Barry Meyer and Robert Iger were both self-made men. They started out like everyone else, and everything they had today—status, power, respect—was earned in blood and sweat. So after reaching a deal with Isabella to develop The Voice (the variety show), they knew enemies would inevitably come after them. That meant having contingency plans wasn't optional—it was mandatory.
How detailed were those plans?
No one knew.
How many attack-and-defense scenarios did they rehearse?
No one knew that either.
But the battle plan concerning Isabella was something the two of them had already discussed thoroughly with the girl herself—including how to respond to the "script controversy." They couldn't help it; that really was her only weak spot.
If they were her enemies, they'd start from the same point of attack.
Since the The Voice script issue was like a ticking time bomb—one that could blow up at any moment—Meyer and Iger's top priority was to defuse it once and for all. Isabella still had seven Harry Potter films to make; the series wasn't even halfway done. And Iger wanted to turn The Voice into a long-running franchise, his own career legacy.
As for how to defuse the bomb?
In their eyes, it was actually quite simple.
"First, I'd like everyone to look with me at the openings of both scripts.
In Mr. Arndt's version, the story begins in a chaotic family—disorder and mess are the tone he's going for.
But in The Voice script, which everyone here already knows well, Lily Zeller is a cheerful little girl."
"The two stories are obviously different, and the moods they give the audience are completely opposite."
"Next, let's look at the middle section. Arndt's script runs in a straight line—it's like our country's Highway 91: long, straight, and scenic. The Voice, on the other hand, progresses like a video game, level after level. Lily keeps pushing forward, keeps winning, with her family's warmth behind her."
"Finally, at the end, Arndt's story is about a talent competition, but he focuses on the life of a loser—by the end, the protagonist's family still hasn't won. The Voice? We didn't want to debate whether the main character should win or lose; we just wanted to tell a hopeful story. Isabella felt she'd already won in her own life—your support and affection gave her this beautiful today."
"So she wanted to share that joy, to encourage others to stay true to themselves, and to sincerely wish that everyone could embrace their own happiness."
The audience erupted:
"See? I knew all those rumors were fake!"
"Told you—those Fox anchors have crap for brains!"
"That bald guy—what's his name, Michael… Arndt? What a snake! He tricked us into thinking The Voice was his idea? But Warner's just shown both scripts! They're completely different!"
When Nathan Bailey put down the scripts, a wave of cheering swept across North America.
Not because people had nothing better to do than obsess over Isabella, but because it was Sunday, June 22, 2003.
A weekend.
More people off work than usual.
Add the summer holiday factor—and with The Voice talent auditions currently peaking—millions tuned in to the live press conference. Under the gaze of ten million viewers, The Voice and Little Miss Sunshine were publicly compared side by side. Anyone with half a brain could see the differences.
So from that day forward, the plagiarism allegations against The Voice evaporated.
Yes, holding a public script-comparison press conference was Meyer and Iger's "simple but effective" countermeasure.
Simple, but not flawless.
Because when you show everything openly, you risk raising new questions.
"Mr. Bailey, I have a concern."
As the Fox smear campaign was being tossed into the trash heap, a journalist at the scene raised his hand. Bailey nodded, and the man went on:
"I accept that The Voice differs greatly from Michael Arndt's script. But their frameworks are quite similar—both are road movies, both use a talent competition as a driving force, both have the same number of key characters. And you've admitted you own Arndt's script rights. So, can I interpret this as you bought Arndt's script and then used it as the base to create The Voice? If that's true, doesn't that mean Arndt wasn't lying?"
The question hit hard. Viewers everywhere froze.
Replaying the logic in their minds, many frowned.
"Wait... that actually makes sense."
"Just because the stories are different doesn't mean it wasn't based on his work."
"Exactly. And Warner did buy Arndt's script."
"So what's going on here?"
When you ask people to think, they do—and they won't blindly take sides anymore. You can't manipulate thought with raw emotion alone.
"Okay, good question."
Bailey smiled.
"I'll answer that, but first, please watch a short behind-the-scenes clip from Harry Potter."
Instant intrigue.
A staff member brought in an old VCR player. A few fiddles later, wavy static lines filled the screen. Then came a scene from the Chamber of Secrets shoot: the Leavesden cafeteria, Isabella and Chris Columbus chatting in the corner, both in Hogwarts costumes.
