Gilbert did have some plans for the SuperSonics. Once they were renamed the Thunder next season, David Stern privately gave his word:
As long as the Thunder tanked properly into the lottery, Stern would make sure they landed a top-three draft pick.
Top three was the official line—what Stern really meant was the number one overall pick—but that wasn't something that could be said aloud.
Gilbert, however, didn't feel the need to rush. For now, he was fine with building around Ray Allen as the team's core.
If memory served him correctly, the 2007, 2008, and 2009 drafts would produce plenty of future NBA stars—Kevin Durant, Derrick Rose, James Harden…
With just a little guidance from him, the SuperSonics could quickly grow into a playoff contender.
Of course, Gilbert was busy. Day-to-day operations and decisions would remain in the hands of the front office.
The Sonics' general manager even flew to Los Angeles to report in, pledging his loyalty while laying out the season's goal: make the playoffs.
Gilbert simply listened, nodding, without offering much interference.
The team could still run itself just fine, and Gilbert felt reassured.
Meanwhile, Arsenal negotiations were ongoing, though more complicated than expected. The club was structured much like Time Warner—shareholders scattered everywhere.
Trying to buy a controlling stake from so many different owners at once wasn't realistic.
Anna had already located three or four shareholders willing to sell, and with board approval Gilbert could soon become a minority shareholder.
But that wasn't what Gilbert wanted. He didn't just want to join Arsenal—he wanted control. At least fifty percent of the shares, or more.
The rumors had already spread far and wide, reaching every corner of world football.
Yet Professor Wenger kept the team steady, storming down the road toward the title. Sir Alex Ferguson's Manchester United could do nothing but eat Arsenal's dust.
Ferguson sneered at the situation. "Hmph. That Frenchman is just putting on a show for his new boss."
His assistant was puzzled. "Sir, what do you mean? Director Gilbert isn't Arsenal's new owner yet."
"Isn't it obvious?" Ferguson grunted. "Football stopped being about just football a long time ago. Arsenal and Gilbert—they're a perfect match."
And then, thinking about Manchester United's miserly owners, Ferguson couldn't help a throb of frustration. Why couldn't he land himself such a generous backer?
Wenger had always been both rival and friend, the two constantly pushing against each other. Now, with the Frenchman about to secure himself a golden patron, the old Scot felt just a bit jealous.
Back in North America, December arrived, and Los Angeles grew colder.
Filming for The False was going smoothly. After a brief adjustment period, production raced forward like a whirlwind. The biggest reason was Tom Cruise and Tom Hanks—their chemistry was electric.
Whenever the two shared a scene, the entire set froze in awe.
Cruise found himself pushed to new heights by Hanks' brilliant performances. Once he was in the zone, their exchanges flowed like water.
Most scenes wrapped in just one or two takes, the efficiency so smooth even Gilbert had trouble believing it.
Of course, there were times when not two, but three Academy Award winners were unsatisfied.
One pivotal scene had Tom Cruise's character, Charlie Dyke, executing Dustin Hoffman's character, Clahan Ross, with Tom Hanks' Ido Dash present as a witness.
Three heavyweight actors sharing the screen—naturally, none wanted to be outshone. Each fought to showcase their best, to dominate the frame.
Gilbert thought the first few takes were already perfect. The three of them? They weren't satisfied, hammering out twenty more takes.
Charlize Theron, herself an Oscar winner, found the display almost frightening.
She whispered to Gilbert, "This is terrifying. Aren't you going to stop them?"
Gilbert just grinned. "Why would I stop them? This is great—sit back and enjoy the show."
Charlize rolled her eyes. She had to admit, though, this kind of battle of performances was a rare sight even on this set. It was… entertaining.
Finally, the scene wrapped. The three actors immediately made peace, exchanging polite flattery.
Gilbert stepped forward, clapping his hands. "Magnificent. Honestly, I think this scene will stand as one of Hollywood's finest."
Dustin Hoffman chuckled, the fire gone from his eyes. "Indeed, indeed. Getting both Toms in the same film isn't easy."
Tom Hanks, ever the gentleman, spoke first. "I've learned so much from working with Charlie, especially action work—it's been invaluable."
Cruise smiled back, returning the compliment. "And I think Ido's subtle eye work was remarkable. I've gained a lot too."
"Alright, alright," Gilbert interrupted with a grin. "We all know you're brilliant. That's a wrap for today. My Chinese friends sent me a case of Moutai. Let's drink."
The three stars lit up instantly. "Perfect, perfect! We've been dying to taste that."
