In today's Hollywood, the seven major studios were no longer the fiercely competitive empires run by their founding tycoons, battling tooth and nail for every scrap of market share.
Nearly all of them were now publicly traded companies or subsidiaries of larger conglomerates. The men and women at the helm might wield varying degrees of power, but they were ultimately professional managers answerable to shareholders.
In that environment, if Simon were merely a young director who had just broken through with a handful of hits, any serious threat to the other studios' bottom lines might have invited ruthless suppression.
But that was no longer the case.
Before most of Hollywood had even registered what was happening, he had built Daenerys Entertainment into a force that rivaled the traditional majors. And Simon himself had amassed billions in personal wealth through every channel available.
In a capitalist society like America, billions in personal net worth meant real power. It might not carry the entrenched weight of old-money dynasties built over decades, but it was more than enough to make the "hired help" running the big studios think twice before taking him on directly.
They might still play small, underhanded games in private. But asking them to risk their entire careers in open confrontation with Daenerys? Highly unlikely.
As for banding together to crush the upstart, good luck. Even three ching chong's struggle to share water from the same well. Seven, each with their own agendas and thirst, stood no chance.
In his office at Daenerys headquarters in Santa Monica, Simon worked through the dynamics and refused to take the WGA investigation lightly.
He thought of the Hollywood sexual harassment reckoning years in the future.
What began as gleeful schadenfreude over one grotesque producer's downfall had, in a blink, become a hurricane that swallowed everyone.
The world was unpredictable.
He knew the guild's threat to bar members from working with Daenerys was unlikely to materialize. But if he dismissed it and gave rivals an opening, the worst-case scenario could still come to pass.
Daenerys still not fully entrenched in Hollywood would suffer a devastating blow, potentially triggering far worse fallout.
So Simon decided without hesitation to strangle the threat in its cradle.
Decision made, he set down the pencil he'd been toying with and looked at Amy. "I just remembered, after Flying Over Childhood and Batman last year, we haven't signed any more co-productions. It's time to get back to that."
Amy recalled the plan he'd outlined last year: partnerships with other studios to ease their wariness about Daenerys's rise. From the end of last year until now, everyone had been too buried to pursue it.
After a moment's thought, Simon continued, "Amy, put the word out as soon as possible. Daenerys will co-produce ten films with outside partners over the next two years." [TL/N: I hope this will be the last time.]
Amy's eyes widened. "Same model as Flying Over Childhood?"
"Of course. And this time, no forced IP bundling like Wonder Woman. Once a project is chosen, fifty-fifty investment, shared rights and profits. Daenerys handles production; the partner handles distribution. Cap their distribution fee at ten percent."
"Eight would work too," Amy said.
Simon smiled and shook his head. "No need to be that strict. The key is that our accounting team oversees every stage, production through release."
Amy considered it. "We can set up joint escrow accounts for each project, independently audited by both sides. No more hidden or delayed profits."
"Details are up to you. I just want results."
Amy nodded, then asked, "Scripts? Do we dip into our own library?"
"No. Let the interested studios bring the scripts. I'll pick personally. And make sure we lock in the IP agreements upfront, no backing out."
"I don't think anyone would dare," Amy said with a smile. She started to rise, then noticed the weariness in Simon's posture as he leaned back. She couldn't resist adding, "Simon, once the news is out, you'll probably be the most powerful person in Hollywood."
The back-to-back triumphs of The Bodyguard and The Sixth Sense had reaffirmed Daenerys's magic touch.
Now the studio was suddenly offering ten co-productions. Hollywood would lose its mind.
Every previous Daenerys partnership with Orion, Fox, MGM had delivered massive hits. That proved Simon Westeros didn't hoard the best projects.
Ten films might dilute the batting average, but even if only half cracked the annual top ten, the allure was irresistible. One Sixth Sense-level breakout would keep a studio fat and happy for a year on fifty percent alone.
Simon smiled, thinking of Premiere magazine's Hollywood Power List from the original timeline.
The first list came out next year, if memory served.
To many people's surprise, the top spot went not to a studio head but to CAA president Michael Ovitz.
It underscored Simon's earlier point: today's studio bosses wielded far less real power than the public imagined. In the Golden Age, the top of such a list would have been Jack Warner, Louis B. Mayer, or Darryl F. Zanuck never an agent.
After a few more instructions, Amy left. Simon sank back into his chair.
Another grueling week nearly done. Soon he'd join the Flying Over Childhood team for final-cut discussions, just a brief moment to rest. [TL/N: Bruuh, the movie's name is lost in the translation, please tell me the correct name.]
For no reason, he suddenly ached to drop everything and fly to Australia, to lose himself with Janet for a couple of days.
Then again…
Better not crash the Japanese market again.
Moments later, Jennifer knocked and signaled that the team was ready. Simon stood.
Meanwhile, the news that Daenerys would co-produce ten films over the next two years spread like wildfire across Hollywood in a single morning.
Phones exploded: Simon, Amy, Robert Rehme, Ira Deutchman even Robert Iger on the East Coast. Invitations to parties, lunches, and drinks poured in.
