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🕑 Added 2025-07-30 14:36:58 +0000 UTCChapter 391: The Bright Future of Cable TV
Colorado sits right next to California, so the flight from LA to Denver only takes three hours.
After touching down, Dunn and his crew headed straight to the headquarters of the TA Network.
Premium cable TV used to be a niche market—edgy content, steep subscription fees, mostly the domain of adult channels. Then HBO and Showtime jumped in, quickly carving out their own turf and breathing new life into the space.
Back in the early ‘90s, cable mogul John Malone spotted the potential in premium cable. He tasked two of his lieutenants, Tony Granmo and Martin Donwen, with building a network to rival HBO and Showtime. That’s how the TA Network was born.
But John Malone was a step ahead of everyone—he had almost uncanny foresight. When the internet boom hit, he saw the looming crisis for traditional TV. Convinced the industry would take a beating, he started offloading assets like crazy.
In that wave, Dunn swooped in and snatched up the TA Network.
After the acquisition, Dunn didn’t rush to shake things up. He waited a full year before making moves. This year, with Dunn Films pooling all its resources to grow the premium cable game, he finally shook up the personnel.
The two founders, Tony Granmo and Martin Donwen, got the axe out of nowhere, replaced by Chris Albrecht, a content genius Dunn poached from HBO. Now, Chris and his 17-person team had been at TA for nearly two months, and Dunn was here to check the results.
The office building was shiny and new, a sign of TA’s short history.
Chris Albrecht, decked out in a suit, led a lineup of execs to greet Dunn at the entrance from a distance.
Dunn almost cracked up at the sight.
Guess Americans know how to put on a show too!
Smiling, he shook hands with everyone. When he got to Chris, he couldn’t help but tease, “Cut this out next time. We’re a company—results matter, not bureaucracy!”
Chris grinned. “Just this once! Wanted you to see the team’s spirit. Plus, they’re all your fans—dying to meet you, shake your hand. Couldn’t say no.”
Dunn glanced around, nodding with approval. “Looks like you’re doing solid work.”
Ousting TA’s founders had caused a ripple—six more from the original crew followed them out the door. That kind of shakeup could’ve tanked morale, but Chris had pulled off the management transition in under two months, rallying the staff back to work.
That alone was a big win.
On top of that, he’d revamped content for TA’s flagship channels, Tarz and Enre, modeling them after HBO’s setup—HBO 1 for polished, gripping dramas and movies, and its sister channel CineMax for cheaper, raunchier stuff. This clear content split, paired with the hot series Six Feet Under, had sent TA’s installs, subscribers, and viewership skyrocketing!
Now, TA was in over 38 million homes, with only 8 million still on free trials. That meant over 30 million households across the U.S. had tuned into Tarz—a huge leap from the 8 million it had served in its first seven years before May this year.
That’s a hell of an achievement!
Paid subscribers hadn’t topped HBO or Showtime yet, but the growth was eye-popping. HBO had 7.5 million North American subscribers, Showtime 5.1 million. TA? It had just broken the 4 million mark!
Over 70% of subscribers picked the $9.99 three-month plan, 25% went for the $45.99 six-month deal, and 5% shelled out $89.99 for a full year. In the past two months alone, TA’s subscription revenue had topped $100 million!
That cash flowed through Comcast, the operator, which took an 8% cut for services before passing the rest to TA. But it wasn’t instant—settlements happened every six months. So, Comcast could sit on that pile until later this year, raking in millions in interest just by parking it in the bank.
A cash cow like that had Comcast execs floored. Dunn was about to hit it big!
Dunn had been worried Comcast and Viacom might team up to squeeze TA out, but now? That massive payout had Comcast’s CEO, Brian Roberts, personally calling to congratulate him.
Simple math: Tarz, with just over 4 million subscribers, pulled in $100 million in two months. Nickelodeon, with over 88 million subscribers, averaged less than $40 million in the same stretch. Sure, TA’s spike was a one-off while Nick’s was steady, but the gap between cheap basic cable and premium cable was glaring.
If TA kept this momentum, its future was limitless!
Chris led Dunn’s group through the offices, where staff greeted him with buzzing enthusiasm. Dunn was pleased with their vibe and chatted with Chris as they walked. “It’s Saturday—nobody’s griping about working overtime?”
Chris laughed. “TV’s a weird gig. If everyone’s off, there’s no show. We rotate shifts. Plus, tomorrow’s the second-to-last episode of Six Feet Under’s first season—viewership’s gonna spike. Everyone’s pumped.”
Six Feet Under had 13 episodes, airing one per weekend in primetime since June 3rd. Eleven were already out, with the penultimate hitting tomorrow, August 12th.
“Oh?” Dunn’s eyes lit up, eager. “Viewership’s gonna climb higher?”
