On TV, the Fox News host sat across from a young man with a buzz cut, chatting amiably.
"Michael, your story makes me feel a little sad. Honestly, you were kind of unlucky—finally wrote a great script, and then someone else bought it? That's rough."
"Hahaha, it's alright."
"But there's something in your story I don't quite get. Mind clearing it up for me?"
"Sure! Go ahead~"
"Since your dream was to be a director, why didn't you go straight to Hollywood for funding? Why deal with Endeavor Agency instead? Isn't that a bit… illogical?"
"Oh, that? There were two reasons I didn't go to Hollywood and chose Endeavor instead. The first one—well, I was already signed to them. They were my agency. So when I had the idea, I went to them directly."
"Okay, makes sense. You wanted them to help you get financing. What's the second reason?"
"The second reason is that I didn't think my script was that great. When I brought it to them, I described it as a low-budget DV movie—something you could shoot with a few hundred thousand, maybe even just tens of thousands. It was small and independent, not the kind of thing Hollywood studios would notice."
"But according to what you said, it did eventually get picked up by a studio, right?"
"Uh… yeah…"
"Then you should've directed it yourself! Like James Cameron did with The Terminator!"
"Oh—I thought about that, but… not really possible."
"Why not?"
"Because the buyer was more experienced. Letting him direct gave the project a better chance of success."
"Got it. You wanted your story to have a good home."
"Yes, yes, that's a good way to put it."
"Okay, Michael Arndt, you're honestly a great guy. It's been such a pleasure having you on Fox today—wait a second. A talent-show movie? Super professional production team? And you said it did really well? Uh… you don't mean The Voice, do you?"
"No, no, no! How could it be The Voice? That's Isabella Haywood's film!"
"..."
After getting home, Lana Del Rey immediately turned on her TV and started flipping through the channels.
She rewound again and again for half an hour before finally finding the exact Fox program she'd overheard at the newsstand earlier.
It was a Fox daytime talk show, and today's topic was "How different industries are faring under wartime pressures."
At first glance, the lineup looked normal. The first two guests fit the theme perfectly—one worked in port trade (relevant to global logistics under wartime tension), the other in the oil industry (since the U.S.–Iraq war had everyone worried about gas prices).
But the third guest? A NYU graduate and current Hollywood screenwriter.
Honestly, inviting him wasn't that strange—entertainment is an industry, after all. If trade affects daily goods and oil affects travel, then movies determine whether the masses have something fun to watch.
The problem was, while the first two guests discussed real industry issues, the third one just talked about himself.
It felt off-topic.
And the way this "Michael Arndt" kept hinting at his old screenplay—it was obvious he wanted to stir attention toward the film he sold.
That's what bugged Lana the most.
Because after hearing his story, she already knew what he was implying—and so did the Fox host, and even the newsstand guy earlier.
Michael Arndt was practically announcing to the world that the script he sold was The Voice!
And that…
"Is slander… or is it true?"
As the show ended, Lana's eyes flickered uncertainly.
What can she do? She's a Beaver fan through and through.
She knows everything Isabella's ever said publicly.
She knows The Voice was written by Isabella and her sister. She knows it won this year's Oscar for Best Original Screenplay. And she knows… people have talked.
Because, let's face it—an eleven- or twelve-year-old girl writing a full screenplay? Sounds absurd.
The only reason the chatter died down was because no one came forward to accuse her.
And since the film's director was Chris Columbus, most people assumed he'd helped.
In the public eye, there was no way such a young girl wrote it alone.
But nobody cared much. To most people, Isabella and Columbus were Harry Potter's dream team anyway.
The Voice was just a side project—a cute little dessert served alongside the Harry Potter main course.
When the main dish is that good, who nitpicks the dessert?
Also, everyone knew Spielberg and Rowling didn't get along, while Columbus was Spielberg's man and Isabella was Rowling's chosen one.
So the theory was simple: the two secretly collaborated, then erased each other's fingerprints to avoid conflict.
Totally plausible, right?
Because let's be honest—humans love their gossip. Nothing makes them happier than chewing through a scandal while sitting on the sidelines.
So when Isabella got that Oscar, people had already filled in the blanks themselves.
