Christmas Day arrived at the Berkeley Hills mansion, resplendent in the sharp cold and clear sky. Maria had been allowing herself to fuss over the roast, muttering under her breath that her boss never ate enough of a respectable quantity of roast lamb to justify the trouble of preparing one in the first place. Sparky, as if understanding that the house was prepped for something special, bolted through the house with strands of tinsel hanging from his mouth like an Olympic swimmer that just hit gold.
Harry was sitting in his study with a tumbler of whiskey, while James rifled through a stack of reports. Today what Harry wanted was specific, and totally unChristmassy.
"Tell me about the DC and Marvel comics," Harry said, looking only at the rim of the glass.
James blinked. "Now?"
"Yes, James. Now. You don't mean to say that you totally forgot because of Christmas?"
James sighed and adjusted his glasses. "Okay. Disney wants to buy Marvel. They're first in line to make an acquisition - if they go through with it, they take the IP catalog on Marvel; Spider-Man, X-Men, Iron Man; all of it. It would change the game. Warner Bros knows this too and they're sweating. They're scrambling to put together an offer to counter, but good luck leveraging their debt."
"And DC?"
"That is the problem; they're fucked. The last Batman films made money, but that's not enough to hold up the whole line-up. And even that was in 1980s. They're desperate for money. They floated the idea of selling off lower-tier IPs piece by piece to keep alive; for instance Martian Manhunter, lower-tier Justice League characters. Universal's sniffing around."
Harry leaned back until he could feel the leather of the chair creak. He tapped the glass once onto the desk and spoke quietly, "Make DC an offer they can't refuse. Not from FunTime, not from Fox. From me, Harry Jackson."
James sat frozen in place. "Harry. That is not just stupid, it is financial suicide to invest that type of money in a dead superhero market. No one is watching superhero films. You've just rolled out yourself as a director with Providence. You can't risk all that you've built to bring back a dead franchise!"
Harry's focus intensified. "I'm not gonna chance it. I'm planting a stake in the ground. Marvel is going to Disney. WB is going to ruin DC. But if I get in early - before anyone really understands how these worlds are worth, I will be in control of the future. Send the offer. If DC wants to see us, I will meet them myself."
James clamped his lips together, clearly resisting the urge to argue. "You are really stubborn, Harry."
"I have always been." Harry finished the whiskey and stood. "Now go change. Guests will arrive in an hour."
By sunset, the house was filled with ringing laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses. The living room twinkled with a thousand golden lights. Rachel chatted with Fox executives near the tree, Lisa picked her way between groups filling empty drinks, and Maria stood at her backstage buffet station like a general supervising an army. Sparky was fast footed, happy trot from guest to guest, demanding belly rubs.
Harry worked the room. First he greeted Christopher and Jonathan Nolan, they had flown down from a quick trip with Warner Bros. executives. He shook hands with Sandy and Gail, waved and hugged Toni, his new agent, and greeted Daniel Hayes and Javier Bardem like they were family.
At one point, Harry pulled Daniel aside, into the quiet study room. The younger actor raised his eyebrows curiously as Harry closed the door.
"Daniel, I've been working on a new concept," Harry said and he lowered his voice. "A script. It's about a pianist who pretends to be blind. It's chaotic, full of twists and turns. And there's murder too. And for me— well, you would be the best person to play that character."
Daniel blinked. "Me? A blind pianist?"
Harry smiled. "When I've done the final pass on the script, I can gift it to you but I wanted you to know first. If you are interested, just tell your agent to keep the next half year free for you."
Daniel's grin spread slowly. "Harry… I don't know what to say. It sounds amazing. Yes. Of course. I'll clear my schedule when you need it."
They shook hands. A promise made.
------
Harry saw Christopher Nolan at the bar later that evening. Nolan was always composed, and he raised his glass.
"You should come to the premiere of my next picture with Warner Bros. It's not a big deal, but it means something to me," Christopher said.
Harry smiled. "You mean Insomnia? Absolutely. I'll be there. And I'm talking to Fox about launching a Memento campaign for Oscar. Don't argue with me, Chris. It's worthy of the campaign."
Nolan chuckled very slightly. "You always do that. You say things with such certainty."
"Because certainty convinces people," Harry said. "Trust me. That is how I have lasted this long."
The party began to dwindle around midnight. Guests filed out with handshakes, promises to meet again in January, and the sound of tipsy laughter radiating down the driveway. Lisa and Toni saw the last of the Fox executive team out, while Javier stood hunched over the kitchen smoking a final cigarette before heading home.
Harry poured himself one more and was half way to the stairs when Rachel stepped in front of him. Her face was calm but her stare keen.
"Your uncle wishes you a Merry Christmas," she said.
Harry froze, then he bitterly laughed. "Sure he does. And, of course, you'd pass on the message."
Rachel frowned deeply. "Don't start, Harry."
"I'm not starting," Harry said sharply. "I'm ending. You do understand that even after everything Mason and the Board did to drive me out, everything that I built with my own hands, you are still in contact? With them?"
Rachel pressed her lips together. "I'm in contact because I want to honor your father's legacy. This family built Jackson Multimedia. You were supposed to inherit it. Just because you threw a bunch of tantrums and cut ties doesn't change that."
Harry clenched his jaw. "Tantrums? I've made more on my own in one year that they thought I'd accomplish in ten. I don't want my father's name. I don't want Mason. And I certainly do not want his Christmas greetings."
Rachel's voice rose. "You cannot just erase where you came from! Your father built that company for you. I am trying to preserve what was his—a company that should still be yours—while you pursue every harebrained scheme that you can imagine."
Harry gripped his glass tighter. "I'm making it on my own. I've proved it with Providence. I've proved it with Dream Theatres. I don't have to be entertained to prove I exist alongside the legacy of a dead man."
Rachel's eyes were shining. "He was your father."
"And he tried to kill me with that dead man in that plane," Harry burst out suddenly low in tone, shaking with anger.
The room was silent. Maria froze midway through crossing the hall carrying a tray of dishes.
Rachel was gaping at Harry like he'd struck her. "You think that?" she whispered.
Harry tossed back the rest of his drink in one gulp. "I don't think. I know. And I'm done talking about it."
He slammed the glass down on the sideboard, stood up and walked away towards the stairs. Rachel reached out for him, but he shrugged her off and pounded the stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs Rachel stood, trembling hands by her side. Maria stood hesitantly beside her with the tray pressed against her chest. Neither could say anything. The upstairs door shutting sounded through the silent house like a gun shot.
Christmas lights twinkled, casting the hall in warm colors. But the warmth had drained from the night, leaving only silence and the faint jingle of Sparky's collar as the dog padded toward Rachel, tail wagging in a room heavy with what just transpired.