“Subscriber viewership, not ratings—we’re cable, so ratings don’t mean much,” Chris said, shaking his head all serious-like.
Dunn rolled his eyes. Chris wasn’t exactly smooth—no wonder he’d clashed with higher-ups at HBO. A little annoyed, he shot back, “Then give me something that does mean something!”
Chris gave an awkward chuckle. “Viewership’s definitely jumping. We’ve got a growth curve—barring surprises, tomorrow night’s hitting over 2 million viewers.”
With just over 4 million subscribers, half tuning in for Six Feet Under was already impressive. Even HBO at its peak with Westworld averaged 12 million viewers per episode across platforms. For Six Feet Under to pull these numbers in this era, on this stage, was downright stunning.
After all, Band of Brothers was just one show!
“How long till subscribers top Showtime?” Dunn asked, throwing a tough one.
Chris answered carefully. “TA’s endgame is beating HBO, but we’re still new. Showtime’s got decades behind it. To knock them off… I’d say after Band of Brothers airs, riding its hype. HBO? Give me three years.”
Dunn raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Two months ago, you weren’t singing that tune!”
Chris frowned, voice low. “Back then, I said I’d topple HBO in a year. But after taking over TA, I saw the hardware and software lag behind HBO big-time. I need time to overhaul everything.”
Dunn went quiet, then laughed. “Chris, sounds like you don’t have enough faith in Band of Brothers! I dropped $80 million on its North American rights—not just to beat Showtime.”
“One miniseries taking down HBO? Tough sell,” Chris said, shaking his head. “Cable’s a long game. One show won’t lock in viewers—they need a steady stream of quality. Watch Band of Brothers, sure, but a few months later, they might ditch TA.”
Dunn nodded. “Exactly. Band of Brothers alone won’t cut it. We need more, better shows—constant pull to tie viewers down. Dunn Films already greenlit Six Feet Under Season 2 and The Wire this year. October’s got a comic adaptation, The Punisher, starting up. You’ve got your content crew from HBO—nothing good in the works?”
“There’s one in the brainstorming phase.”
“What’s that?”
“An urban comedy. Sex and the City was female-driven; this one’s got two male leads—guys chasing the Hollywood dream, trying to make it as stars.”
Dunn’s eyes narrowed. He pegged it instantly—HBO’s Entourage, which aired in 2004.
“No copyright issues?”
“Nope. It’s just an idea right now. Back at HBO, we never put anything on paper—just talked it out.”
“Hm.”
Dunn squinted, wheels turning.
Chris, a former comedian, was a pro at funny stuff. Sure, he’d later championed big-budget epics like Rome and Spartacus, but that was years off. Jumping to TA, you’d expect him to flex with a splashy hit to prove himself. Instead, he’s tinkering with a comedy? Guy’s still playing it safe.
Dunn took a deep breath. Looks like the heavy lifting on content was still on him!
Chapter 392: The Nice Guy Director
A new week kicked off, and though old Douglas was stuck in the hospital, Catherine Zeta-Jones couldn’t just sit by his bedside. She had Chicago to prep for—dance rehearsals were calling.
Since she’d skipped training the day before, she headed to the fitness center a bit earlier today. When she got there, she found the other female lead, Rachel Weisz, already at it—decked out in a practice skirt, one leg stretched up on the barre, and her left hand clutching a phone, chatting away nonstop.
By the time Catherine changed into her gear, Rachel had wrapped up her call and turned to her with a grin. “You’re here early today!”
“The old man’s in the hospital—ugh!” Catherine shook her head. “Let’s not talk about that. Who were you just on the phone with?”
“Ella.”
“Ella?”
“You know, Dunn’s assistant. We’re buddies.”
The mention of Dunn instantly brought that ridiculous condition to Catherine’s mind, and a bitter taste crept in.
She didn’t mind sleeping with Dunn a few times—she’d been in the entertainment biz since she was a kid and had seen it all. It didn’t faze her.
What worried her was the Douglas family. She was terrified of getting caught.
Rachel, fresh off her call, was in high spirits. She grinned and asked, “Hey, did you catch Six Feet Under last night?”
“Yeah, I did. The plot’s pretty brutal—getting beaten to death on the street just for being gay? Kinda ironic.”
Catherine nodded. It was the hottest show on TV right now, with a fresh premise and a Dunn connection. No matter how you sliced it, she had to watch.
Rachel sighed. “Totally. I think legalizing same-sex relationships has to happen eventually—it’s history in the making. Anyway, forget that—do you know the ratings?”
“Ratings?” Catherine shook her head. “Probably not that high, right? It’s on Tarz, and the subscription fee’s steep.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “You’re clueless! Tarz has 40,000 subscribers now. Last night, 3.47 million people tuned in during Six Feet Under’s slot, and over 2.6 million of them watched the show.”
