"Oh—Isa—the view here is amazing—"
"Look over there, those rolling mountains look like giant balls of cotton candy—"
"And the water here is gorgeous. So blue! Looks way cleaner than the Thames!"
"My god! There are even archipelagos over there!"
"Isa, look from my angle. Don't those islands look like a few giant sea turtles poking out of the ocean?"
Catherine clung to her little sister's arm, leaning out, pointing excitedly at everything she saw.
Right now the sky, the land, the sea, and the islands all felt like a canvas she could crumple and reshape as she pleased, where a few broad strokes could turn these landscapes into one cute pattern after another, quietly lying there on her imaginary painting.
"Oh—Miss Catherine—you really have such an eye for beauty—"
A middle-aged white man, bundled in a suit under a trench coat and a scarf, nose red with cold, chuckled and said, "Everything you're describing is exactly what makes our 'Island of the Kings'—Eilean Righ—different from other islands."
"Since our 'Royal Island' sits just off the coastline of Argyll, the mountain ranges of western Scotland can be taken in all at once from here. And because we're so close to the Slate Islands to the west, their scattered beauty fills the horizon. It's a sight no isolated island provides. Most importantly, this island has a rich historical heritage. There are even two Iron Age ruins here…"
December 23, 2004. Scotland.
Isabella, her mother, and her older sister were all together.
Under the guidance of the big bald man, Valentine O'Connor.
Inspecting the island he had chosen for them.
This "Royal Island" had landscapes that satisfied them completely. Its 261 acres—about 1,056,229 square meters—could only be described as massive, considering a standard football field is just 7,140 square meters.
This island was practically the size of 150 football fields. Flatten it properly, and you could almost build an airstrip.
But the island didn't need an airstrip.
It was way too close to Scotland for that.
Its real location was on Loch Craignish in Argyll, and Loch Craignish is a bay near the Sound of Jura. Even by boat, the trip from island to mainland didn't take an hour. By helicopter it was even faster—twenty minutes tops one way, and a round trip wouldn't hit an hour.
To exaggerate a bit, if you were a good swimmer you could practically swim to it.
It was that closeness to the ordinary world, while still remaining private and isolated, that made Isabella so drawn to it.
Truth be told, Valentine had already submitted his carefully selected islands to Isabella earlier that year. The only reason she was visiting so late was that she'd been overwhelmingly busy.
If not for the fact that Christmas was near and the Goblet of Fire film crew was already on break until after New Year, she wouldn't even be touring the island right now.
Because—
"Oh—the scenery really is nice—and the island's big, but—"
Isabella pulled her down jacket tight, sniffled, and muttered through pursed lips, "But isn't the winter here way too cold? This sea wind is turning my brain into mush!"
"Oh—sweetheart—listen to yourself—you hardly sound like a Brit—"
Vivian had already turned her head when Isabella complained about the cold.
Then her unfinished words caught in her throat.
Because she saw her eldest daughter Catherine immediately fixing Isabella's clothes the moment her younger sister complained.
On the surface, Catherine's behavior looked perfectly kind, even sweet, but…
While lowering Isabella's knitted hat, she pulled it so far down it covered her eyes.
When she pulled up Isabella's scarf, she wrapped it around so tightly she practically mummified her.
And apparently deciding "loosely wrapped" was too risky…
She finished by grabbing both scarf ends and tying a knot behind Isabella's head.
"Oh—Keisha—are you trying to strangle me—"
Isabella protested through the fabric.
"No! You're cold, right? I'm keeping you warm—"
Catherine, hands in pockets like a satisfied troublemaker, grinned at her handiwork. After turning her little sister into a mummy, she naturally looked back at her mother.
"Mom, what were you saying?"
Her slippery shift in tone made Vivian both amused and exasperated. Watching Isabella untangle her scarf, she continued, "I was saying that winter in Scotland is like the three witches in Macbeth."
'There are always clouds and mist, everything gray, cold, gloomy, even a bit cutting.'