The footage was grainy and the audio muffled, but clear enough—
they were discussing the creation of The Voice.
Isabella explained her ideas; Columbus critiqued them.
A collective sigh of relief spread across homes in North America.
"Knew it! Chris really was involved!"
"Alright, that's it. Case closed. The Voice was written by Isabella herself."
"All those accusations were lies! Disgusting people!"
"Maybe that's the price of fame—jealousy popping off like popcorn!"
When the video faded, Bailey smiled again.
"Chamber of Secrets was filmed while Sorcerer's Stone was still in theaters. Isabella was eleven then; now she's thirteen. Time travel doesn't exist, so this footage clearly isn't fake. If anyone doubts it, I suggest they see an eye doctor. The difference between Hermione in Chamber and Isabella in The Voice promo is obvious."
Laughter rolled through the room.
Then Bailey continued:
"People call her a genius, but she sees herself as just a normal kid—'just prettier than average,' in her own words.
So yes, she had guidance. Someone helped her think through the story but didn't want credit, since his role was just verbal advice.
And yes, we did buy Arndt's script—because the original concept, the dream-chasing theme, came from him. Even though we didn't use his story or design, we believed in paying for others' creative labor. Especially creative work."
"As for similarities in structure—well, genre films share templates. If anyone doubts that, look at American Graffiti. Lucas's story also follows six people on a road trip. You could say The Voice was inspired by that instead."
"Finally, why didn't we reveal this earlier? Because the removal of Arndt's credit was his own request. Isabella originally wanted to credit him as 'Story by,' but he refused. We respected that. We can prove it—Isabella has the contract in the UK, and Arndt has his copy too. That's why we held this emergency press conference. We honestly don't understand why he's reopening this now."
Boom.
That statement hit like a match to gasoline.
When the public realized Arndt himself had asked for his name to be removed—and was now claiming ownership again—everyone smelled betrayal.
"Wait, what?? He chose to remove his credit, and now he's whining about it?"
"Guess he saw The Voice blow up and decided he sold too cheap!"
"But he can't take it back; the rights were sold fair and square!"
"He's just mad he threw away an Oscar credit. No name, no fame, no jobs."
"Disgusting. He did this to himself!"
Since the structural similarity issue couldn't be erased, Meyer and Iger advised Isabella to face it head-on.
Because she'd done nothing wrong.
No coercion, no theft.
She'd even overpaid for peace of mind.
Would this hurt her image? Maybe. She'd been branded a "genius girl" after all.
But in the West, perfection isn't perfect.
Why was Anne Hathaway mocked so much?
Because she seemed too perfect.
People can accept someone's success—but not their constant success. It feels unnatural, unreachable.
The West has saints, sure—
but they're nailed to crosses.
You want sainthood? Fine.
You'll need to die first.
So if Isabella kept being flawless, the public would eventually turn on her.
Meyer and Iger could even predict when: the day Harry Potter ended.
For now, audiences loved her perfection only because she was Hermione.
Once she moved on from that role, the affection might fade.
That's why, to them, showing her humanity early—her normality—was essential.
And this Voice controversy was the perfect chance.
Everyone already believed she couldn't have written it alone.
So when the world itself gives you your "flaw,"
you turn it into charm.
Which is exactly what happened.
After the Warner press conference, public opinion across the U.S.—and soon, the world—shifted completely.
People now believed:
Fox had been reckless and manipulative.
Arndt was greedy and ungrateful.
And Isabella, for all her brilliance, was still just human—capable of being fooled, just like everyone else.
"She got tricked? Seriously?"
"Who on Earth could trick Isabella?"
"Please—her not tricking others is already impressive enough."
Meanwhile, in Los Angeles—
Since finishing Freaky Friday last year, Lindsay Lohan had been out of work.
Being unemployed was one thing, but finding out her next project, Queen Bee, had been taken by Isabella's own artist Margot Robbie—that nearly broke her.
She could accept being outshined by Isabella.
But losing to Isabella's employee?
That was humiliation.
She had no power to change it, and over the past few months, the frustration had turned into depression.
When Warner and Disney announced The Voice film would become a variety show, her jealousy spiraled into madness.
So when the media finally went after Isabella, she watched every move—obsessively, almost gleefully.
At first, she was thrilled to see the knives come out. She thought, "No matter how powerful Isabella is, she can't escape the iron fist of capital."