Simon, as the ultimate decision-maker, was everyone's prime target.
He had Jennifer decline everything. No Australia this weekend, but he quietly slipped up to San Francisco instead, for rest and to check on Igrette's projects.
By the time the equally buzzing media caught wind of his whereabouts, the weekend was over.
August arrived unnoticed.
Though many suspected the WGA attack had triggered the ten-film plan and some felt Simon was overreacting the guild's momentum visibly faltered the following week.
Last week, WGA West president George Kirgo had announced a special committee to investigate Daenerys. After the weekend, the committee seemed forgotten. Only the legal department continued plodding along lukewarmly.
Clearly, ten film deals mattered far more than any investigation.
None of the seven majors had irreconcilable beef with Daenerys. A stolen project here, a poached talent there, a looming lawsuit, normal business, not personal vendettas.
With the right attitude and initiative, carving out a slice of those ten films was very possible.
As the WGA probe quietly fizzled, the majors began courting Daenerys.
Orion, struggling for months immediately contacted Amy Pascal, claiming fresh funds to finally pay Daenerys's Pulp Fiction share. They just hoped for another co-production.
Amy held firm: payment first, talk later.
MGM, threatening litigation the previous week, flipped Monday and sent over a stack of scripts with a sheepish smile.
Columbia's TriStar passed word through Jonathan Friedman: they were canceling Matthew Broderick's signed deal on The Godfather.
Simon's history with Broderick was no secret.
In Broderick's final months at WMA before jumping to CAA, TriStar had greenlit the dual-lead project opposite Marlon Brando.
Canceling a signed deal meant paying penalties.
That was real sincerity.
Hollywood understood: Broderick's career was finished.
Previously, studios unconnected to Daenerys had felt free to hire him. Now, with everyone angling for one of Simon's ten slots and TriStar drawing a public line at the cost of breach fees working with Broderick would be seen as a direct slap at Westeros.
Westeros was one of a kind. Replaceable leading men? A dime a dozen.
Broderick would be blacklisted from every major studio role for years. Even TV would likely shut him out. In time, Hollywood would forget he ever existed.
Daenerys's full disclosure of the Scream and Sixth Sense script details combined with the distraction of the ten-film plan and no rival interference tilted public opinion heavily toward Simon.
For the sake of face, the WGA dragged the investigation out lukewarmly.
Thanks to tight message control, the controversy barely dented The Sixth Sense. The three new releases on July 28] Turner & Hooch, Friday the 13th Part VIII, and Cinema Paradiso posed no threat.
July 28–August 3: another week, another solid 23% drop, $23.96 million added.
Five-week cumulative: $173.98 million, officially overtaking Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade's year-to-date lead.
In its ninth week, Indiana Jones sat at $172.16 million, nearly $2 million behind. Its weekly take had dipped below $5 million; breaking $200 million would require luck.
The Sixth Sense was still pulling over $20 million weekly. Another $100 million domestic was virtually guaranteed. $300 million? Luck would decide, but the kind of luck others could only envy.
Disney's Turner & Hooch, starring Tom Hanks and Michael J. Fox opened second with $19.12 million.
Warner's Lethal Weapon 2 added $15.68 million (third), four-week total $94.12 million strong legs.
Paramount's Friday the 13th Part VIII debuted fourth with $8.48 million.
Disney's Honey, I Shrunk the Kids slipped to fifth with $7.61 million, cumulative $98.47 million, $100 million imminent.
Outside the top five, Universal's Cinema Paradiso failed to repeat Sex, Lies, and Videotape's early-July magic.
Sex, Lies had opened to $6.31 million and, riding stellar reviews and tiny drops, added $3.76 million this week, four-week total $22.19 million. It was on pace to clear $30 million comfortably.
Cinema Paradiso, rushed to theaters, suffered from sloppy re-editing and dubbing. Even director Giuseppe Tornatore publicly disowned the American cut, calling it a different film.
Bad word-of-mouth and zero commercial hook doomed it. On a similar 553-screen launch, it grossed just $1.86 million, per-screen barely over $3,000. No legs. After the two-week commitment, theaters would pull it. Final domestic: maybe $3 million.
No Oscar campaign possible. Universal had paid $5 million upfront plus backend and spent at least $2 million on marketing. Total loss.
Millions were absorbable, but disappointment ran deep for everyone who'd banked on Daenerys's interest.
Tornatore, hoping for a Best Foreign Language Film push and Hollywood breakthrough took it like a punch to the gut. The French producer that had outbid for his next film lost confidence.
After Cinema Paradiso's numbers, TF1 reached out to Daenerys, probing for partnership.
Simon had read the script for Stanno tutti bene. He didn't remember the Italian original vividly but recalled the American remake with De Niro, Kate Beckinsale, and Drew Barrymore. With the French producer reaching out, Simon had Ira Deutchman take a North American distribution stake.
Sex, Lies thriving, Cinema Paradiso flopping the stark contrast drove home a growing realization among studio executives: projects Daenerys backed weren't guaranteed hits. The common denominator for success was clearly Simon Westeros's direct involvement.