July 25, 2003 – Manhattan
New York was gloomy that day, with drizzles sweeping by every now and then.
At the headquarters of News Corporation, Rupert Murdoch's mood was as dark as the weather outside.
Only when his secretary knocked to inform him that Robert Thomson, the former editor-in-chief of The Times, had arrived, did Murdoch finally put down the report he hadn't been reading at all and motion for his guest to be sent in.
A middle-aged white man with cropped hair and glasses soon stepped into the office.
The moment Murdoch saw him, he broke into a smile, stood up, and extended his hand.
"Robert, long time no see."
"Oh, boss, long time indeed."
Thomson smiled back.
Both men were Australian. In fact, Thomson's first job had been at The Herald, the paper Murdoch's father had left to him. The two had shared a friendship that had lasted nearly three decades.
When they first met, Murdoch was still new to politics and often said naïve things. Thomson, as his editor, took the blame for many of those remarks. Maybe because Thomson never complained, Murdoch had always remembered his loyalty. Everywhere he went, he brought Thomson along, letting him "test the waters" with his pen.
Over time, Thomson had become Murdoch's personal mouthpiece.
So when Murdoch decided to go after Isabella, he naturally sent out his best attack dog. And, to be fair, Thomson had done a pretty good job—
but still...
"Sorry, Robert. This time, I really have to wrong you."
"If you don't resign from The Times, we might be in real trouble."
"Oh—boss—come on—it's nothing."
Thomson waved it off like it was a minor inconvenience, though curiosity flickered in his eyes.
"Boss, if I may—what's really going on this time? Usually, when things blow up, we just publish an apology and move on."
The man had so much experience taking the fall that he knew the rhythm by heart. When a piece backfired, someone had to be the scapegoat.
But before, no matter how badly things went, no one dared actually touch them.
So why now…?
"A procedural issue," Murdoch sighed. "Even though News Corp's registration has been moved to the U.S., our main entity is still in Australia. Technically legal, but…"
"Okay, I get it." Thomson nodded.
To the general public, America might look like a beacon of freedom and democracy.
To those who actually controlled the resources, that was all nonsense. The U.S. had plenty of unwritten rules that couldn't be spoken aloud.
For example: only Americans could control American media.
Or: media companies operating primarily in the U.S. couldn't be registered abroad.
That was why Murdoch had emigrated from Australia and relocated his empire to America.
But even after changing his citizenship and moving the company, he hadn't brought all his assets with him. Through a web of "affiliated agreements," he'd left most of his fortune back home in Australia.
America's business environment was unpredictable; move rashly, and you could easily get slaughtered.
Legally speaking, it was sketchy. But as long as no one complained, nobody investigated.
At least, until someone decided to make it personal.
If Bob Iger wanted to, all he had to do was send one report to the FCC, and News Corp could be gutted. The only reason he hadn't done so yet was because things hadn't reached the "mutually assured destruction" stage.
So when Iger called, Murdoch wisely waved the white flag.
Yes—Bob Iger himself had reached out.
That apology letter The Times published to Isabella? Iger had demanded it.
Apologize and the matter ends.
Refuse, and war begins.
"So… we're really backing off?"
Thomson could sympathize but still frowned.
"If before, we only suspected that one of The Voice or American Idol would survive… then now—"
"If The Voice lives, Idol probably dies."
Thanks to Iger and Meyer's maneuvering, Isabella had walked out of the scandal as the victim.
And America loved victims—especially charming ones.
The Voice's city rounds had kicked off on July 11, pulling in insane ratings.
Take Los Angeles alone: over 30% of viewers tuned in. That was roughly a million people in just one city.
By that math, even discounting the numbers, the national rounds would easily hit 30 million viewers. Isabella's rise point would be Idol's death knell.
Murdoch knew it too. He laughed bitterly, then pointed to the computer on his desk.
"You know how to use this thing?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Pull up the Billboard charts."
Murdoch stood aside; Thomson sat down and logged in for the old man.
There it was—
#1 on the Hot 100: Party in the U.S.A.
Thomson burst out laughing. The comment section looked like a waterfall of praise:
"S***! Party in the U.S.A. is the best song of the year!"
"Damn, I actually believe it now—acting was a waste of Isabella's musical talent!"
"The hook is genius!"
"Who knew a pop song could diss someone better than rap?"
"Isabella is so cool!"
"If I were Isabella, I'd have lost it under that much pressure, but she turned it into art? Unreal."
"This will be The Voice's most covered song—it's in F major, only 96 BPM, perfect for female vocals, and insanely catchy!"
"Ahhh—I think I love Isabella even more—"
Though Thomson's background was political media, he wasn't clueless about pop culture.