But when Warner and Disney effortlessly flipped the narrative and the whole world sided with Isabella—
The reflection in Lindsay's mirror looked distorted.
She'd had enough.
Crash.
Her hand slammed down. The makeup mirror flew across the room.
Shatter.
Glass everywhere.
Her mother sighed from the living room.
And somewhere else, Anne Hathaway finished watching the same news about Isabella.
But unlike Lindsay Lohan, she was no longer angry about Isabella's success.
It wasn't that she had made peace with herself—it was that she had officially terminated her contract with Disney. She no longer had to film The Princess Diaries sequel. At the same time, she had signed with Warner Bros. to play Christine in The Phantom of the Opera. The movie would officially begin shooting that September, with a projected release at the end of next year.
And all of this…
As her mom said, was thanks to Isabella.
Isabella's success had made the infighting at Disney so fierce that nobody there cared about minor side projects anymore.
Isabella's success had also distracted the feuding executives at AOL Time Warner, leaving them too busy to manage their awards campaigns.
When Isabella's success could influence the power balance of international giants…
Anne Hathaway had to admit—
In this lifetime, she might… no, definitely would never surpass Isabella.
So—
"Mom, how can someone in this world be so lucky?"
As CBS Evening News ended and a talk show began, Hathaway leaned against her mother on the couch.
Though she phrased it like a question, she didn't wait for an answer before sighing wistfully,
"Mom, if I had a life like hers, wouldn't that be amazing?"
"Her life… seems so exciting."
What did others think of her life? Isabella didn't know, but she herself was quite content with it. Unless necessary, she only worked four hours a day, didn't have to study, and could spend the rest of her time doing whatever she liked. That kind of ease was pure bliss.
"Hey—Isa—don't go—!"
"I shouldn't go? Sure! So this is you inviting me to supervise your study session? No problem!"
"Uh… if you put it that way… maybe you should go…"
"Hahahaha… then goodbye? See you tomorrow?"
June 24th, afternoon, London.
After wrapping up that day's shoot, Isabella joined her friends in the small classroom on set.
Like a foreman with a scythe, she shoved them inside, then pulled her older sister—whose lesson had just ended—right out. The smooth efficiency of the move made her friends feel the cruel proximity of freedom they couldn't reach.
Their pitiful stares made the girl wave her hand like an old sage, and that smug little gesture earned a synchronized eye roll. Even the teacher couldn't stand it anymore and invited Isabella to sit down. Only after basking in her own smugness did she reluctantly leave.
"Ugh—Isa—you little brat—"
As they left the classroom, Catherine sighed.
Honestly, she thought her little sister could be infuriating when she got cheeky.
Vivian felt the same, shooting her daughter an exasperated glare.
Still, Isabella didn't care.
She brushed off their mild scolding with a grin and changed the topic, asking about the outside world.
Even though she was busy filming, this was the internet age. There was no way she didn't know her enemies were taking shots at her. At first, she'd been nervous—but when she realized those attacks were exactly what Barry Meyer and Robert Iger had already predicted, she relaxed completely.
"Nathan Bailey called today," Vivian said, glancing around before continuing. "He said things should be settling down now."
She lowered her voice. "But he also said the people who went after you weren't just Michael Eisner and Ted Turner. There might be more eyes on us."
"Because the first wave of criticism came from AOL, which is Steve Case's turf—the chairman of AOL Time Warner. Then the person who invited Michael Arndt to appear on that show was from Fox, and American Idol was personally introduced by Rupert Murdoch's daughter—it's their flagship TV project…"
Choosing your friends means choosing your enemies.
So, after partnerships were made, Barry Meyer and Robert Iger had laid out all the internal tensions within Warner and Disney—and the external conflicts that The Voice could trigger.
So, could Steve Case and Rupert Murdoch have personally stepped in?
The news didn't surprise Isabella.
People say colleagues are deadlier than competitors—but that's only true if you can freely switch jobs.
Barry Meyer would never leave Warner in his lifetime, and Robert Iger's best-case scenario was retiring at Disney. Whether the daggers came from within or the swords from outside, both were inevitable.
So—
"Okay, enough of that."
After one question, Isabella cut off the topic.
Not only because those power games were exhausting, but because, if the sky fell, taller people would take the hit first.