Catherine blinked, lost. “What’s that mean?”
Rachel laughed, half-exasperated. “Dummy, last night’s episode had over 75% viewership!”
That clicked. Catherine’s gorgeous eyes widened. “75%? For real? You’re messing with me, right? I heard HBO’s ratings hover around 35%!”
Rachel sighed helplessly. “It’s not the same—different audience pools… Ugh, never mind, just know Six Feet Under is huge—bigger than HBO!”
“Oh…”
Catherine mumbled a response, then snapped to attention, staring at Rachel. “Wait, what? Bigger than HBO? Dunn’s assistant told you that?”
HBO was the gold standard for premium content in America—the channel every Hollywood insider subscribed to. Hadn’t Dunn just bought Tarz last year? And now it was topping HBO?
That’s wild!
Rachel gave an awkward chuckle, scratching her head. “Well, not exactly. I’m guessing. HBO aired some boring movie last night. If this keeps up, Tarz’ll overtake them sooner or later.”
Catherine nodded. “Yeah, Dunn… he’s unreal at everything he does. Speaking of, is he coming by today?”
“No clue.” Rachel shrugged casually. “I doubt it, though. He’s way too busy to hang out with us all the time, even as a producer.”
Yeah, busy was an understatement!
Right now, Dunn had jetted off to New York again.
Spider-Man 2 kicked off filming in May, and after over three months, it was on track to wrap by the end of August, barring any hiccups.
As Dunn Films’ flagship project, Spider-Man 2 had everyone—from top brass to crew—laser-focused on it.
Even Marvel Studios’ president, Nina Jacobson, stepped up as executive producer, joining the set from day one to ensure director Ridley Scott had everything he needed for a smooth shoot.
As for Nolan’s Daredevil? Well, they didn’t even have a script locked down yet—let them figure it out!
Dunn was listed as Spider-Man 2’s lead producer but hadn’t set foot on set once. That sparked a lot of grumbling from the main crew. With the film nearing completion, he had no choice but to show up.
He couldn’t pull a Tim Burton with Pirates League: Curse of the Black Pearl—never showing up from start to finish, could he?
As a producer, he was flat-out irresponsible. But he didn’t slap his name on it for clout. “Dunn Walker” was a box office guarantee now—he was lending his rep and influence to prop the movie up.
If he didn’t attach his name, Dunn Films’ execs would’ve been the first to protest.
More importantly, the “Mirror Possession” perk kicked in for every billion dollars in global box office—whether he directed, produced, or acted.
No way was Dunn passing up that “data grind” chance.
At the Spider-Man 2 set, Dunn quietly watched Ridley Scott direct, chuckling to himself.
“Perfect! James, that expression was spot-on—especially the corner of your mouth, brilliant! Let’s do it again!”
Five minutes later:
“Fantastic! James, that look in your eyes had real power—that’s superhero charisma right there. Hold it, one more take!”
Five minutes later:
“Amazing! James, your movements were so smooth—your physicality’s on par with the stunt double. Keep it up, one more time!”
Twenty minutes later…
“Okay, that’s a wrap on this one. Next setup!”
After running James Franco through six or seven takes, Ridley Scott finally nodded in approval, standing up from the director’s chair. With a wave of his hand, he directed the crew to prep the next shot.
Dunn watched from the sidelines, laughing and shaking his head.
This British old-timer was such a softie—his directing style was one of a kind.
You could bet if James Franco’s mediocre performance had landed in front of Cameron, he’d have been ripped to shreds by now.
But Ridley Scott? He kept his cool, calmly pointing out the good stuff to subtly nudge at the flaws.
No wonder he’d churned out so many box office flops yet still thrived in Hollywood—his personality was a big part of it.
Dunn’s arrival didn’t disrupt the shoot. He just pulled Nina Jacobson aside for a chat. “Budget still holding up?”
Nina nodded. “I’ve worked with tons of directors, and Scott’s the easiest to get along with. His budget control? Stricter than you’d believe.”
Dunn grinned. “Told you—he’s the total opposite of James Cameron.”
Nina got serious. “I don’t think he’s any less than Cameron!”
Dunn opened his mouth but held back, gaining a deeper appreciation for Ridley Scott’s people skills. “What about the ads? All good?”
Nina hesitated. “He’s British, you know. We’ve stuffed in a bunch of ads, and he’s grumbled about it plenty.”
Dunn said, “Hard sells won’t cut it. The ads need to blend in naturally, flow seamlessly—bonus points if they’ve got some artistic flair.”
Nina laughed. “Relax, it’s all handled. If we waited for you, big-shot producer, to deal with it, we’d be filming ‘til next year!”
