"Oh—didn't I say Eminem's got issues?"
"Eminem's a mad dog! A rabid, bite-anyone kind of mad dog!"
"This guy loses his temper the moment his true nature gets exposed? Hey! Hey! Hey! If I remember right, all these years he's been dissing people and telling them not to take it personally!"
"Oh my God! And this man is considered a star?"
"Eminem isn't a star—he's a clown who survives on trash talk! His fans are just neglected kids whose parents never took them to the circus, so now they chase after clowns to make up for their childhoods!"
"Poor Isabella! Getting targeted by that lowlife is just rotten luck!"
"So Isabella got bitten by a dog? I honestly think she should go get a rabies shot!"
"..."
Since Barry Meyer and Robert Iger had already made thorough preparations before acting, they had people tailing Eminem before the press conference—waiting to capture his meltdown.
Once they got the dirt, putting it on the evening news was inevitable.
That night, ABC and a few well-paid networks—CBS, NBC, and the rest—aired footage of Eminem after watching the Warner-Disney conference.
That twisted face, that raging voice, that feral screaming—it brought the entire storm to a halt.
If earlier the public had still been swayed by the media and Eminem's fans to question Isabella, now, any remotely sane person hated Eminem and pitied her.
First impressions matter, after all. A bright, composed person gives off a good feeling. But if someone looks deranged and keeps yelling, only other lunatics can relate.
So when Isabella had always come across as cute and cheerful, the fight was already over. Ten Eminems couldn't beat one Isabella.
But a win in public opinion doesn't close the case.
Her mini-album was pricey, and that "money-grabbing" label still hung on her. She couldn't part ways with the world wearing that tag—it would stain her reputation.
So, twenty-four hours later, the final period to this storm appeared.
On the morning of July 8, 2003, The Wall Street Journal broke the story:
[Universal Music CEO Doug Morris Taken by FBI for Investigation]
The report stretched over a thousand words, but it boiled down to five points:
Sources say Doug Morris was taken by federal agents over issues tied to his previous job—as Chairman of Warner Music. When AOL Time Warner prepared to sell Warner Music, they conducted a detailed financial review and found "irregularities." He'd left Warner after losing an internal power struggle. His biggest "achievement" at Universal? Discovering Eminem. The man currently seeking to buy Warner Music is Vivendi Universal's vice chairman, Edgar Bronfman Jr. Bronfman Jr. might fund the acquisition by selling Vivendi shares.
The moment that article hit, North American media exploded again.
Not just because Universal was one of the "Big Five" record empires and its boss being cuffed was big news—but because The Wall Street Journal's five points told a perfect story:
"I think I finally get why Isabella's been on every headline this month—it's because Doug Morris wanted her gone! I've even got the proof!"
"Bronfman Jr. loves the entertainment industry. Morris was his guy—the one who helped him acquire PolyGram and build Universal Music Group. So why would Morris sabotage him? Simple. Bronfman planned to sell his Vivendi shares to buy Warner Music. If that happens, Morris loses status inside Universal!"
"So what would you do if you were Morris? You'd stop it. How? You'd make Warner look bad—kill off its biggest selling point."
"And who's Warner's biggest star right now? Isabella Haywood."
"So if you destroy her, Warner loses its shine. That's why she's been under nonstop attack."
"Eminem's role? He's Morris's attack dog. That's why he went for her out of nowhere."
"And Morris wouldn't even feel guilty about it—he was fired from Warner after losing a power struggle. Now he's being investigated, which means he probably wasn't clean to begin with!"
"Put all that together, and every insane thing that's happened to Isabella suddenly makes perfect sense!"
"Why did that Voice script ownership issue suddenly appear?"
"Because Morris wanted her ruined—that's the only reason someone like Michael Arndt would crawl out of nowhere to accuse her!"
"Why the money-grab smear?"
"Because Morris knows that's the nastiest rumor in the industry!"
"Remember when the U.S. states investigated the Big Five for price-fixing? Who were the real culprits behind inflated record prices? People like Morris—not some thirteen-year-old singer! But Isabella got all the blame!"
That long comment spread like wildfire.
"Whoa! This actually makes sense! Isabella's accusations were over the top!"