But now—
Someone was publicly hinting that The Voice's copyright was stolen?
What the hell?
Lana felt something was wrong.
But she couldn't quite say what.
So she replayed the show, looking for clues—
Once. Nothing.
Twice. Still nothing.
Then she realized she was being an idiot.
Why stare at the TV when she had a computer right there?
She went online. Checked Yahoo.
Nothing on the front page.
She searched the entertainment section—just celebrity gossip and fluff. No accusations, no script scandal.
She checked MSN, then AOL.
Same thing.
Relieved, she let out a long breath.
Maybe she was just being paranoid.
Maybe Fox had just run a normal segment that happened to mention Isabella.
She was only sensitive because—well, because she got a gift from Isabella today, right?
Looking down at the two adorable badges on her chest, she smiled.
If Isabella could prepare gifts for every contestant—and even special surprises for birthday girls—then how could anyone believe some random man trying to smear her?
She'd protect her idol, no question.
With that thought, her heart cleared.
Just then, her phone rang again.
"Elizabeth, you still haven't decided where we're going? Everyone's waiting on you!"
Her friend's impatient tone made her glance at the screen one last time, confirm everything looked normal, and laugh.
"Oh—I just got home!"
"What took you so long? It's been three hours!"
"I took the bus today."
"What? You? Wow, the princess finally mingles with the peasants?"
"Hey! Watch it or I'll get mad!"
"Alright, alright! So where are we going? Everyone's waiting!"
And just like that, Lana Del Rey embraced her eighteenth birthday in full.
Meanwhile—quietly—over on AOL's entertainment board, a new thread popped up:
[Did anyone watch Fox's daytime talk show today? Something felt… weird.]
Yes.
"Hint-dropping" was Michael Eisner's backup plan.
Since Michael Arndt refused to accuse Isabella outright, Eisner had him imply things instead—and then unleashed paid trolls to fan the flames.
Like right now.
That post on AOL? Totally planted.
Because AOL was America Online—and Steve Case was happy to stir the pot.
To be fair, in the coming age of mobile internet, hiring online trolls would become standard practice.
But even then, it was considered the dirtiest, lowest tactic.
For two reasons:
It's traceable. Using hired trolls to attack someone is like walking into your rival's office with a knife. Sooner or later, someone finds the fingerprints. Trolls alone don't win wars. Without a leader or public figure to push the story, even the biggest smear fades fast.
It's like when a scandal breaks but no celebrity takes the fall—people just move on.
That's why corporate power usually aims for one-shot kills, not messy PR brawls. If they can blow you up cleanly, they won't waste time stirring mud.
But since Arndt wouldn't play executioner, Eisner had no choice but to unleash the sewer rats.
And sure enough—
Once AOL kicked off the "debate," The Voice script controversy spread like wildfire.
Within an hour, it jumped from AOL to Yahoo, IMDb, and other platforms.
In under three hours, "The Voice screenplay" hit trending lists across multiple sites.
By six hours, major portals were re-uploading the Fox interview clip to their entertainment homepages. Ninety seconds of vague insinuation was more than enough to stir a mob.
By the next day, October 22nd, the story had gone fully viral—spreading from online chatter to traditional media like CBS and NBC.
They couldn't resist. Isabella was too famous, and The Voice too hot.
The public was hooked.
But despite the frenzy—
Most of the buzz was just noise.
Because almost nobody actually believed the smear.
For simple reasons:
"Oh please—this Michael Arndt guy's hinting that The Voice was his? What's wrong with him? Is his brain full of crap?"
"I think the Fox host's brain's full of crap too! He guessed Arndt's script was The Voice? What kind of logic is that?"
"Exactly! Sure, we don't really think Isabella wrote it all by herself—but saying Arndt did? Ridiculous! She's never even been to the U.S.! And the film's director was Chris Columbus, who started as a screenwriter! Why would they buy a random guy's script?"
"Right! And Arndt wasn't even famous back then!"
"This guy's just clout-chasing, plain and simple."
"Exactly! What kind of stupid theory is that? It makes no sense at all!"
Yeah.
The reason the public didn't buy into the smear campaign was simple — Chris Columbus was too damn strong.