"I remember Isa read Macbeth."
"So if she says Scotland is too cold—"
"She must've returned every bit of knowledge to her teacher."
Quoting literature, Vivian became a poetic soul.
Isabella, finally free, cupped her cheeks through the scarf and muttered, "Mom, you could recite every one of Shakespeare's plays and it still wouldn't warm me up. So… am I even your biological daughter?"
Vivian's smile vanished. She shot her a glare.
Catherine burst out laughing, leaning weakly on their mother's shoulder.
"Mom—Isa's getting cheekier every day—"
A blatant attempt to stir trouble.
Vivian huffed, shoved her hands into her coat pockets, and gave her older daughter a look. "You're one to talk."
"Down the hill! Back to the house!"
Before she finished speaking, Vivian was already walking.
Isabella, half frozen, happily waddled after her like a little duck.
Catherine pouted and followed. Fake pouting, obviously.
Royal Island was not deserted.
Its previous owner was Reginald Johnston.
Yes, the English tutor of the last Emperor Puyi.
Johnston retired on this island. After his death, his descendants inherited it.
So the island's facilities were complete.
The current owner was a partner at Goldman Sachs in the UK.
He bought the island in 1999 intending to turn it into a holiday paradise, but his fund had performed poorly in recent years. His income dipped, he couldn't keep up the development, so he decided to put the whole island on the market.
And the price was lovely: only 1.5 million pounds.
Yes.
An island nearly the size of 150 football fields for just 1.5 million pounds.
The cheap price had a clear reason: development was a nightmare.
"Mrs. Haywood, Isa, Miss Catherine, the scenery and location are superb, but building on this island is extremely complicated. There are three major issues. If you can't handle them, I don't recommend buying."
"First, though there's fresh water under the island, it's at a depth of 310 feet."
"That's fine on land. But on an island… getting to it becomes a challenge."
"Second, the two Iron Age ruins are legally protected. Nobody can touch them. That means natural development limitations."
"Third, the island is enormous and close to the mainland. Once developed, the security team required will be massive. Without 20 to 30 people, you can't even guard the core area."
"So 1.5 million pounds is only the starting point. Building a pier, accessing the water source, installing solar power and diesel generators, laying cables to the mainland for communications—all of that will cost no less than 50 million. And if you want to demolish and rebuild the existing houses…"
"That'll be at least 100 million."
"The current houses were Johnston's retirement farmhouses—only enough for ten to fifteen people."
"And…"
"They're not very pretty."
As soon as they entered the island's villa, Valentine dumped all the information he knew like beans from a bamboo tube.
Well…
All this was already in the dossier he gave Isabella.
But—
He was just worried the busy girl hadn't read it carefully.
His thoughtfulness made her laugh.
She glanced at her bodyguard, who immediately turned around to guard the door and keep the broker out.
Once they were alone, Isabella gave her verdict. "I think it's great."
"Hehe." Catherine agreed.
"I can buy it and develop it. But before I buy, I want to confirm one thing: the security team…"
She looked at Valentine, then at her mother.
Her mother understood, nodded, and said, "The Iron Age ruins must be protected. I asked Rowling, she asked around, and as long as we fence off both areas, we can legally purchase the equipment."
"Normally, it would only be allowed for protected zones, but in special cases… she said the paperwork can be completed for fifty million."
"That permit works not just in our country but across the Commonwealth. Outside that…"
"You add another application."
"And more money, then you can get diplomatic immunity."
"Oh~ then we're buying this place~"
Isabella stretched lazily. "I'll make this place just like Ashden Hall in Derbyshire~"
Yes.
Legally acquiring certain equipment was the real reason she wanted the island.
She admitted she cared deeply about her dog life… no… her beaver life.
Vivian had no objections.
As for Catherine…
She also preferred peace and quiet.
But—
"Oh—Isa—I feel like you're falling in love with estates. Building a manor on an island… it sounds insane. Like, impossibly hard…"
"No? I think it's fine. There's a real-world example."
