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🕑 Added 2025-06-11 16:32:28 +0000 UTCChapter 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.
Chapter 252: Disney’s Hired Gun
The acquisition of Netflix went off without a hitch, and their partnership with PayPal was clicking along nicely too. Word was, Reed Hastings and Elon Musk hit it off so well they talked from noon straight through to the early hours of the next morning.
Both of them had gotten their master’s degrees at Stanford and built their careers in Silicon Valley, so they had a ton in common.
Good news was rolling in from Michael Ovitz’s end too. He and Sherry Hershler had been working the rounds with some major private equity funds on Wall Street and even won over Merrill Lynch. Negotiations were apparently going great.
By the end of September, they were expecting to lock in deals with three private equity funds and Merrill Lynch. The funds were set to pump in $150 million through equity financing to take a stake in the newly formed Legendary Pictures.
Add in the $100 million from Dunn Capital, $20 million from AG, and Michael Ovitz’s personal $80 million, and Legendary Pictures would launch with a jaw-dropping $350 million in cash on hand!
And that wasn’t all—Merrill Lynch was ready to toss in a loan between $120 and $180 million, prioritizing debt financing.
If all this cash came through, Michael Ovitz—after years of lying low—would storm back into Hollywood like an emperor, instantly becoming someone the industry had to notice and court again.
And Dunn, the guy behind Legendary Pictures, would get the respect he deserved too.
But Michael Eisner’s failed peace talks with Dunn? Yeah, no surprise he’d have a backup plan.
It was a matter of pride.
At the Spider-Man victory party, there were plenty of onlookers, and the argument between Eisner and Dunn wasn’t exactly quiet—it got people’s attention. If Eisner just let it slide afterward with no pushback, his rep in Hollywood would take a serious hit.
In fact, to the Universal Pictures execs watching, Eisner didn’t seem as untouchable as the legend suggested—not after Dunn came at him like that.
What Dunn didn’t see coming was that Disney, weak as they were in the movie game, would pivot to a new angle. Michael Eisner had called in Mattel, the toy giant, as his hired muscle.
Back in June, Mattel had inked a deal with Disney, snagging the toy merchandising rights for the “Disney Princess” line for the next five years.
At the same time, Disney had swooped in to block Dunn Pictures’ attempt to team up with Mattel on a “Barbie” project.
Mattel’s short-sighted, boneheaded move cost them big time. They ended up starting their own Mattel Animation Studios to make a Barbie movie on their own.
Now it was September, and Mattel was starting to see through Disney’s game plan—and it was nasty.
They’d set up Mattel Animation Studios thinking they could lean on Disney’s clout to churn out a solid animated movie with ease.
After all, Barbie’s global brand power was unreal.
But Disney didn’t lift a finger to help Mattel Animation. Worse, they were quietly throwing up roadblocks to tank the “Barbie” movie.
The reason? Simple. Barbie was too iconic. If that series took off, it’d threaten the “Disney Princess” line.
Mattel was a toy company—total newbies at filmmaking. Without Disney’s support, they were stuck swallowing the pain and turned to a new partner in Hollywood: Ainfrae Entertainment.
What kind of outfit was that?
A company with seven employees!
For Mattel, though, it was good enough. At least they had a pro animation team now, and the movie—Barbie in the Nutcracker—was finally getting off the ground.
They handed the distribution to Universal.
Since Dunn was extra curious about the “Barbie” project, he’d pulled some strings at Universal to check out a few finished scenes. He laughed so hard he nearly spit his drink.
This was a movie?
The quality was worse than a slapdash cartoon.
Even with the “Barbie” name behind it, there was no way this thing was hitting theaters.
Mattel had ditched a chance to work with Dunn Pictures, and now they were paying for their own stupidity.
On the bright side, the “Disney Princess” toys were selling like crazy!
Snow White, Aurora, Belle, Ariel—these sets were flying off shelves!
Just over a month since launch, they’d already raked in over $100 million.
For context, Barbie’s full-year sales were $1.6 billion!
Mattel’s deal with Disney ran for five years. Since they’d already burned bridges with Dunn Pictures and the “Barbie” movie was in production, they figured—whatever Disney’s past motives—they had to keep the partnership going.
The “Disney Princess” brand was pure gold!
So when Michael Eisner came calling, Mattel didn’t even blink. They jumped in as his attack dog, taking aim at Dunn!
“Mattel and Disney have built a fantastic partnership. We’re set to collaborate across multiple brand properties. Disney’s a major player with a wholesome image—exactly the kind of partner we’ve been eager to work with.”
“Truth is, back in May, we got a pitch from Dunn Pictures. They wanted to team up with Mattel on Barbie and some other toy brands. But after looking at Dunn Pictures’ strength and brand influence, we turned them down.”
“Sure, Dunn Pictures makes great movies, no question. But when it comes to brand marketing, Disney’s the OG. They’ve got nearly eighty years of history. This is a legacy company that’s won people’s hearts—stronger than Dunn Pictures in every way.”
“And let’s be real—Barbie’s a toy. Even if it becomes a film, it’s going to be animated. Dunn Pictures has zero experience there. Disney, on the other hand? Their animation game is unmatched in Hollywood.”
“Yup, with Disney’s help, we’ve officially greenlit Barbie’s animated movie. It’ll hit the public next Christmas season.”
“We don’t know much about Dunn Pictures’ strategic tie-up with Hasbro, and honestly, we don’t care. My guess? Hasbro’s toys skew male, and Disney just wasn’t interested in tapping that market. If Disney had their eye on something like Transformers, I doubt Dunn Pictures would’ve even gotten a shot, heh.”
Dunn was back in Massachusetts, shooting A Beautiful Mind.
During a break, assistant director Abel Smith handed him a stack of newspapers. That’s when he saw the Mattel spokesperson’s comments from a press conference.
Dunn was torn between fuming and laughing.
He was pissed because Mattel had the gall to act so high and mighty. Passing on a deal with Dunn Pictures was one thing, but stomping on them to kiss Disney’s boots? Shameless.
He was amused because Mattel’s execs must’ve been brain-dead. Throwing away their dignity for Disney’s scraps—and they didn’t even get how much a film could boost an IP.
Who said Barbie could only be an animated movie?
If Dunn had gotten his hands on that brand, he’d have turned it into a live-action Barbie blockbuster within the next decade!
It’s no wonder Mattel started fading after the new millennium. Their leadership—at least the CEO—was too narrow-minded, too cautious, too stuck in their ways!
Abel Smith, a guy Dunn had pulled up from the trenches, wasn’t thrilled either. “Mattel’s out here playing Disney’s attack dog like they’ve got nothing to lose.”
Dunn smirked dismissively. “Mattel? Honestly, I wouldn’t waste my time scrapping with a half-dead company like that. When they picked Disney over us, I didn’t even bother reacting. But now? They’ve got the nerve to come at me. Sorry, but I’m not playing nice anymore!”
“Boss, are you gonna…?”
Abel Smith’s eyes lit up. He’d been part of Dunn’s core crew, working on two films with him already, and knew his style inside out.
