"First-day stock price rose by 43%, with a market cap of $5.9 billion. Experiencing it firsthand, I now realize that sometimes making money can be so easy."
"It's just that we've happened to catch the wave of a new round of wealth redistribution. But Mike, I've been reviewing LinkedIn's operations report for the past few months. To be honest, I increasingly feel that you'd be better suited to running this company. After all, LinkedIn and CAA are similar in certain ways—both revolve around selling talent to clients as their core business. As for Eisner, he was fine when LinkedIn was small, but as the platform grows larger, his mindset from running content-oriented enterprises will only limit the company's development."
"Simon, you know this would be tricky. Michael and I have been friends for so many years. LinkedIn is more his creation than mine. I'm just a partner, occasionally offering some advice."
"Right now, LinkedIn has 27 million registered users, and this is just the beginning. In the future, it could reach 270 million or even more. Mike, compared to CAA, which serves fewer than 2,000 clients—including its most high-profile ones—imagine the scope of influence you could have with LinkedIn managing billions of users. Think about which platform would give you more room to grow."
"Simon, I think we should drop this subject for now."
"Alright, after all, there's plenty of time ahead."
Park City, Utah.
It was Saturday afternoon, January 18th.
In Simon's villa, perched on a mountaintop in the southern part of the city, the service staff were busy preparing for the annual evening party. Simon and Michael Ovitz sat in a west-facing lounge overlooking the scenic snow-covered town below, drinking coffee and chatting. The topic of discussion was LinkedIn, the professional social networking platform that had just gone public yesterday.
Two years ago, after Michael Eisner left Disney following the acquisition deal, he teamed up with his friend Michael Ovitz to develop the concept for a professional networking website. One day, they happened to mention the idea to Simon, who—relying on his memory—suggested the name "LinkedIn."
The project was officially launched in February 1995, and the site went live in June of that year. Over the course of roughly a year and a half, through close collaboration with the Westeros system and leveraging Egret's marketing capabilities, LinkedIn had amassed 27 million registered users. Unlike Facebook, which served as a general social networking tool, LinkedIn catered specifically to professionals, making it the undisputed leader in its niche.
The IPO, completed just yesterday, involved the issuance of 15% new shares, raising $600 million and valuing the company at $3.5 billion. By the close of its first trading day, LinkedIn's stock price had risen 43%, giving the company a market cap of $5.9 billion.
While this couldn't quite compare to the Instagram IPO in scale, for a website that had required just $120 million in cumulative investment and was projected to generate less than $10 million in annual revenue, reaching a market cap of $5.9 billion in only a year and a half was another testament to the wealth-creating miracles of the internet era.
After two rounds of funding and the IPO, the shares held by the two Michaels—Eisner and Ovitz—had both been diluted to 18% each. Based on yesterday's closing price, both men now had net worths exceeding $1 billion on paper, making them newly minted billionaires. This was the reason for Ovitz's earlier tone of amazement.
Even if this wealth was only on paper, it still felt absurdly easy to accumulate.
Simon, however, wasn't as impressed as Ovitz. The capital and resources he had invested directly, as well as Egret's subsequent involvement in LinkedIn, were inconsequential to his current net worth. Instead, Simon was more concerned about the challenges lurking behind LinkedIn's success.
Post-IPO, Michael Eisner had taken on the dual roles of chairman and CEO of LinkedIn, while Michael Ovitz, despite being an equally significant shareholder, only held a position on the board.
In Simon's view, for LinkedIn to achieve its full potential, the two Michaels should switch roles.
If Ovitz was willing, Simon would personally step in to negotiate. And if necessary, the Westeros system's nearly 30% stake in LinkedIn gave them the leverage to forcibly replace the management team. Thinking back to the real-life feud between the two Michaels that ended in complete fallout, Simon figured history would likely repeat itself here.
For now, though, since Ovitz still valued his friendship with Eisner, Simon decided not to push the matter.
There was no rush.
Time was on his side.
If Eisner eventually chose to step down on his own, so much the better.
In the lounge.
Michael Ovitz sipped his coffee, gazing at the beautiful little town surrounded by forests and snowfields. "By the way, Simon, is there anyone new you're keeping an eye on this year?"
"There is."
"Oh?"
Simon cradled his warm coffee cup, smiled, and shook his head. "Not telling you. Otherwise, CAA might poach them and hike up the price."
"Fair enough," Ovitz replied with a wry smile.
He knew Simon was joking, but it still stung a little. In today's Hollywood, the rise of blockbusters had steadily diminished the clout of star directors and actors. Meanwhile, the increasing control wielded by Danerys Entertainment over the entire entertainment industry had left talent agencies scrambling to seize whatever opportunities they could. The idea of CAA dictating terms to Simon was laughable—if anything, they were begging for scraps.
This brought Ovitz back to Simon's earlier suggestion.
Despite Ovitz's recent efforts to expand CAA into sports representation and diversify its business, there was a ceiling to the agency's growth. If he had the chance to move into a broader platform like LinkedIn, Ovitz was genuinely tempted. The only issue was that LinkedIn could only have one person in charge.
If Ovitz were to push his way in, it would almost certainly ruin his friendship with Eisner, and Ovitz wasn't oblivious to that fact.
Simon had arrived in Park City that morning and hadn't yet had a chance to watch any films. He had only skimmed through the materials on this year's entries during his flight. On the surface, it seemed unlikely that he'd find any promising new talent so quickly.
But the reality was quite the opposite.