Even if those people wanted her dead, they'd have to grind Iger and Meyer into paste first.
As long as those two were around, her safety was basically guaranteed.
"Hehe~ Mom, what about that Michael Arndt guy?"
Isabella didn't want to discuss capital politics anymore, so Vivian dropped it too. She didn't want her daughter involved either, but…
Once you step into society, you deal with gods and ghosts as fate decides.
Catherine, though, was still curious.
"Nathan Bailey said they've let Michael Arndt go," Vivian replied. "Because he never directly attacked your sister."
"He's a smart man—he only came forward because he had to. So Warner and Disney decided to spare him this time. They'll even try to keep him safe for at least a year."
If Arndt had attacked Isabella head-on, the storm could still have been managed—but it would've been much messier. If he had claimed that The Voice wouldn't exist without his script, things would have gone straight to court.
And once lawsuits entered the mix, everything would become a tangled mess. Even if Isabella eventually won, the long-term damage would far outweigh the benefits of cutting the issue off cleanly now.
That's exactly why Michael Eisner despised Arndt.
Because until the end, Arndt left himself a way out—and that escape route made the cleanup easier.
Since Arndt showed some restraint, Meyer and Iger saw no reason to crush him.
Not because they were kind, but because they wanted to set an example: surrender, and you'll be spared.
It was the only practical option.
The grudges between Arndt and the studios spanned decades, tangled beyond any simple right or wrong.
"Okay, what about the Oscars? Any word from them?"
Catherine wasn't one to dwell on things. Once she understood Arndt's situation, she brushed off the drama.
She asked about the Oscars for a simple reason: their rules stated that a film involved in a copyright dispute could have its award revoked.
And that kind of thing had happened before.
Some awards were revoked before the ceremony—
Like Chaplin's. Many of his nominations were pulled at the last minute. The most famous case was The Circus, which was nominated for Best Picture, Director, Screenplay, and Actor—then stripped before the ceremony because the Academy didn't want Chaplin to win.
His political stance clashed with America's sacred capitalism. You get the idea.
And some were revoked after the ceremony—
Like the 1969 documentary Young Americans. It had won Best Documentary, but the Academy later found out it had screened once in 1967, so they claimed it shouldn't qualify as a 1968 release.
Even though the rules said a film could qualify if it had at least a weeklong North American run—or be deferred to the next year—so technically it was eligible.
After the award was returned, the Academy handed it to Stanley Kramer.
You might not know the name, but you'd know his films: Guess Who's Coming to Dinner and Judgment at Nuremberg.
The public was outraged. Everyone said the Academy made a mistake.
To justify themselves, they revealed the voting results—Kramer's film had come in second—so by the "next in line" rule, they just handed him the statue. No re-vote.
That whole mess was more ridiculous than Moonlight beating La La Land.
In the pre-internet age, the Academy really could do whatever it wanted.
But now…
"Nathan Bailey didn't mention the Oscars," Vivian said. "But I think it should be fine."
"Because… all those fake credit scandals in Hollywood? They started with the Academy."
Yes.
The Academy is despised within the industry.
Most of Hollywood's toxic traditions came from them.
The arbitrary awards.
And the "credit cap" rule—limiting the number of people who could be officially recognized for an award.
They claimed it was because the stage wasn't big enough to fit everyone, so they had to cap the number of winners per category.
Which was absurd.
Film is a collective art form.
Limiting credits turned recognition into a power game—only the powerful got their names on the plaque, while the real workers stayed invisible.
Sure, most industries work that way, and by 2024 even Nobel laureates were admitting their students did all the work—but film was supposed to be different.
It didn't even have an ancient tradition.
Originally, credit went where credit was due.
But the Academy ruined it, and they didn't even bother to come up with a polite excuse like "we're filtering out freeloaders."
No. They just acted like lords among peasants.
Which is why George Lucas despises the Oscars.
While others evolved for the better, the Academy only got worse.
So with their own reputation filthy, they weren't about to stir up trouble now.
They pick on weak individuals, not the big studios.
If they tried that with the majors? They'd be dead in a week.
Since the controversy wouldn't really affect Isabella, Catherine quickly lost interest. But during dinner that evening, she glanced at her sister again—
"By the way, Isa, while you were filming today, Rowling called."
"She asked how you were doing, and then she mentioned The Order of the Phoenix…"