"What? Someone actually built a manor on an island?"
Isabella nodded. "Of course. Isn't Mar-a-Lago an island manor?"
"..."
Catherine fell silent.
She knew Mar-a-Lago. It was indeed an island estate.
And its land area was only 80,000 square meters. Meanwhile, Royal Island…
Building a 100,000-square-meter manor on a 1,000,000-square-meter island was perfectly reasonable.
Not even big!
Only half the size of Buckingham Palace~
With the decision made, Isabella patted her backside and left.
She absolutely wasn't going to spend the night on that island.
Just like Valentine said, the houses there were so run-down they might as well be farm shacks.
On the way back, even though the yacht blocked most of the cold, the zero-degree wind they hit while boarding and disembarking still froze Isabella enough to make her uncomfortable. So she jabbed her elbow into her older sister. "Keisha, how about we buy another island in the southern hemisphere? That way we can have endless summer."
Her words made Vivian laugh on the spot.
Catherine rolled her eyes. "I don't mind. I like endless summer too. But… do you even have the money for that? Aren't you making a show? Aren't you making an animation?"
"Oh, come on, Keisha, you know how fast I make money."
"I just need to breathe once and a hundred million dollars shows up."
Isa wiggled her tail smugly.
And she added, "Also, Keisha… don't talk about work during vacation, okay?"
"I only get a few days off a year, can't I relax in peace?"
Isabella hated talking about work when she was on break.
Because once she did, she felt… dirty. Contaminated.
And she always believed talking about work during a holiday was a bad omen.
If she had to compare it to something, it was like someone saying "I'll do this one last job then retire," and then immediately getting wiped out.
She always felt that once she talked about work on a holiday, work would come knocking.
For this little superstition, Catherine could only shrug.
Nothing she could do.
Hard to blame her, really.
She didn't have a job.
Which made it impossible for her to understand Isabella's brain circuits.
Hehe.
But just as they were preparing to leave London for their planned Christmas holiday in South Africa…
They had barely arrived at the London airport when the Disney-assigned security team suddenly told Isabella that her "boss" was looking for her.
Well, even though her mom had already bought a small security company with over fifty employees, and even though security teams kidnapping their own client wasn't unheard of, they still kept using the security teams assigned by Warner and Disney. Just in case.
As the great philosopher Keenan once said—
"Balance exists in all things."
Alright, enough nonsense.
When she was handed the phone, Isabella was speechless. She shot her sister a vicious glare, but when Catherine giggled and hid behind their mom, Isabella finally took the phone and said, "Hello hello hello—"
"Bob, calling me at this hour… planning to send me a holiday gift or what?"
She snapped.
"Uh… a Christmas gift? Sure… I prepared one…"
Something was off about his tone.
And she could hear Robert Iger's anxiety.
Isabella dropped the jokes. "What happened? You don't call me out of nowhere."
"And you didn't call my phone. You called through your own guy."
"Yeah. A little situation."
Robert Iger didn't hide anything and told her exactly what move Michael Eisner had made.
The moment she heard Eisner had struck back at Iger on his way out of Disney, Isabella burst out laughing. "The way you people fight… it's ridiculous."
"No choice. There's only one chairman's seat at Disney, but a lot of people want it."
Iger sighed.
"So now you can't win over the people at Disney headquarters anymore?"
Since they had already exchanged their core goals, Isabella didn't bother playing dumb.
She cut straight to it. "Once Eisen pushed you to the front, you can't pull the Disney headquarters people to your side. They'll treat you as Roy Disney's challenger."
"Yeah. You're sharp."
"So what's your next step?"
"What I'm thinking is…"
Because of the time difference, it was the dead of night in California.
Robert Iger looked up at the sky. The stars weren't what he wanted. He didn't want to be the brightest star. He wanted to be the moon.
So—
He licked his lips and said, "Isa, we've been tied together for a long time, so I choose to trust you."