That’s the perk of female staff—they’ve got the guts to sass the big boss. Dunn didn’t mind, just smirked. “The actors—his performance just now… seemed kinda half-hearted, huh?”
He wasn’t worried about the supporting cast or the female lead. It was James Franco—“Spider-Man” himself—that concerned him. If that guy got cocky, it’d be a headache.
Especially that last scene—his acting was nowhere near what it should’ve been.
Nina frowned, hesitating. “That kid’s got an attitude problem!”
Dunn’s face darkened instantly, his mood sinking.
Just as he’d feared!
Chapter 393: Kill the “Spider” to Warn the Monkeys
James Franco was a gifted actor with an artistic flair, and Dunn had high hopes for him at first—wanted to give him a boost to climb even higher in his career. But after Spider-Man blew up last year, the kid got cocky.
Especially during that whole mess with Dunn Films and Disney slapping each other with “ban orders,” Franco tried playing both sides, thinking he could sit on the fence. That pissed Dunn off big time. If Spider-Man weren’t already locked in, Dunn would’ve dropped him without a second thought!
And now, filming Spider-Man 2, this kid had the nerve to act like a diva?
Dunn gritted his teeth and snapped at Nina Jacobson, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Nina clearly wasn’t in the mood to coddle him. “It’s an internal crew issue. You’re here—how could you not know?”
As the executive producer, Dunn got called in for every little hiccup. It made her look weak, and she wasn’t thrilled about it.
Dunn snorted, glancing toward the set. James Franco was running a dialogue scene with the female lead, Jessica Alba—smooth enough, at least. Guess Dunn showing up put Franco on notice; his attitude had improved.
But Dunn wasn’t letting it slide. This kid needed a serious wake-up call!
He stormed over, barking, “Cut! Stop right there!”
The lovey-dovey actors froze mid-scene, and even the camera, lighting, and prop crews blinked in shock.
Ridley Scott, seasoned as ever, shot Dunn a look but stayed calm. He stood, waved a hand, and said, “Alright, everyone else, take a half-hour break.”
Dunn’s eyes locked onto James Franco like lasers. This kid was slippery—smart, too. Dunn had to come down hard, or Marvel Studios would be a nightmare to control later.
“Can you even act?”
“I…”
“I’m asking you—can you act or not?”
“I… I can.”
James Franco looked like a kicked puppy. Jessica Alba stood beside him, pale and timid, terrified Dunn’s wrath might spill over onto her. They’d been split for over half a year—last year’s honeymoon phase long gone.
“You—go take a break,” Dunn said, waving Jessica off. Then he glared at Franco. “You call yourself an actor? Look at you—what part of this screams ‘professional’? Where’s your work ethic? That was acting?”
Franco’s chest felt like a bomb went off. Getting chewed out in front of everyone—he wanted to crawl into a hole. But what could he do? Fight back?
“Mr. Walker, let me explain, today I—”
“Shut it!”
Dunn didn’t give him an inch, not caring that half the crew were freelancers. He roared, “Look at yourself! Five million bucks for this garbage? A college kid could do better! That scene just now—Jessica gets an 8, you’re lucky to scrape a 0.8!”
Franco was on the verge of tears.
Spider-Man had made him a name in Hollywood—offers were pouring in, his stock was soaring. Anyone else, he’d have cursed them out or walked off.
But this was Dunn!
Forget the guy giving him his big break—Dunn’s clout in Hollywood was at its peak. Franco had no choice but to eat crow.
He was a genius, sharp as hell. If there’d been any wiggle room, he wouldn’t be standing there taking this beating. Against Dunn, he had zero shot.
This young mogul went head-to-head with Disney! Just recently, Minority Report dumped action legend Tom Cruise because he clashed with Natalie Portman. That alone showed Dunn’s insane pull.
Dunn could tank Cruise mid-project at another studio. Franco knew if he so much as twitched, his Hollywood days could be over.
He might push Ridley Scott or Nina Jacobson a bit, but with Dunn? He didn’t even dare breathe loud, let alone argue.
Dunn could blacklist him in a heartbeat!
“One question: Can you act or not?”
“Yes.”
Franco mumbled, head down.
Dunn scoffed. “Then act like it! You’re an actor—your job, your duty, is to perform! Want to strut and pose? Not on my set! Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Louder!”
“Got it!”
Franco snapped to attention, shouting like a soldier.
The onlookers nearly lost it—James Franco, the “artist,” showing off some real dramatic flair.
In the break room, Nina Jacobson was chatting with Ridley Scott. When Dunn walked in, she smirked. “Big boss energy, huh? You don’t mess around!”
Dunn shot her a look. “Stuff like this needs to be nipped early! It’s like seeing a doctor—better soon than late, or it festers into a real problem.”
