Listing in the U.S. stock market—whether on the New York Stock Exchange or NASDAQ—is the dream of countless corporations.
Ringing the bell—what a beautiful sound.
Kyle was no stranger to NASDAQ; he had visited in person more than twenty times.
His very first pot of gold had come from Netscape's IPO.
After that, he watched Yahoo, ICQ, and Amazon go public, witnessing one internet legend after another rise.
But doing the honors himself was a first.
Stephen Sollenberg, David Messer, and the other top executives of Waterworld Animation were all on site to witness the moment.
"We've finally waited for this day."
Stephen Sollenberg was filled with emotion. "I still remember 1996, when Mr. Kyle Page came to my house. I'd just resigned from the Oceanographic Institute. The marine-life sketches and script he brought hooked me completely."
"Right then I felt an urge—I had to make this cartoon."
"And so spongebob squarepants was born."
"But I never imagined our company would ever go public."
He spoke as if in a trance.
Back then he'd joined Kyle on impulse, chasing a dream; the success they now enjoyed far exceeded his expectations.
David Messer laughed. "I know the story. When Mr. Page recruited you, Waterworld Animation didn't even exist—heck, Page Pictures didn't have an animation department yet."
As the father of SpongeBob, Stephen had been the first animator Kyle signed.
David himself had joined soon after, poached by Kyle from Pixar.
"David, when you first came aboard, did you ever think we'd list?" Stephen asked suddenly.
"Mm."
David nodded firmly. "I always expected it—but it arrived a full decade sooner."
Before Stephen could reply, a scruffy, bearded executive chimed in.
His name was Herrera.
One of Waterworld's earliest employees, he headed the third production group and ran operations—third in command after David and Stephen.
"I know what David means. We were both at Pixar when it went public in 1995, but we were too junior to receive stock. David swore Pixar would regret leaving us out," Herrera teased.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk."
Stephen clicked his tongue. "David, who knew a steady guy like you had such swagger."
"Just youthful bravado—
nothing worth mentioning," David said sheepishly.
A bit of minor black history.
With less than two hours to the bell,
crowds already numbered in the thousands inside and outside the exchange, many of them here for Waterworld Animation.
"Buying Waterworld shares?"
"Absolutely."
"And buy as many as you can. With Finding Nemo's $900 million global haul, do you think buyers will be scarce?"
"I'll wager today's scene won't fall short of Pixar's 1995 debut."
"Exactly. I didn't buy Pixar then and I've kicked myself ever since."
Retail and institutional investors alike were champing at the bit.
Truthfully, pre-listing buzz around Waterworld far surpassed what Pixar had enjoyed.
Partly it was the climate—
stocks were a national obsession, the internet wave was sweeping America, and most investors were making money.
More importantly, Waterworld had real strength.
Finding Nemo had topped $900 million worldwide, proving the studio could make global hits. SpongeBob and peppa pig were U.S. powerhouses, guaranteeing steady profits.
Thus investors and analysts were brimming with confidence.
For days Kyle's bTV network had run nonstop coverage to stoke interest.
And the underwriter, Goldman Sachs—one of Wall Street's Big Five—was no slouch; its machinery could start a prolonged campaign.
Goldman's push sent bullish headlines across America and the World, cementing faith in Kyle.
The bell ceremony was about to begin.
Kyle arrived hand-in-hand with Lima.
His close friends had cleared their schedules to cheer him on.
Reporters swarmed.
Without doubt, Kyle was NASDAQ's
brightest star today.
"After the IPO, Waterworld will rake money in even faster," Kyle mused.
Beyond box-office and home-video, Hollywood studios have two other words: merchandising and finance.
A blockbuster might earn $100 million at the box office, but as a public company it could pocket $300 million more through financial and derivative plays.
That's the colossal upside of going public.
Look at big companies —why do they pour billions into showbiz?
Box-office profit is pocket change to giants.
They're after the financial upside—pure profit.
"Some purists say finance taints cinema, but I'm a businessman. If it makes money, who cares about art?" Kyle sneered.
Time was up.
Before the crowd, Kyle himself rang the small bell.
Years after crossing over, his first public company had arrived.
Waterworld Animation—rise!