After a grueling sixteen-hour flight, Simon touched down in Los Angeles. It was still Sunday evening, June 25, on the East Coast, but the time difference meant the major Asian exchanges had already opened for the new week.
The countermeasures taken over the past two days had clearly worked. When Tokyo opened, the Nikkei 225 began a steady climb.
A new week in North America.
When Simon woke the next morning, the Nikkei had closed the previous day at 36,617. It hadn't yet regained last week's peak, but the sudden crisis in Japan's financial markets had been safely navigated.
North American papers had spent the last few days gleefully dissecting how Simon's trip to Australia to see his girlfriend had triggered a plunge in Japanese stocks, even coining a pompous new term: the "Westeros Effect."
Monday's Los Angeles Times front page was still running the story, complete with a photo of Simon and Janet locked in an embrace at Melbourne Airport. The article recapped the recent chaos, teased that Simon was now unequivocally the least welcome man in Japan, and predicted a 100% chance of being denied entry if he ever tried to visit anytime soon.
In Australia, the deal between Cersei Capital and the Japanese side had gone smoothly. In under a week, every covert handover was complete.
Under the final terms, ownership of Cersei Capital's Funds 1 through 5 was transferred entirely to the Japanese, though Janet and Anthony would remain the public faces managing them.
Janet had wanted to fly straight to Los Angeles once the deal closed, but to avoid suspicions from abrupt personnel changes, the Japanese required her to stay on for at least two more months, under their full remote control, leaving her with zero actual authority.
For everyone's sake, she agreed.
Two months was perfect timing anyway.
Batman's post-production wouldn't wrap until September. Simon planned to take a long break once the film was done, and the first stop was Milan Fashion Week that same month. Janet could then leave under the perfectly legitimate excuse of attending the shows.
Unable to leave yet, Janet kept busy assembling teams for Funds 6 through 10, preparing to short North America's junk bond market in the second half of the year. The capital came from the $5 billion the Japanese had just wired into Cersei's offshore accounts.
To protect their strategy, the Japanese insisted the money stay offshore for at least a year, a condition no one objected to.
Simon had never intended to repatriate it soon anyway, for tax reasons, and the Australian investors were happy to keep riding Cersei's coattails for more gains.
Final settlements were still pending, but based on the original tiered profit-share agreement, Simon's personal take was already clear.
Of the $5 billion, $1.57 billion was principal, leaving $3.43 billion in profit.
Simon had only taken a performance fee on the external $970 million, not on his own or the Johnstons' $600 million. The tiers: 20% on the first 30% profit, 30% on 30–100%, and 50% above 100%.
After all the math, Simon was due $1.093 billion in returned principal plus $836 million in fees. Combined with his original $500 million stake, his paper share of the $5 billion now stood at $2.429 billion.
The Johnston family's $100 million principal had grown to $318 million. The other Australian investors' $970 million had become $2.253 billion.
Even though Simon claimed over half the total profit, not a single Australian investor requested redemption, partial or full once the deal closed. The original agreement aside, turning $1.57 billion into $5 billion in under six months meant every outside investor more than tripled their money. Anyone with sense knew Simon had earned his outsized cut.
Holding such an enormous war chest at Cersei Capital, Simon began to entertain a few new ideas.
That, however, was for later.
Vanishing from Los Angeles without warning for days naturally meant playing catch-up upon return.
Meanwhile, the North American summer box office was growing fiercer.
Simon had left Wednesday night. The following numbers for The Bodyguard's third weekend came in: down just 11% from week two, adding $17.86 million for a cumulative $61.55 million.
That Friday, three new wide releases hit the summer slate: Disney's sci-fi family comedy Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, Columbia's The Karate Kid Part III, and Orion's rock biopic Great Balls of Fire.
None opened to the explosive numbers of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade or Ghostbusters II, but they still dented the holdovers.
From June 23 to 29 the week after Simon returned, The Bodyguard dropped 21%, adding $14.11 million.
It placed fourth behind Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, The Karate Kid Part III, and Ghostbusters II. Yet the film no one had believed in four weeks earlier now stood at $75.66 million.
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade slipped to $12.07 million, fifth place, with a cumulative $140.23 million.
Among the newcomers, Orion's Great Balls of Fire fell short of expectations. The Jerry Lee Lewis biopic, made for $12 million, opened on 1,417 screens to just $6.28 million and lukewarm reviews.
This year, Orion's only real win had been February's surprise family hit The Adventures of Miloand Otis at $40 million. Everything else flopped. Cash-strapped, they'd rushed Pulp Fiction to video only three months after its theatrical close.