Nina bristled. “You think I can handle it like you? You’re the big shot calling the shots in Hollywood. I’m just a woman—what am I supposed to do?”
“Woman or not, you can hold up half the sky!”
Nina blinked, then burst out laughing, sizing him up. “Wait, are you actually a feminist?”
Dunn waved it off. “Enough joking—serious time! Franco’s stunt is a wake-up call. We’ve got to handle actors with care and steel. Marvel Studios has insane potential—bigger than Lucasfilm, even. Nina, as president, you need to think about this.”
Nina shrugged casually. “Everyone in Hollywood knows Marvel Studios doesn’t have real power—it’s just coasting on Dunn Films’ back.”
“That’s temporary,” Dunn said. “As Marvel movies grow, its independence will too—hold on…” He stared at her, then chuckled. “Nina, why do I feel like you’re hinting at something?”
Her poised facade cracked with a blush, then she huffed. “So what if I am? I think I’ve done a damn good job running Marvel—way better than Tosca Musk over at Shiri Animation!”
Dunn muttered, “Yep, women’s jealousy always comes from other women.”
“What was that?” Nina’s brow furrowed.
Dunn coughed lightly. “I made Tosca VP at Dunn Films to deal with that old fox Redstone. Besides, Kathleen Kennedy at Rose Pictures has less power than you.”
“Don’t try that on me!” Nina wasn’t buying it. “Kennedy’s gig at Rose is part-time—mine’s not. And Marvel’s importance to Dunn Films? Rose doesn’t even compare!”
“Alright, you win. What’s your move? You’re swamped at Marvel—making you VP at Dunn Films would just be a title.”
With Ridley Scott right there, Dunn didn’t want to bicker with her.
Nina smirked triumphantly. “Simple—I want Marvel’s financial independence.”
“Hm?”
Dunn’s eyebrow shot up. He got her drift.
For a subsidiary president, cash control was king!
Nina pressed on, all business. “Marvel pulled in over $800 million last year, but the parent company sucked it all up. As president, I’ve got no room to maneuver financially.”
Dunn cleared his throat. “Big revenue, sure, but big expenses too—Spider-Man to Spider-Man 2, Daredevil, Punisher, next year’s Ant-Man—all hefty tabs.”
Nina stared him down. “You’re the boss—dodging like that doesn’t cut it. Does that even make sense to you?”
“Fine, what do you want?”
“Marvel’s revenue stays in Marvel’s accounts.”
“No way!”
Dunn shut it down flat.
Right now, Dunn Films relied heavily on siphoning cash from Marvel to keep the lights on.
Nina took a step back. “Before, Dunn Films drained everything, and I had to beg upstairs for funds. Keep the money in Marvel’s books—if Dunn Films needs cash, you can ask me. I won’t say no.”
Dunn laughed. “What’s the difference?”
“Huge difference!” Nina’s face hardened, dead serious. “It’s about my authority and dignity as a company president!”
Dunn grinned. “Alright, talk to Bill when we’re back. I’m cool with it.”
Where the money sat didn’t matter to him—it was his private company, his cash either way, left hand or right. For Bill Mechanic, though? Ouch. He’d have to grovel to Nina for funds—his pride was toast.
Nina smiled, satisfied. “Great. That’ll make my job easier. I promise—no more James Franco nonsense!”
Dunn waved it off. Playing bad cop was a guy’s gig. “Diva antics are a professionalism issue. Let’s see who dares mess with my movies now!”
Today, he’d reamed Franco out in front of everyone. By tomorrow, papers and media would be all over it.
Classic kill-the-chicken-to-scare-the-monkeys move!
Wait, no—kill the “spider” to warn the monkeys!
Chapter 394: This Deal’s a Win!
“Original brick wall, early Georgian style, with specially treated seams!”
Inside Citibank’s headquarters, Nicolas Cage was in full-on spy mode, his face dead serious as he stared at an imaginary screen, rattling off details rapid-fire.
“The victim’s here, the killer’s here—aside from location and time, it’s just their own influence.” Supporting actor Colin Farrell pointed at the “screen,” all businesslike and stern.
Both of them had serious acting chops. Sure, their personalities were a bit wild, but when they locked in, they really brought the heat.
This was the set of Minority Report, filming on location at Citibank’s HQ.
Dunn watched from a distance for a bit before turning to Natalie. “They treating you alright?”
Natalie tilted her head up with a bright grin. “Yeah, especially Nicolas—he’s been super nice to me!”
Dunn’s lips quirked up.
Well, duh!
Nicolas Cage landed this role mostly because of Natalie Portman—of course he’d look out for her.
“What about the director?”
“Spielberg? He’s great too. Except for me, he’s chewed out pretty much everyone on set at some point. It’s my first time seeing him mad.”