Watching them walk away, Charlize muttered under her breath, "Bunch of drunks…"
After months together, Cruise and Hanks had discovered a shared passion: wine.
When Nicole Kidman visited the set, she confided to Charlize her annoyance with Cruise's wine cellar. He treated it like a treasure trove—no one was allowed inside. If it needed cleaning, he insisted on doing it himself.
Charlize was amused and a little bewildered. Who knew Cruise had such a quirky obsession with polishing his own wine cellar?
Then again, Hollywood stars all had their oddities. Angelina Jolie kept spiders as pets. Meg Ryan had adopted a donkey—supposedly because of… well, its length.
Charlize admitted she'd seen it herself. Long? Sure. But not exactly full.
Compared to that, Gilbert was far better. Not just long—but full. Full enough to keep her savoring every bit…
As for Sylvester Stallone, he owned a kangaroo. Rumor had it he boxed with it when he was angry, since kangaroos were natural fighters.
And others? Some raised snakes, others crocodiles—even cockroaches. Hollywood had no shortage of bizarre hobbies.
Against all that madness, Tom Cruise's obsession with cleaning his wine cellar suddenly seemed almost… normal.
And Gilbert? Even more so. When Charlize had once asked him directly about his hobbies, his answer had been blunt: "I like beautiful women."
Charlize had been speechless for half a day. Well, duh. Who doesn't?
Though, if she'd lived long enough to witness the Olympic opening ceremony twenty years later, she might have questioned her own assumption. Apparently… not everyone liked beautiful women after all.
Thanks to their shared passion for fine drinks, Gilbert was able to smooth over the occasional tension between the two Toms.
Maybe they wouldn't become close friends, but at least they wouldn't come to blows on set. That was enough to keep the production running smoothly.
The plot of The False was intricate, yet the filming process itself wasn't complicated. By December, the shoot was nearly wrapped, with completion scheduled just before Christmas.
In the broader North American film market, little had changed that year. The biggest winner, without a doubt, was Pixar with their Disney-distributed Finding Nemo.
The animated feature grossed $350 million domestically and $928 million worldwide, once again shattering the myth that animation could never command blockbuster numbers.
With merchandise flying off the shelves, Pixar's newfound value was no surprise to anyone.
Even if Gilbert wasn't the year's biggest winner, he was still one of them. With Pirates of the Caribbean—an original story—he had secured another massive success.
The film earned $328 million in North America and $761 million worldwide. Hardly a flop—on the contrary, those were phenomenal numbers.
Sure, critics might say Pirates of the Caribbean didn't measure up to The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. But honestly—how many films in history could?
The truth was, Pirates had done brilliantly. For any other director, such results would have been cause for endless bragging. For Gilbert, though, the media spun it as a decline.
It wasn't entirely unfair. His previous years' results had been too outstanding. Anything slightly less seemed like a step down.
But Disney and Warner Bros. saw things differently. To them, Gilbert remained a treasure. They even held a lavish celebration banquet in his honor, marking the year's achievements.
During the shoot for The False, Gilbert brought along several cast members to make an appearance at the party, adding a touch of presence.
"John, what on earth happened to you?" Gilbert asked when he spotted Johnny Depp.
The actor looked every bit the pirate captain—his face wrapped in bandages, a monocle perched on one eye. All he needed was a hook hand.
Depp shrugged nonchalantly. "Crashed my bike. Nothing serious."
He was a motorbike enthusiast, with a collection of them at home. He had once considered gifting one to Gilbert, though Gilbert politely declined.
Gilbert sighed. "Bikes are cool, sure, but you need to be careful. You're Jack Sparrow."
It was more than casual concern. Depp was under contract for a trilogy. If something happened to him, recasting Jack Sparrow would be a nightmare.
This wasn't exaggeration. Hollywood had seen plenty of stars die young from dangerous hobbies—motorcycles included.
In a way, actors under contract were the production's most valuable assets. Their image, their health, even their lives—all had to be protected.
Depp might be rebellious by nature, but with someone like Gilbert, he didn't dare push back. He just nodded obediently, not even daring to argue.
After all, Pirates had finally lifted him into Hollywood's A-list. The last thing he wanted was for Gilbert to decide he was replaceable.
As for the sequels, Gilbert already had ideas. The roadmap was drawn—it was just a matter of picking the right director.
He had recommended Stephen Sommers, who had helmed The Mummy series and had a proven hand with adventure-fantasy material.
After all, Pirates wasn't Lord of the Rings or The Dark Knight. Gilbert didn't need to direct every installment. He would set the course, then let others carry the torch.
....
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