Seeing a song sitting at #1 with unanimous praise, he couldn't help but sigh in awe.
"This a debut at #1?" he asked.
Murdoch, perched on the desk, nodded, then shook his head.
"Yeah. Debuted straight at #1. Three weeks now."
In this era, Billboard's formula was simple:
Song score = radio plays × weight + sales × weight.
Money ruled.
So Billboard charts were really fan spending charts.
Usually, topping the weekly chart meant about five million dollars in circulation.
But a debut #1—called an "empty crown"—was a whole different beast.
Since Billboard began in 1958, only 11 songs had ever done it.
The first? MJ's You Are Not Alone in 1995.
Then Mariah Carey's Fantasy, Whitney's Exhale, Mariah and Boyz II Men's One Sweet Day, Puff Daddy's I'll Be Missing You, Elton John's Candle in the Wind 1997, Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On, Aerosmith's I Don't Want to Miss a Thing, Lauryn Hill's Doo Wop…
Every "empty crown" song was legendary.
At minimum, the artist was a global superstar.
So Party in the U.S.A. had joined their ranks?
"We can't stop The Voice anymore."
Murdoch sighed.
"Funny thing is, her debut at #1 is partially our fault. If we hadn't attacked her, she wouldn't have had the heat to launch this high."
"We handed her the spotlight."
"But a crown is a crown."
"When fans throw twenty million dollars behind a song, that's not marketing."
"That's the will of the people."
From a business perspective, he knew it was over. No one could fight that kind of public momentum.
He patted Thomson's shoulder.
"Let it go. We admit defeat."
"But…" he added, eyes hardening,
"We'll keep watching."
"They touched my business. I won't forget."
Murdoch was a pragmatist; profit came first. Once he realized the risks outweighed the rewards, he cut his losses.
But not everyone in the Anti-Voice camp was so rational.
Take Edgar Bronfman Jr., Vice Chairman of Vivendi Universal.
He was in California, fuming as he met with Universal Pictures chairwoman Stacey Snider.
He felt like someone had kicked him straight in the rear.
"Tell me—why did DreamWorks suddenly announce the end of our partnership???"
Back in June 1995, when DreamWorks was still struggling to get off the ground, they'd signed a ten-year distribution deal with Universal.
All DreamWorks films abroad would be distributed by Universal—cinemas, home video, everything.
It had earned Universal over a billion dollars in revenue. With hits like Saving Private Ryan, Shrek, The Ring, Universal had been printing money.
That deal had raised Universal's value.
But now—DreamWorks wouldn't renew?
That was like a knife to Bronfman's heart.
Vivendi was negotiating the sale of Universal Pictures to General Electric. Without DreamWorks' revenue, GE would slash their offer.
"Tell me, Stacey," he said through clenched teeth, "why?"
Snider hesitated, then said carefully,
"Boss… from what I've heard, Barry Meyer met with Steven recently. Apparently, Meyer told Spielberg that Warner Bros. could handle DreamWorks' distribution—and they'd even offer better terms. So… Steven's tempted."
"Oh, f***!" Bronfman slammed his fist onto the table.
The bang made Snider flinch.
Before she could decide whether to comfort him, he barked again,
"Isn't there any way to fix this?"
"I'm not saying we have to renew right now—but can't we at least get him to wait until after the sale?"
Snider stared, speechless.
He wasn't joking.
Finally, she sighed.
"Boss, I think you know DreamWorks dropped this now just to spite us."
"As for why…"
"I think there are two reasons."
"First, Isabella."
"We all know she plays Hermione in Harry Potter, directed by Chris Columbus. If Isabella had been destroyed by public opinion, the Harry Potter films would've collapsed—and Chris would've taken the hit. And Chris…"
"…is Spielberg's student."
"You think Steven would be okay watching his protégé's career burn?"
"Not a chance."
"The second reason—also Isabella."
"Steven's proud. Even though he never publicly ranted about losing Harry Potter, everyone knew he wasn't happy about it. J.K. Rowling turned him down, and he took that personally."
"That's why he pushed Chris for the director's chair. He wanted to prove he still had power in Hollywood. If he wanted a project, he could still make it happen."
"But we all know it was just face-saving."
"Because Spielberg only got Chris the first two films—Sorcerer's Stone and Chamber of Secrets. The later ones, Azkaban and Goblet of Fire, were out of reach."
"They'd always planned to bow out gracefully after two."
"But now?"
"Chris stayed."
"Rowling let Chris stay for Isabella's sake."
"And Rowling gave Chris the respect he deserved."
"I think you understand what that means!"
"If Chris can direct all seven Harry Potter films, then Steven's reputation will be completely saved!"