Even after Simon personally pressed Mike Medavoy for payment at a party, Orion still hadn't settled Daenerys Entertainment's share of Pulp Fiction's profits. Daenerys had already waited six months, more than generous. With bankruptcy looming, Amy was now preparing legal action to secure what they were owed.
June 30. A new weekend. The Sixth Sense the film Simon quietly believed in most finally opened.
Against The Bodyguard's 2,000+ screens, The Sixth Sense debuted on a modest 1,673. Simon had deliberately chosen the conservative rollout to give word-of-mouth room to breathe.
Right up to release, the plot remained under strict lock and key. Early marketing had focused traditionally on Simon and De Niro, simply building name recognition.
Simon had always believed the original timeline's $600+ million global haul wasn't just the twist; the film's emotional core was essential. Still, that final reveal was the spark that ignited everything.
So no trailers, press releases, or interviews ever hinted at it. The strategy was simple: let audiences discover the surprise themselves.
Spoiling the shock in advance could backfire, leaving people thinking, "Is that all?"
Similar twists had appeared in film history before.
As for genre, most fans only knew it was "horror." Even the late TV spots showed just a child psychologist and a boy who saw ghosts, padded with misleading scary imagery.
At heart a warm family drama wrapped in horror clothing, The Sixth Sense was marketed to all ages not laser-focused on teens like Scream, which drove up marketing costs significantly.
Some fans hesitated to rush out because of the restrained campaign, but the secrecy and unusual approach only made savvy entertainment media more curious.
Plenty of experienced critics and viewers, however, read the modest screen count and low-key marketing as signs Daenerys simply lacked confidence. In truth, most Daenerys executives who'd seen the finished film shared that doubt; they found its gentle pace underwhelming.
Los Angeles.
Daenerys Entertainment headquarters in Santa Monica.
Friday, June 30, afternoon.
The conference room meeting arranging the mid-year financial audit had begun at 2:00 p.m. and was still going.
Every top executive was present.
Though less exhaustive than the year-end audit, the mid-year review would still involve Westeros Company accountants for oversight. James Rebould had flown down from San Francisco that morning with Robert Iger to attend.
The first two quarters had been strong. Only The Bodyguard had broken out theatrically, but revenue from film and television remained robust.
On the movie side, last year's hits Scream, Steel Magnolias, and others had finished domestic runs and largely completed overseas. When Harry Met Sally's home-video release had also performed spectacularly, with cash still flowing in.
Television had wrapped strong spring seasons of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, Survivor, and other shows, delivering hefty network payments and advances.
Across the entire Westeros system, $900 million in debt meant roughly $200 million in principal and interest due this year alone. Simon felt no pressure whatsoever.
Even setting aside Cersei's massive Japanese windfall, the renewed Who Wants to Be a Millionaire contract despite major concessions had generated enough ongoing revenue to cover Simon's personal debt service single-handedly.
Still, profitable as Daenerys was (to the envy of every rival studio), Simon had no intention of being a careless boss. Two lifetimes of memories had taught him one truth: no company grows and endures without rigorous financial discipline.
Five o'clock. The meeting ended.
Everyone else dispersed. Simon and James stayed behind to discuss Cersei Capital.
James already knew about the Japanese deal. The upcoming junk-bond play would need heavier coordination from the Westeros side.
They spoke alone for half an hour before leaving the conference room.
Amy hadn't left yet. Hearing Simon was free, she came over.
"Burbank sent over daytime attendance numbers for The Sixth Sense, and some major evening papers have early reviews. Overall, the response is really strong."
When The Bodyguard unexpectedly exploded, Amy had once remarked almost offhand that a major studio only needed one billion-dollar hit a year to thrive. With Warner holding distribution on both big year-end titles, [?] and Batman, her comment had betrayed her own skepticism about The Sixth Sense.
Seeing her relaxed now, the film's opening day had clearly exceeded her expectations.
Simon only smiled. "If no one has plans, let's all grab dinner and talk more later."
Amy nodded and joined Simon, James, and Jennifer heading downstairs. As they walked, she fished her Motorola MicroTAC out of her bag. "I think we should have Rehme reach out to the press, make sure tomorrow's papers don't run full-plot spoilers in their reviews."
Simon glanced at her dialing, eyes lingering on the palm-sized Motorola.
He'd noticed since returning from Australia that Amy, Nancy, and others had switched to these new devices people were starting to call "cell phones." He hadn't thought much of it.
Until now.
Hmm.
That's it.
Nokia!