”
“Just wait and see. I’ll prove it to you!”
Dunn clapped Ron Meyer on the shoulder, straightened up, and stood tall.
Chapter 251: Acquiring Netflix
That night, Dunn and Penelope Cruz tangled up for hours.
Too bad neither Natalie Portman nor Nicole Kidman were up for joining in on Dunn’s invite.
Luckily, his private jet was ready to go. Come the weekend, he could zip straight to the Unsinkable set, where Charlize Theron and Liv Tyler were waiting. Both ex-models with a wild streak, they weren’t close enough to Dunn to turn him down.
According to intel from Reese Witherspoon, Netflix’s co-founder and CEO, Reed Hastings, got the idea for the company after renting a video from Blockbuster. Work got in the way, he returned it late, and bam—$40 in late fees.
That steep penalty sparked an idea for a no-late-fee rental model, and thus, Netflix was born!
Right now, beyond its early online payment system, Netflix had rolled out a subscription model—a stark contrast to Blockbuster.
For just $19.99 a month, users got unlimited rentals, no late fees, free shipping, and no due dates. Pretty tempting stuff.
Blockbuster ran on a “landlord model”—they owned the assets, rented them out, and made bank through heavy brick-and-mortar stores.
Netflix? Lightweight, no storefronts, all online. In fancy future terms, it was a Web 2.0 play!
Dunn, with his hindsight, could see the potential in this setup clear as day.
That morning, he welcomed Reed Hastings and his crew into his office with all the fanfare.
“Mr. Walker, your time’s precious, so I’ll cut to the chase. Netflix’s selling price—$50 million, no less!” Reed Hastings laid it out with confidence.
Dunn couldn’t help but chuckle. “$50 million, that’s it?”
“Huh?”
Reed blinked. $50 million wasn’t pocket change, and here Dunn was acting like it was nothing.
Dunn grinned. “Reed, I’ve gone through all the Netflix docs. I’ve got a soft spot for Stanford grads too, so I’ll level with you—I’m very interested in Netflix.”
Reed’s eyes lit up. He’d heard from Reese Witherspoon over the phone that Dunn was high on Netflix, but this? $50 million without even a haggle? Unreal.
“I… uh, sorry, Mr. Walker… I’m just shocked.”
“Shocked? What, you don’t believe in Netflix’s model?”
“No, no—I’m totally confident in Netflix!” Reed paused, biting his tongue. He couldn’t exactly say he doubted Dunn, right?
Now that the big hurdle was cleared, the rest was just details—though to Reed, they mattered just as much.
“Mr. Walker, you can buy Netflix for $50 million, but not the whole thing. You’d get 60% max.”
“Oh?”
Dunn raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “That’s not an acquisition—that’s financing. Sounds different from what we first talked about.”
Reed fidgeted, quick to explain. “No, no, Mr. Walker, this is the plan we hashed out with our investors. The $50 million wouldn’t go to anyone’s pocket—it’d flow straight into Netflix’s accounts to fuel growth.”
Dunn said flatly, “So, it’s financing.”
“Either way, I need to keep control of Netflix’s operations,” Reed said, watching Dunn carefully.
Dunn waved a hand. “That’s a given. Look at PayPal—I’ve never meddled in their ops. But this financing angle? I need more on that.”
Reed took a deep breath and laid it out slow. “Mr. Walker, an acquisition—er, financing deal—over 50% is basically the same as a buyout. We came up with two options. If you don’t like this one, there’s a second.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“$60 million for 80% of Netflix.”
To Reed, whether Dunn took 60% or 80%, it didn’t change much. Once the deal closed, Netflix would be a subsidiary under Dunn Capital anyway.
Dunn’s eyes sparkled. “I’m liking this second option. Tell me more.”
Reed explained, “Netflix has had two funding rounds before. Three foundations hold 20% of the shares, but they’re sour on the company’s future and passed on a third round. We talked to them—if you offer $10 million, they’d sell you their 20%.”
Back then, cashing out early on a tech startup was a dream for plenty of venture funds.
Dunn nodded, catching the gist. “So you’re saying I can only own up to 80% of Netflix, right?”