Natalie was clearly loving the chance to work with a legend like him, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Dunn gave a little sigh, eyeing her robotic getup—head loaded with gear. “Making you look like this, all that stuff on your head… doesn’t it wear you out?”
“Filming’s always tiring,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Last week, during an action scene, Nicolas sliced his right leg open—blood everywhere, super scary. But he didn’t even go to the hospital. Just patched it up and kept shooting. Total respect! Mr. Bond even called him the Jackie Chan of the set!”
Dunn could only nod. “Alright, just be careful not to get hurt. And if anyone messes with you, tell me—I’ll make sure they regret it.”
Natalie huffed playfully. “Oh, please! Thanks to you, I can’t even make friends. Everyone’s so polite it’s fake.”
Dunn cracked a grin. “Fine, then I won’t snag you roles anymore—like with Scorsese, Eastwood, Zemeckis, Tarantino…”
“Okay, enough!” Natalie shoved him, puffing out her cheeks. “What kind of boyfriend are you? Having your fun and then coming here to tease me?”
“Fun?”
“Hmph, you think I don’t know? You got to New York yesterday! Where’d you crash last night?”
Dunn’s face stiffened, and he gave an awkward laugh, lowering his voice. “C’mon, a guy’s gotta unwind sometimes, right? You get it.”
“Sometimes? Hmph!”
Natalie shot him a sidelong glare, arms crossed, looking adorably miffed.
Dunn slid an arm around her waist, coaxing her. “We spent all that cash keeping two supermodels on call—not using them would be a waste…”
“Stop! Stop it!” Natalie jabbed him hard in the side, glaring. “What are you even saying? Chauvinist!”
Just then, the shoot hit a break. Nicolas Cage strolled over first, all smiles, waving from a distance. “You two are so cute together!”
In front of others, Natalie always let Dunn take the lead, giving him full respect and authority. She snuggled up to him, sweet as can be.
“I caught your scene just now—solid work,” Dunn said.
It wasn’t just flattery. Acting opposite Colin Farrell takes real skill. In the original, even Tom Cruise, with Spielberg’s coaching, got outshone by Farrell at times.
As an Oscar winner, Nicolas Cage didn’t have that problem.
When he dialed in, he could spark chemistry with anyone. When he didn’t? If he was just phoning it in for a paycheck, his quirky personality could tank any role.
Nicolas humbly tossed some praise Natalie’s way for her hard work.
Good attitude.
Dunn nodded, lowering his voice. “Hey, after this movie wraps, wanna team up with me on something?”
“Your movie?”
Nicolas’s eyes lit up.
Dunn said, “I might not direct it myself, but I’ll produce and wrote the script. If you’re in, I’m eyeing Rose Byrne for the female lead—last year’s Venice Film Fest Best Actress.”
Natalie’s stomach twisted with a pang of jealousy.
Looks like Rose Byrne bringing in Abby Cornish really scored her some major points with Dunn.
Nicolas chuckled. “Can I ask what it’s about?”
“Action, adventure, treasure-hunting vibe. The title’s hush-hush, but I’ll let you in—it’s called National Treasure.”
In Hollywood, movie titles come with “trademark” rights. Unless it’s a remake or re-release, no two films can share a name—it’d confuse audiences. (Note)
That restriction meant Dunn’s knack for “borrowing” future hits had limits. Something like Avatar? Script registered in 1994—no chance to snag it.
Luckily, the original National Treasure was a Jerry Bruckheimer project cooked up in 2002, shot in 2003, and released in 2004.
That gave Dunn the jump to swoop in early.
He’d already drafted the outline, handed it to the writing team to flesh out, and rushed to register “National Treasure” with the Writers Guild and film association.
If all went smooth, they could kick off prep by early next year.
Nicolas didn’t even hesitate. “No problem! I’ll handle my agent!”
Dunn couldn’t help but laugh. This guy’s brain worked in weird ways.
Any agent with half a mind wouldn’t turn down a Dunn movie—people fought tooth and nail for a shot. Plus, Nicolas had been tight with Jerry Bruckheimer for years, and that hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing lately.
Dunn offering a hand despite their past? He should be grateful.
Just then, Steven Spielberg finished barking orders and strolled over with a friendly smile. “Dunn, didn’t expect to see you here!”
Dunn’s eyes narrowed slightly at Spielberg.
The female lead swap for Minority Report and the Band of Brothers rights fees had soured his view of the guy. Still, he kept up appearances with a faint smile. “Just checking on Nat—making sure she’s not dragging the shoot down with her skills.”
Natalie caught the edge in his tone and discreetly pinched his arm, jumping in brightly. “Spielberg’s been great to me!”
Spielberg sensed the chill too—Dunn wasn’t as warm as before. With a quiet sigh, he tried to smooth things over. “Heard Six Feet Under’s pulling solid ratings? Looks like Tarz TV’s on the rise.”
