"Oh~ Isa~ long time no see, I've missed you so much."
"Oh~ Barry~ yes, it's been a while. But I don't miss you at all, because seeing you means I have to work again. You know, even Chris says I'm too busy."
"Hahaha~ and that's a bad thing? Being busy means you're hot."
"Isa, do you miss me?"
"Bob, you didn't even call me 'princess' and you expect me to miss you? Dream on."
"Hahahaha~ Ohhh~ my apologies, Your Highness."
After lunch, Isabella got back into Warner's nanny van. A few bumpy turns later, she arrived at a Warner-booked hotel in Burbank, Los Angeles—where Barry Meyer and Robert Iger were already waiting for her.
Well… "waiting" was an exaggeration.
Warner and Disney both had their headquarters in Burbank. The hotel was barely two or three miles away from both.
So basically, by the time Isabella finished eating with Dwayne Johnson, these two could still take their time and arrive before her coffee got cold.
They shook hands, traded some teasing banter, and then headed straight into the conference room.
Both Meyer and Iger were perpetually busy people. They only made time for this meeting because they were allies.
So once everyone sat down, they dove right into business—the kind of business that normally wouldn't need them personally involved.
Isabella was happy to get it done quickly anyway. Once The Voice started filming, she'd barely get any rest, and if she waited until after the show to take a break—
Come on. Goblet of Fire ring a bell?
"I'm seriously drowning in work," she muttered to herself.
The first order of business appeared: the confirmation of The Voice's mentors.
"Isa, remember when we joked about inviting MJ, Madonna, Elton John, and Paul McCartney as mentors?" said Barry Meyer. "Well, we actually tried. One of them said yes—Elton John. He agreed to join for one million dollars per episode."
"If the show wants him to compose original songs, the rights stay with him—Warner only gets distribution rights. Otherwise, it's the usual deal: all cover song rights go to Warner."
He showed Isabella a copy of the signed contract.
She blinked. "How did you even get him?"
"We mentioned this before," said Iger. "He's good friends with Disney. He's sung for several of our films, promoted our musicals. When we invited him, he barely had to think before saying yes."
Before Frozen, Disney's biggest original soundtrack success was The Lion King—and that masterpiece was Elton's work.
Given that, Isabella nodded. "Alright, who's next?"
"Our second mentor is Sting," said Meyer, holding up another contract. "He asked for a little less—eight hundred thousand per episode."
Sting. Legendary British singer, ex–frontman of The Police.
Debuted in '77, blew up in '78, first album hit #1 in the UK in '79, conquered America by '80, won a Grammy by '81.
By the time Francis Ford Coppola tapped him for Rumble Fish in '82, he was playing to 70,000-seat stadiums.
And decades later, still selling triple platinum.
Having him as a mentor? Honestly, The Voice didn't deserve him.
"Okay, continue," said Isabella, visibly pleased.
The third mentor's name dropped next: Mariah Carey.
"We didn't reach out to Mariah—she contacted us," said Meyer. "She said she loved your song and asked if we still needed a mentor. That was mid-July, right after your… public spat with Eminem?"
"Anyway, we talked. Her asking price is $500,000 per episode."
"How much?" Isabella thought she'd misheard.
She knew Mariah was a passionate type.
So her wanting to collaborate after being publicly roasted by Eminem made sense.
But half a million? That was cheap.
Iger took a sip of coffee. "Mariah's not doing so great lately. On paper, a diva joining a talent show looks like she's stooping down—but actually, it's helping her. Her career's been sliding since she split with Tommy Mottola. Her film Glitter flopped, her albums tanked, and even Virgin Records paid $28 million just to drop her. She needs this show to clean up her image and reconnect with younger fans."
He wasn't wrong. Mariah's core audience had grown up; the kids now followed Harry Potter.
"So, did you sign her?"
"Of course," said Meyer, showing the contract. "Having her on board is great for us."
Even if she'd fallen from her peak, she was still the Mariah Carey—90s record-breaker, queen of #1 singles, pop history royalty.
Pair her with Elton John and Sting, and every other talent show might as well pack up.
Because let's be honest—their entire strategy was to crush American Idol.
"Okay, and the fourth mentor?"
Meyer and Iger exchanged a quick look, then shook their heads.
Iger sighed. "If Michael Eisner hadn't used Eminem to attack you, getting the fourth mentor would've been easy. But after that… it got tricky."
"What? Why?"
Meyer explained, "There's Jay-Z. He's featured in Party in the U.S.A., so technically, he fits the bill."
"Ohhh…" Isabella got it.
Everyone knew Party in the U.S.A. was The Voice's promo anthem. It'd look strange not to invite someone mentioned in it.
But Jay-Z? That was a hard no for Disney.
He had every "gangsta rapper" problem possible—drugs, guns, actual shootings—and was tight with Puff Daddy.
And corporations hated investing in that kind of volatility. Too risky. Too messy.
"So what's your plan?"
"I don't want to use Jay-Z," said Iger firmly.
"Then don't," said Isabella. "If anyone asks why, I'll just say scheduling didn't work out. If they press further, I'll mention Britney's name's in the song too, and she's not here either.