Reed confirmed, “Exactly. 15.3% stays with management, and the other 4.7% is reserved for an options pool.”
Dunn broke into a pleased smile. “Looks like you’ve got it all figured out.”
Reed sighed. “The dot-com crash is getting worse. I just want Netflix to survive.”
Dunn laughed. “Alright, so once you’ve got that $50 million in funding, what’s the plan?”
Reed was ready, rattling off Netflix’s strategy like it was second nature. “Right now, we mail discs to customers. But distance means delivery takes time, and that’s a lousy experience. With the cash, I’d set up at least 30 distribution hubs across the U.S. to slash shipping times—order today, get it tomorrow.”
Dunn went quiet, letting out a long breath.
This was 2000, and American tech companies were already dreaming this big. Meanwhile, he thought back to some online platforms in his past life—touting similar ideas a decade later and crowing about “global innovation.” Ironic.
“Your docs say Netflix is dabbling in online streaming. How’s that going?” Dunn flipped through the papers, curious.
Reed clarified, “It’s just an idea for now. Internet speeds are too slow—watching online isn’t practical yet. But as the web grows and bandwidth improves, I think it’s got huge potential.”
Streaming didn’t really take off until 2010.
Netflix shelled out $1 billion then, snagging five-year streaming rights from Paramount, Lionsgate, and MGM, plus deals with HBO and others to become a paid distributor.
But even in the late ‘90s, the seeds of streaming were there.
Netflix’s current online video-on-demand? It was already flirting with streaming vibes.
Dunn nodded. “Narrowband’s days are numbered—broadband’s coming. Netflix needs to get ahead of it, prep for the Web 2.0 era. Keep the streaming business going, even if it’s bleeding cash. Don’t cut it.”
Reed couldn’t quite read Dunn. Was he agreeing or flexing? Tentatively, he asked, “Mr. Walker, what’s your take on Blockbuster?”
Dunn grinned. “Heard you paid a visit to their HQ before this?”
Reed’s face flushed. “Blockbuster’s the king of video rentals. I thought…”
Dunn cut him off with a wave, a flicker of disdain crossing his face. “King? Bull! Sumner Redstone’s past his prime—he’s lost the pulse of the times. The future’s tech, the future’s online!”
Reed’s face lit up with a mix of surprise and glee. He hadn’t expected Dunn, an outsider, to share his exact view.
With the dot-com bubble bursting, even industry insiders were losing faith in the internet.
But Dunn? He was all in.
Not done yet, Dunn added coolly, “Blockbuster’s nothing to worry about. Their heavy-asset model will sink them eventually. Netflix needs to think bigger—it’s not just an entertainment company. At its core, it’s a tech company.”
That one line set the tone for Netflix’s future.
Its destiny lay in Silicon Valley, not Hollywood!
With hefty stakes in Apple and Google, Dunn was poised to be a heavyweight in Silicon Valley down the line.
Hollywood, though?
It was a messy swamp—full of shady deals and backstabbing. Even if Dunn Films sailed past Disney, who knew what headaches awaited?
Netflix was Dunn’s ace in the hole.
Planting it in Silicon Valley, far from Hollywood’s chaos, was his safest bet.
If things went south in Tinseltown and he hit a wall he couldn’t climb, Netflix—backed by Silicon Valley—could be his ticket back to the top.
And for Netflix? Dunn’s call was spot-on.
The internet was the future. Even mighty Hollywood would have to pivot and lean into it.
…
Three days later, Dunn Capital, led by Scott Swift, sealed the deal with Netflix.
Dunn Capital dropped $60 million and took full control!
Reed Hastings got his $50 million in funding and hung onto 10.7% of Netflix’s shares—enough to keep running the show and secure his payday when it went public.
Meanwhile, Dunn played middleman, hooking Netflix up with PayPal.
It was a win-win: Netflix could ditch building its own payment system and tap into the top, stable, free platform around for online transactions.
PayPal, riding Netflix’s coattails, got a boost in users.
Every Netflix subscriber was a PayPal user too—another growth spurt for them.
Comments
Matt
July 8th we were at 325-327, why are you doing the 200s again?