Dunn nodded. “Six Feet Under’s doing well. Just not sure if Band of Brothers will deliver when it airs. You know, I shelled out a full 80 million for the North American rights.”
Natalie tensed, tugging at him again, and laughed. “The buzz for Band of Brothers is huge! I saw in the papers—over 20 countries’ networks are bidding for rights, and some groups are even snagging online rights?”
Online rights?
Dunn’s mind sparked.
Streaming had been a concept for five years now, but slow internet speeds kept it grounded. Even Netflix’s online rentals were more hype than reality.
But ten years from now?
Streaming would explode!
It’d be a content-is-king era, with sky-high rights fees!
Band of Brothers’ online rights? No less than 50 million bucks!
Spielberg shook his head. “Online rights? A few jokers are messing around—300 grand for a contract? That wouldn’t cover the lawyers.”
Natalie giggled. “Yeah, the dot-com bubble popped—those dreamers are all broke now!”
Dunn raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Steven, I’m interested in those online rights. You know I’ve invested in some web companies.”
“Well…”
Spielberg gave him a long look.
Dunn waved a hand. “The internet’s gonna take off someday—online video might be huge. Could be 20 years, could be 30, who knows? The bubble’s still a mess. How about this: I’ll take 20 years of Band of Brothers’ online rights. Won’t hurt DreamWorks’ bottom line.”
Spielberg exhaled, grinning. “Easy enough. I’ll call DreamWorks’ rights team right now.”
Clearly, he’d underestimated how fast the internet would grow.
“And the cost…?”
“Forget it!” Spielberg chuckled. “You paid 80 million already—call it a bundle with the North American TV rights!”
Dunn nodded with a smile.
This deal? Total win!
Eighty million for Band of Brothers’ North American TV rights was steep, but tossing in the online rights? He’d struck gold.
Band of Brothers was a timeless classic. Even a decade later, its rights would outprice something like The Pacific, despite that show’s massive budget.
Seeing the ice thaw with Dunn, Spielberg pressed his luck. “New York filming wraps in two weeks. We’ll head back to L.A., finish up at Fox’s studio. That’ll be late August—I’m thinking of taking a few days, rounding up Hanks and the Band of Brothers crew for a big promo push.”
Dunn wasn’t about to be won over that easily.
Band of Brothers was a three-way investment. Their promo efforts were mostly for themselves—Tarz TV was just a side perk.
“Sounds good,” Dunn said smoothly, keeping it neutral. “Might even stir up some hype before it airs! But I probably can’t join—end of September, my movie A Beautiful Mind hits theaters. No time to spare.”
Nicolas Cage piped up suddenly. “My film Windtalkers is a war movie too—won’t clash with A Beautiful Mind, right?”
Dunn gave him a deep look, lips curling. “Relax, no overlap!”
Windtalkers?
Heh, no chance of hitting screens this year!
Chapter 395: The Ruthless Sumner Redstone
Lately, Sumner Redstone’s mood had been sour.
Dunn’s dazzling track record over the past few years had put Redstone on high alert—watching, wary, and focused. But even with all that vigilance, Dunn still managed to pull a fast one right under his nose!
First, it was the Fantastic Four cartoon and American Idol collab, then the co-financing deal with Paramount. Those moves lulled Redstone into dropping his guard. And in that gap, the TA Network exploded like a skyscraper shooting up from nowhere!
Just six months ago, TA’s subscriber count had tanked to 2 million after a price hike—barely half of Showtime’s numbers. But since May, TA hit the gas hard.
Spider-Man and Saw were just warm-ups. The real feast? Six Feet Under.
A recent issue of a TV magazine ranked the top ten greatest American shows ever. Friends took the undisputed crown, followed by HBO’s breakout hit The Sopranos, then Seinfeld, The X-Files, and The West Wing. Six Feet Under landed at sixth—and that’s just its first season!
Redstone wielded massive clout in media, his sharp, no-nonsense style always a hit with Wall Street. Getting outplayed by Dunn like this? He wasn’t thrilled.
Though it was past office hours, Redstone lingered at his desk, glaring at a fresh report. His face was grim.
It detailed Six Feet Under’s finale viewership from two days ago, plus TA Network’s latest subscriber stats.
The finale drew over 2.8 million U.S. households—only 140,000 using free trials. For premium cable, that’s a viewership miracle! Only HBO’s titans, The Sopranos and Sex and the City, could compete. Viacom’s Showtime? Not even in the same league—just staring up in awe.
Then there’s TA’s subscriber count: now at 4.9 million, up 2 million in three months! Sure, it trailed Showtime’s 5.3 million, but was that even a fair comparison?
Showtime’s base plan? $9.99 for three months.