"My goal is simple. Put pressure on the headquarters people, then break them apart."
"It's easy."
"Disney headquarters' main business is animation, right? So as long as the outside world keeps producing excellent animation, and headquarters keeps shrinking, their existence will trigger shareholder dissatisfaction."
"Then I can use shareholder anger to break up and reorganize the headquarters and replace them with my people."
Isabella sensed his ruthlessness immediately.
But at the same time…
She had questions.
"I have three questions."
"Go ahead."
"First question: you're telling me you want me to make animation myself?"
"Yes."
"Second question: the shrinking of the headquarters division won't hurt you?"
"It won't. Even though I oversee operations, and headquarters falls under that, if they shrink, people will complain I can't manage. But if the growth outside is under my control? As long as you give me distribution rights for the animation films, I'll be unaffected."
"Okay, you want distribution only?"
"Only distribution."
"Third question: how can you guarantee the headquarters animation division will shrink?"
Hearing this, Robert Iger laughed.
Grinding his teeth slightly, he said, "Isa, do you know the history of Disney's animation division?"
"After Walt Disney passed, it lost its soul. It wasn't until Jeffrey Katzenberg showed up that animation went back on track."
"Then Eisner clashed with Katzenberg, Katzenberg left, and with Spielberg founded DreamWorks."
"He took many people with him. That sank Disney animation again."
"But some stayed. Chris Sanders and Dean DeBlois."
"The former designed Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King, Mulan, and directed Lilo & Stitch. The latter also directed Lilo & Stitch and wrote Mulan."
"Even with their achievements, because they belonged to Katzenberg's camp and DreamWorks was thriving, they couldn't blend into Disney headquarters. They were constantly pushed out."
"My original plan was: before you created Little Beaver, when I became Disney's chairman and CEO, I would promote them, make them key figures, and through their results take control of headquarters."
"But now—"
"I assume you haven't contacted ILM or Pixar?"
"So… do you want to establish your own animation studio?"
"I can recommend them to you."
"They're incredibly talented. I saw their latest project outline. They want to adapt last year's British bestseller How to Train Your Dragon into animation. The idea is wonderful. I was planning to buy the rights, but…"
"If you're willing to put in 200 million and build a studio, then everything becomes yours."
"I'll help you secure the rights to How to Train Your Dragon."
"So? Isa? That's sincere cooperation, right?"
"Oh of course—"
Isabella's voice practically twirled through the air.
In that moment, all the gloom about working vanished.
Because when she heard "How to Train Your Dragon," joy exploded inside her.
In her previous life, it was one of DreamWorks' biggest IPs.
Every movie in the series was a hit.
It even got a live-action adaptation because of its popularity.
And someone like Iger just casually offered that?
This…
Power really was a beautiful, addictive poison, wasn't it?
And with people like that available…
She could totally form her own animation division.
"So we're partners?"
Her delight made Iger laugh.
"Partners."
She didn't hesitate to stand with him.
And then she said, "We'll go over the details after the New Year. It's Christmas now."
"Of course. Merry Christmas in advance."
"And Merry Christmas to you."
After hanging up, she called over the Disney security team and returned the phone. Then she looked happily at her sister.
"Keisha, the plan to buy an island in the southern hemisphere has to wait."
"We're going to have to develop Royal Island first."
"Because the money… might not be enough."
Since Isabella hadn't hidden anything from her mom and sister, only from security, Catherine wasn't surprised. But she still couldn't resist teasing her.
"Tsk. Didn't think you'd ever run out of money."
Instantly, Isabella's smile stretched into a flat line.
"Didn't you say you earn faster than you spend?"
"And didn't you just claim each breath earns you a hundred million?"
Catherine kept poking at her whiskers.
"Mom!"
Isa lost her patience. "Do you hear what Keisha's saying? Aren't you going to deal with your daughter?"
"Hehe."
Vivian chuckled, raising the newspaper.
She had no intention of getting in the middle of that.
No matter how they argued…
They'd never reach a conclusion.