"Damn! So it was the suits trying to bury her? No wonder she's been on every front page!"
"Yeah yeah, every other celebrity scandal fades fast, but hers exploded everywhere—this poor girl…"
"OMG, this is disgusting! Not that the theory's wrong, but that Doug Morris guy—what a creep! She's thirteen! Does he have to go that far?"
"That guy should rot in hell!"
"Doug Morris deserves everything coming to him!"
"..."
Game over.
Yeah.
The "money-grab" accusation was taboo in the record world, but since Isabella had no control over pricing, Warner only needed a scapegoat to pin the "malicious attack" on—and shed that hat without hurting themselves.
They couldn't outright deny overpricing—it would upset fans and competitors alike. So, they needed someone powerful enough to take the fall.
Enter Doug Morris, CEO of Universal.
Their reasoning was simple.
He was both a rival and a former insider.
He was Bronfman's man—attacking him hurt an enemy. And he had deep Warner roots, making the story sound plausible.
Doug Morris had entered the music business in the 1960s, founding "Big Tree Records." In 1974, Warner's Atlantic Records acquired it, bringing him into the Warner family.
By 1980, he was President of Atlantic—essentially Warner Music's head.
In 1990, he became co-chairman and CEO of Atlantic.
When Warner merged with Time Inc. in 1991, it restructured to form Warner Music Group. Steve Ross became its first chairman; Doug Morris handled day-to-day affairs. When Ross died, Morris—who'd witnessed it all—rose naturally to the top and became Warner Music's chairman in 1994.
And then…
"Doug got taken down. By me."
London, July 8, 2003.
Isabella was on an MSN voice call with Barry Meyer and Robert Iger.
She blinked. "Barry, what did you just say?"
"I said Doug's finished," Meyer repeated, grinning. "I'm the one who did it."
"Isabella, you probably think we at Warner are fighting shoulder-to-shoulder against Time Warner, Ted Turner, Steve Case, and the rest. But that's not the full story."
"We've got our own wars inside too—and they're vicious."
"Because power is limited. Seats at the top are limited."
"Doug Morris once served Steve Ross loyally… but he stood in my way."
When Ross was alive, Warner was united.
He had authority. He had shares. He had blood on his hands—figuratively and not.
After he died, everyone with ambition smelled opportunity.
The film division wanted to rise.
The music division wanted to rise.
The TV division wanted to rise.
Everyone wanted to be the Chairman of Warner Bros.
How, when they were just executives?
Simple—Ross's family had the shares but no talent. They needed a capable manager to run things. Whoever proved themselves could rule the kingdom.
Don't underestimate that word—"king."
Michael Eisner at Disney set his own salary and gave himself stock.
They called him the "Emperor of Employees" not because of pay, but because he really could seize the throne.
So after Ross's death, the first war was inside Warner itself.
And the first to fall? The film division.
In the 1980s, Warner's movies survived on Peter Guber and Jon Peters.
By the early 1990s, both had jumped ship to Sony.
From then on, Warner Pictures was leaderless.
The second group to fall… was the music division.
In other words, Doug Morris.
At that point, almost all of Warner's top executives were people Steve Ross had once promoted from the television side.
And that was exactly why the company kept rotting from the inside—constant infighting.
If they'd actually managed to unite, forget Time Warner or Ted Turner trying to snatch their IPs; they could've beaten Turner until he bled pride. When Ross bought Warner, the studio only had a film business. The television and music divisions? Those were built from scratch under his watch.
But sadly, unity doesn't pay as well as greed.
"So that's the plan you guys said you'd already figured out?"
Isabella leaned back in her chair, feeling like she'd just spotted the rotten core of it all.
"Yeah. Sending Doug Morris in was the plan," Mayer said bluntly. "Because the best way to end a media storm is to make someone capable and expendable carry the blame. We know Edgar Bronfman Jr. and his crowd are the real masterminds, but we can't exactly put him in cuffs, can we? So, we take down his guy instead. It's the next best thing."
"And they can't stop us either," Mayer went on. "If they try, we'll turn the guns on them. Whether it's Bronfman Jr. or Eisner, none of them want that kind of war."