TA’s? $29.99 for three months!
Premium cable skips ads, relying on subscriptions and DVD/video sales. Showtime, with no original series, had no disc revenue, and its subscription income next to TA’s was laughable.
TA’s 4.9 million subscribers paid 2.4 times Showtime’s rate—equivalent to 12 million Showtime users! For today’s premium cable, that’s astronomical. If Showtime hit 12 million, Redstone might wake up laughing from his dreams.
HBO, the industry kingpin, had just 7.5 million subscribers, with a base plan of $14.99 for three months—still no match for TA’s pricing.
Here’s the kicker: Six Feet Under was a “low-budget” $30 million show. Next month, the real juggernaut lands—Band of Brothers, a $120 million beast!
“HBO’s a bunch of clowns!” Redstone growled.
He’d never ignored TA, but he’d figured Dunn’s cable game was too green—HBO could squash him easy. Boy, was he wrong.
HBO did strike, snagging Band of Brothers’ rights. But Dunn’s guts and swagger were unreal—he dropped a wild $80 million to nab the North American TV rights! In the TV world, only a nutcase outsider like Dunn would pull that stunt.
It was price-gouging insanity!
That said, the $80 million splash made waves. DreamWorks hyped it to death, giving the miniseries insane buzz before it even aired. Come September, Band of Brothers would likely turbocharge TA’s subscriber count even more.
At this pace, forget Showtime—Time Warner’s HBO could end up eating TA’s dust!
Redstone had seen his share of storms. Honestly, he didn’t care much about premium
premium cable’s tiny sandbox—it was peanuts compared to his trillion-dollar Viacom empire. What gnawed at him was Dunn’s sneaky little tricks.
He felt duped.
At his age, especially with his stubborn streak, Redstone hated young punks playing mind games with him.
Without much thought, he dialed Dunn’s number.
Meanwhile, Dunn was at his Mid-Level Villa, swapping outfits amid the giggles of Penelope Cruz, Rose Byrne, and Abbie Cornish. He had a family gathering to hit up.
When Redstone’s call came through, Dunn’s gut tightened. “Mr. Redstone? Hey, it’s Dunn.”
“Heh, not interrupting, am I?”
“Nope! What’s up?”
Redstone kept it cool. “Nothing big. I caught Six Feet Under on TA—fresh angle, deep themes, solid stuff. I’d love to air it on Showtime. Think you could part with it?”
Dunn’s heart sank.
That wasn’t a request—it was an order!
Could he say no?
Back when he was a nobody, he’d turned down Tom Rothman. Later, growing some chops, he’d brushed off Michael Eisner’s threats. Now, Dunn stood tall in Hollywood, spine straight, unfazed by anyone—even Kirk Douglas didn’t rattle him.
But this was Sumner Redstone.
Dunn wanted to say no—words on the tip of his tongue—but he held back.
Six Feet Under was the hottest show around. Tons of local stations were clamoring for second-run rights, offering fat checks. Emmy rules meant a show needed 51% of U.S. viewers—over 55 million households—to qualify. With 110 million homes nationwide, TA’s reach was too small. Even HBO’s dramas hit other platforms to meet that bar.
This had three perks:
Local stations had to censor the edgy stuff, pushing viewers to TA or DVDs for the full cut.
An Emmy nod boosted a show’s clout and disc sales.
Showtime’s $9.99 beat TA’s $29.99, but Showtime’s 80 million North American subscribers dwarfed TA’s reach—80% of homes subscribed. Premium cable’s niche wasn’t price; it was the lingering “adult content” stigma. Local airings could shift older viewers’ views, showing premium cable offered quality, wholesome hits—something HBO had been pushing lately.
For TA to grow, it had to keep that up.
But not with Showtime!
Both were premium cable—both could air the uncut Six Feet Under. If viewers caught a censored local version and got curious, where’d they subscribe? The cheaper option, obviously.
Intentional or not, Redstone’s ask was a slap to Dunn and TA—forcing him to cozy up to a rival!
Dunn went silent for a solid twenty seconds. The call’s vibe turned icy.
Redstone broke it first, chuckling. “What’s up, tough call?”
Dunn was fuming—ready to cuss him out!
A media titan who’d built his empire on cable didn’t get this basic logic? Bullshit!
Pretending, you old fox!
But the timing was dicey. Dunn was set to cash in big on the “9/11” fallout—no question. With that windfall, though, he’d face media backlash over ethics. Right now, cozying up to media giants was critical.
And yeah, Dunn was a Hollywood heavyweight—Michael Eisner couldn’t touch him. But Redstone? A legend. Wall Street ties, Hollywood pull, White House pals—the undisputed media king of America.
Dunn wasn’t his match—not yet.
Don’t forget Barry Diller’s cautionary tale!