Among this year's entries, Danerys Entertainment's Highgate Pictures was backing two projects: Christopher Nolan's debut feature Following and Guy Ritchie's debut Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, both hailing from Britain.
These two films and their respective creators spoke for themselves.
Additionally, Simon noticed some other familiar names.
For instance, there was a bald, muscular actor named Vin Diesel, who had written, directed, and starred in a film called Strays, which had been selected for the main competition.
And then there was a young Asian director named Justin Lin, who had co-written and directed a film with his classmates called Shopping for Fangs. Made on a $100,000 budget, the film didn't make it into the main competition but was included in Sundance's non-competitive exhibition section.
With just these two names, Simon felt the trip had already been worthwhile—The Fast and the Furious franchise was practically set.
However, Simon planned to handle Vin Diesel and Justin Lin differently.
Since Simon didn't intend to start The Fast and the Furious franchise anytime soon, Vin Diesel would be sidelined for a few years. Simon also planned to strategically manage the trajectory of Diesel's career to avoid him becoming too prominent before the franchise launched. This even extended to blocking certain roles, like a soldier part in Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan. While Simon had promised Spielberg he wouldn't interfere with casting, ensuring Diesel didn't get the opportunity was still an easy task.
As for Justin Lin, Simon intended to begin grooming him immediately.
At 23, the UC film school graduate already had two feature films under his belt, albeit low-budget projects made with friends and family. Compared to many aspiring filmmakers with big dreams but no follow-through, this was impressive. Simon planned to assign him to New World Pictures to direct low-budget projects and hone his craft further.
Simon and Ovitz continued their casual conversation as the evening approached.
Winter nights came early, and as dusk settled over the mountains, the villa lit up brightly, becoming the most sought-after venue in the entire town for the evening.
In the villa's grand hall, Madonna arrived just as Simon was chatting with Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon. The pop icon immediately rushed over, dramatically throwing herself at Simon while lamenting, "Simon, I'm so miserable. Evita was such a great movie, and Paramount completely ruined it!"
Tim and Susan laughed at her antics, raised their glasses in a toast, and politely excused themselves.
Simon hugged Madonna briefly before pushing her away, though he still offered some reassurance: "The domestic box office will reach at least $50 million—that's not bad. And Paramount will definitely avoid repeating their mistakes overseas. The film will do well internationally. Overall, it'll be a profitable project, and you'll have more opportunities to keep stirring things up in Hollywood."
Madonna, of course, understood this, but she wasn't about to give up her theatrics. Clinging to Simon's arm, she pouted, "In that case, Simon, do you have a role for me?"
Simon was blunt. "I really don't."
Displeased
, Madonna playfully pretended to bite his shoulder, then batted her eyelashes at him. "How about this? I'll stay tonight, and we can discuss it privately. Surely you'll come up with something then, right?"
"Then I definitely don't have one," Simon quipped, shutting her down again.
Noticing Robert Redford approaching, Simon used the opportunity to excuse himself, stepping forward to greet the festival's founder. Redford glanced between Simon and Madonna with a teasing expression but quickly moved on after exchanging a few words.
Once Redford was gone, Madonna sidled up to Simon again. Smirking, he swatted her lightly on her backside. "Alright, sweetheart. Even if you're head over heels for me, we'll never happen. If you came alone, go find a cute young man who catches your eye."
Feigning pain, Madonna let out a playful gasp but soon directed her attention to two tall, elegant women across the room. "What if I go after a cute young woman instead? Do you mind?"
Simon followed her gaze to Roberta Chirko and Annelyse Schoenberger, then looked back down at the petite Madonna, who barely stood 5'4". "Go ahead and try. If you can charm them, I won't stop you."
The Queen of Pop, known for her sharp wit, scanned the room filled with models and musicians. "There are so many models here tonight, Simon. Can you handle it?"
Indeed, Sundance had increasingly become a convergence point for not just filmmakers but also musicians and fashion icons. Tonight, it seemed like the villa was overflowing with models.
Between Elite's lineup—Cindy Crawford, Carla Bruni, Fernanda Lima, and others—and Ford's heavyweights—Roberta Chirko and Annelyse Schoenberger—the guest list included nearly 30 models.
If Simon were to try to "handle" all of them... well, even he wasn't that ambitious.
But having these "big fairies" filling the villa certainly made the atmosphere more lively and visually delightful.
Madonna eventually stopped teasing him and moved on to mingle with other guests. Shortly after, Cindy Crawford and Carla Bruni approached Simon. Dressed in a sleek black evening gown, Cindy greeted him warmly, "Good evening, Simon. Every time I come here, it feels even more amazing."
"Thank you," Simon replied, nodding politely to Carla before turning back to Cindy. "I heard you're getting married soon?"
"Yes, to Rande Gerber," Cindy replied, though her tone carried a hint of melancholy. "For someone like me—a 'retired' supermodel—there's not much else to do. I couldn't fully transition into acting, and now you've canceled the Victoria's Secret show. Marriage seems like the only option left."
Simon feigned clutching his chest. "Don't say that. You're making me feel guilty."
Cindy seized the moment to counter, "Then why don't you take responsibility for me?"
Feigning regret, Simon sighed theatrically. "I'll admit it—I'm a bad man. I never take responsibility."
Their banter continued for a while, adding to the lighthearted atmosphere of the evening.
As the night deepened, Simon, as host, continued mingling with his high-profile guests, ensuring that Sundance's premier after-party was as memorable as ever.
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