"And getting Doug Morris taken away was easy," he added, voice dry. "His dirty laundry fills a cabinet over here."
"Just like the Weinstein brothers at Disney, right, Bob?"
"Oh—Barry, I have no idea what you're talking about," Robert Iger said, pretending innocence.
You can collect dirt on people, sure. But you never admit it out loud.
"God, you two are terrifying."
Isabella laughed. "If one day I disagree with you, are you going to throw me in prison too? Then the headlines will be like—'Who could've guessed? Hermione Granger Exposed!'"
Both men burst out laughing.
And honestly? It could happen. Ask Tom Cruise—Sumner Redstone went after him too.
But then—
"Don't worry, Isabella. You'll always be our little princess," Iger said, half-teasing, half-sincere.
"Yeah, Princess Hermione," Mayer chimed in. "Even if you overhear every secret we've got, we'd never lay a hand on you. Scout's honor."
Isabella just snorted. She wasn't that naïve. Nothing in this world stayed loyal forever. Pick a side once, and you're stuck with it; no one ever truly welcomes a defector.
The only way to stay safe is to keep winning.
Since the grudges they were discussing stretched back decades, Isabella didn't feel like wasting more breath on it. Her lips curled into a smirk. "Okay. Since the whole 'money-grabbing' thing is over, can we talk about something else? Surely we're not just going to keep getting punched, right?"
She was tired of being the target. If possible, she wanted payback.
"Well, Isabella, now that all our enemies have shown themselves, we're not staying on defense forever," said Iger. "But if your idea of revenge is killing Michael Eisner… I can't quite manage that yet."
"Yeah," Mayer added dryly. "And if you also mean killing Ted Turner and Steve Case, that's asking a bit much."
"Oh, please," Isabella rolled her eyes. "Who said anything about killing them? Can you two be serious for five seconds?"
Maybe surviving an attack makes people giddy, because both men were cracking jokes like schoolboys.
To her, their words were nonsense. Eisner, Turner, Case—these were capital titans. You don't "take them down" unless their fortunes collapse and their power base crumbles.
Her idea of striking back wasn't killing them—it was something far sharper.
"By the way," she asked sweetly, "how are the Weinstein brothers doing?"
The line went quiet for a second before both men chuckled knowingly.
The Weinsteins had already been formally charged. Their trial would take time, but prison was guaranteed.
Because in the corporate world, capital crushes people far more efficiently than protest ever could.
Social movements shout; money acts.
Free speech means nothing when your paycheck depends on silence. Say one wrong thing about Saint Charlie, and you're unemployed—or worse.
In North America, the Almighty Dollar is gospel. Don't like it? Pull an intercontinental missile out of your pants first.
So when Iger refused a settlement, Eisner couldn't rescue the Weinsteins. Their only shot at freedom was medical parole.
And when Isabella brought them up, her meaning was obvious.
If we can't destroy our enemies yet, at least make sure they know we bite back.
"Their situation's not looking great," Mayer said. Then, knowingly, "But Isabella… do you really want to hear what we're doing next?"
"Nope," she said flatly. "I'm just a thirteen-year-old girl. I don't understand any of what you adults are talking about."
That made both men laugh so hard the line nearly broke up.
And after they hung up…
July 9 2003. The Times's editor-in-chief, Robert Thomson, announced his resignation.
Sources said he'd only been promoted the year before. The reason: a July 6 report that had run without verification.
As for what it was about?
On July 9, The Times printed an apology on its front page—
The Times formally apologized to Isabella Heywood for inaccuracies in an earlier article.
Then, July 11, DreamWorks officially informed Universal that when their ten-year deal expired, they would not renew it. A friendship that had lasted over three thousand days was ending.
July 14, The Washington Post reported that AOL Time Warner was preparing to drop "AOL" from its name at the upcoming shareholders' meeting.
And on July 19, The Los Angeles Times revealed that Roy E. Disney had submitted his resignation from the Disney Animation division, and his ally, board member Stanley Gold, was also planning to retire.
Even clay figurines have tempers.
Isabella hated being attacked.
So imagine how Mayer and Iger—two men with king-making ambitions—felt. You hit them, they'll torch the room.
If they couldn't live in peace, then no one else would either.