"That's a very important thing!"
"Steven's been financially free for ages!"
"He's already covered in honors!"
"At this point, the only thing he really cares about is his reputation!"
"So…"
"The girl who helped him save face was maliciously attacked?"
"Do you think he'd take that lightly?"
At this point, Snyder stopped talking.
Her eyes widened as she stared straight at Edgar Bronfman Jr.
The blunt question made Bronfman grit his teeth.
Sure, he was a spoiled heir—
but that only applied to his business instincts.
He wasn't stupid.
And putting himself in Spielberg's shoes, he knew full well that in this particular battle, Spielberg would never take his side.
And that realization…
"Motherf—!"
"Why the hell is it Isabella everywhere I go?!"
"She's disgusting!"
At that moment, Bronfman felt like he was the one most badly wounded by the failed operation.
Because he'd lost a key ally—
he couldn't save Doug Morris.
Someone had to pay for the failure.
He'd have to compensate Doug Morris some other way.
His business had taken a hit—
Warner Music hadn't been bought,
and on top of that, his company's stock value would shrink due to Doug Morris's exit and DreamWorks' decision not to renew their deal.
That was a catastrophic loss.
Meanwhile—
the ones feeling sick to their stomachs also included Steve Case, Ted Turner, and Michael Eisner.
Starting with Case and Turner:
Even though removing "AOL" from "AOL Time Warner" had been decided long ago—the board discussed it earlier that year, in fact—it still stung.
After all, "AOL" had become a dead weight.
So much so that even Steve Case himself knew it no longer deserved to lead the company's name.
In the grand merger at the start of the millennium, he'd been the biggest loser.
Not only had his fortune dropped by 70%, but the company he once gloried in was now seen as trash.
Still, even if he'd accepted that fate long ago, the formal vote and rebranding weren't supposed to happen until the end of the year.
Meaning that, as long as no one leaked the plan, he could have preserved some dignity until November or December.
But now?
The news was out.
His dignity… gone.
"It's confirmed. Richard Parsons leaked it."
California.
Inside a private home in Los Angeles, Ted Turner spoke gloomily into the phone.
"Here's how it went down: Barry Meyer approached Richard Parsons. Barry wanted his support. Richard agreed because… apparently… he recognizes Isabella's value."
"…"
New York.
Listening in silence, Steve Case drew a deep breath.
He knew exactly what Turner meant.
Richard Parsons leaking the news was the Rockefeller family's way of sending a warning.
A warning to stop targeting Isabella.
Because her presence was profitable to the group—
and not just a little bit.
If even the Rockefellers were stepping in, then…
"We'll bide our time," Turner said, rubbing his face hard before continuing. "Wars are long, aren't they? As long as we still hold shares, we've still got a chance."
"And…"
"We're going to fight them to the very end, aren't we?"
"What we lose today, we'll take back tomorrow."
Case gritted his teeth, then suddenly laughed. "You're right, Ted. We'll fight them to the end."
"When the time comes…"
"I'll make sure they all go down."
"Barry Meyer, Robert Iger—they'll all die."
"Oh, and Isabella—"
"She's popular now, isn't she? Lots of fans? That's actually good for us, don't you think?"
"When we take over the company, we'll just toss her out. Her money will be ours."
"Her fans love her?"
"Fine!"
"When the time comes, I'll make sure they're the ones sending her flowers every year."
"Ha ha ha ha—!"
Ted Turner and Steve Case could afford to lay low.
They were major shareholders, after all.
Michael Eisner, though, couldn't.
Disney's corporate bylaws had a clause:
"If a member of the board becomes unable to serve due to death or retirement, the company must immediately hold a board election until the required number of directors is restored."
So…
Once Roy Disney and Stanley Gold formally announced their retirements, the board would be forced into re-election—
and Eisner's enemies would seize the moment to attack.
The thought of losing his chairmanship, of being kicked out of Disney, made Eisner narrow his eyes.
"Hmph."
He flung Roy Disney's resignation letter—the symbolic declaration of war—onto the table, stood up, and left his office.
If Roy Disney had chosen to back Robert Iger, then fine—
they'd see who could win over more shareholders.
Across North America, the anti-Isabella alliance was falling apart, everyone scattered and panicking.
Meanwhile, in the UK, Isabella was celebrating.
August 9, 2003, Eynsham Hall.
"Harry—go, go, go!"
Amid the noise, a girl in a Hogwarts uniform shouted at Harry from the stands.
Hearing her voice, Harry—clutching his broomstick—turned his head with a grin.
That little motion made the crowd erupt with screams—
"Go Gryffindor!"
"Lions take the Cup!"