When someone's success has already been proven over time, thinking you can take them down with a few hired trolls online? That's like a two-ton car trying to crash through an eight-ton truck. The only people who keep arguing it could work are either idiots or villains.
The pathetic failure of the smear job made Michael Eisner a little bitter. Sure, he had seen this coming, but who doesn't secretly hope the universe will cooperate once in a while? Still, even though the troll army flopped, Eisner wasn't giving up — he had a backup plan.
"Where's Arndt now?"
Eisner swung his golf club hard, blasting the ball out of sight, then turned to his assistant.
"Back home in Virginia."
"Our people already there?"
"Yes, they left this morning."
"Good. When can we release the news?"
"If everything goes well, we'll have him by tonight and publish in the morning…"
Michael Eisner's money doesn't come easy. If he was willing to pay two million for someone to launch a full-scale public attack, there's no way he'd pay three for a watered-down version. That offer was bait — to get Arndt to open up, and then Eisner could make him go after Isabella.
Because at the end of their deal, his people had dropped him a little speech — a very pointed one: "We know everything about your family."
So when a man realizes his loved ones are under someone's watch, what's his first move?
He goes home, of course.
And once he's home…
Reporters can show up right on his doorstep, shove microphones in his parents' faces, read out all the online hate, and then smile for the cameras.
Arndt might be able to stomach that kind of abuse himself — but his family? Not a chance.
They'd ask what was happening. They'd worry. They'd beg him to defend himself.
And just like that, whether he wanted to or not, he'd become Eisner's weapon.
But while Eisner was still leisurely playing golf, waiting for the news that Arndt had caved like a good little son… the assistant came back — way too soon.
At first, Eisner thought it was done. The family had been cornered, Arndt had broken, mission accomplished.
Then the assistant spoke.
"What did you say? Warner's holding a press conference?"
Eisner froze.
"Yes, sir," the assistant said quickly.
"What are they going to say? That all this talk is malicious slander?"
"Not sure. The report says they'll be responding to 'recent events.'"
"Responding to recent events?" Eisner frowned deeper.
That didn't add up.
Right now, public opinion was on Warner's side. In that situation, the smart move was to say nothing. Let the goodwill flow. No need to open your mouth and risk choking on your own words.
If everyone already believes you, why bother defending yourself? Step out now, and one wrong sentence could flip everything.
"No. I want the latest updates," Eisner snapped. "Is it being broadcast?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"ABC."
"When?"
The assistant checked his watch. "Forty-seven minutes."
Half an hour later, Eisner was sitting in the lounge of the golf club, eyes locked on the screen.
The press conference began — and the first face he saw made his stomach twist.
Nathan Bailey.
Eisner knew him. Barry Meyer's assistant. And the fact that he was there meant this wasn't some routine clarification. This was a counterattack.
But what kind of counterattack? Eisner couldn't guess.
Warner was hidden in the shadows — they couldn't just conjure an enemy out of thin air. Were they about to say everything was their doing? That'd be absurd.
As he puzzled over it, Nathan Bailey began speaking.
"Good afternoon to everyone here and everyone watching. We at Warner are aware that our collaborator, Miss Isabella Haywood, has recently faced certain public doubts and accusations. So we've decided to hold this press conference to address them directly."
"First of all, we want to confirm that Mr. Michael Arndt's script is indeed in our possession."
Boom.
The room exploded in noise.
No one had expected Warner to open with that bombshell.
Michael Arndt's script is in their hands?
That meant… Arndt had been telling the truth?
And if Arndt was telling the truth…
"So does that mean The Worlds Voice wasn't written by Isabella Haywood??"
A reporter shouted from the crowd.
Nathan smiled calmly, lifting two neatly stacked scripts from the table.
"This," he said, "is Mr. Arndt's registered draft."
"And this one is the script for The Worlds Voice."
"I know many of you have seen the film, but I'd like you to take a closer look with me — from a writer's perspective — and compare them."
Shhh—
Before he even finished the sentence, Eisner shot to his feet.
"No. No, this isn't an attack on me!"
"Barry Meyer's not going after me — he's trying to clean up Isabella's script problem at the lowest possible cost!"
"Oh, hell…"
"That damned Michael Arndt—he just wasted all my setup!"