"And if the media insists on spinning drama, I'll say using real names in lyrics is like pulling a prop out of a magician's hat—it's art, not invitation."
She smirked. "Besides, we've got Mariah, don't we?"
Both men burst out laughing and gave her a thumbs up. They loved that answer.
"Alright then," said Meyer, "our fourth mentor is Bruce Springsteen."
Rejecting Jay-Z was easy enough, but they needed to clear it with Isabella first—out of respect, and to avoid headlines claiming otherwise.
Bruce, "The Boss," was no lightweight. Debuted in '71, sold 30 million copies of Born in the U.S.A., wrote "Streets of Philadelphia" for Philadelphia, and was still winning Grammys decades later.
Having him on board was a win. Eight hundred thousand per episode, same as Sting.
With all four mentors confirmed, the next topic was production.
Disney planned for 15 episodes total.
If the show premiered on September 20 and aired weekly, it would end on December 27—right in time for Christmas ratings.
That gave them six audition episodes, plus nine for battles, eliminations, and the grand finale.
But when Isabella heard they'd showcase 25 contestants per audition episode, she threw up a hand.
"Hold on—twenty-five per episode?!"
She started doing math out loud. "Four minutes to sing, six to talk and introduce. That's ten minutes per contestant. That's 250 minutes total—over four hours!"
"Add opening, ads, closing credits… you're talking five hours of TV!"
Even she thought that was insane.
"No no, Isa, you misunderstood," said Iger. "It's recorded. We'll cut down the boring parts. When we edit out the weaker performances, each episode will run two hours—8 p.m. to 10 p.m. Perfect."
"Sure, it's brutal for the contestants," he added, "but giving them a stage at all is better than nothing."
"Okay," said Isabella, satisfied. Two hours made sense; that's movie-length, not torture-length.
And in this business, "edit out the weak ones" was practically a law of nature.
With that settled, finances came up.
Elton John: $15 million total.
Sting and Springsteen: $12 million each.
Mariah Carey: $7.5 million.
For a talent show, that was rich. Isabella had joked earlier about a $100 million season—clearly hyperbole.
Unless you owned the IP yourself, no one got that kind of payday.
"So," she asked, "what about ad revenue?"
Iger replied, "The title sponsorship is $100 million. As for the rest, we'll know after it airs."
"Why?" Isabella frowned.
Meyer, who also came from television, explained, "Because live-read and label-style ads are flexible — not only can their number increase or decrease, but the price also changes from episode to episode…"
Revenue in the TV industry is never fixed.
Aside from the main sponsor, everything else can change.
Take The Voice for example — the host's lightning-fast sponsor mentions can easily be swapped out. Say last week KFC paid up, and next week it's Dicos. Fine, swap the name.
Since that can change, the price is fluid too.
Right now, according to Iger, one sponsor mention costs $400,000.
Per episode.
Meaning every time Johnson shouts a brand name during the broadcast, the production team basically hears—
"Ding! Isabella just earned $400,000!"
Ahem.
And if the first episode averages 30 million viewers, then from the second one on, a single mention jumps to $800,000.
Aside from that, pop-up ads and overlay labels are also variable in price.
Take pop-ups — you know the ones that appear in the lower-left corner of the screen during TV shows, those little banner or flashing ads. Their pricing isn't fixed either.
At present, Disney's base rate is $2 million per episode for at least one minute of on-screen display.
But if the first episode keeps an average of 30 million viewers?
Too bad.
Starting from episode two, that same slot costs $4 million.
Run five of those — just five minutes of pop-up ads in a 120-minute broadcast — and that's $20 million in revenue.
At Isabella's 10% cut, that's $2 million per episode.
Over fifteen episodes, that's $30 million from just one ad slot.
That's way more than the old fixed payout.
When a show blows up, the money rolls in like madness.
Otherwise, how could American Idol's format alone have sold for $70 million?
Uh… speaking of numbers, some might notice a problem.
If one episode's pop-up ads can bring $4 million, doesn't that make Coca-Cola's and McDonald's $100 million sponsorship look… cheap?
Because $4 million times fifteen equals $60 million, right? And the two brands together paid only $100 million — roughly $50 million each.
But that's not how the math works.
Aside from cash, Coca-Cola and McDonald's are also providing full catering and beverage support for the entire production. That expense counts toward the sponsorship. And on top of that, they're running joint ads with The Voice: Coca-Cola's packaging redesign, McDonald's in-store promo campaigns — those are all part of the deal too.
To put it bluntly, resource contributions and marketing synergy are value, even if they're hard to measure. You can't just ignore that — that's not how business works. Especially not with giants like them.
"Well, since you guys are this professional, I can finally relax and lie back…"
Isabella was clearly happy with her projected earnings.
Nobody dislikes money, right?
Her honesty made Meyer and Iger burst out laughing.
After hashing out the remaining details of the show's production, the two busy men took their leave.
But Isabella couldn't rest yet — Nathan Bailey handed her a whole pile of folders.
"Isabella, the top three from each state have already been decided."
"Just tell me who you like."
"But you have to get back to me by the 10th."
"The contestants for the national round won't all arrive in California at once, but we have to get their contracts signed before the show starts. They're scattered across fifty states, so we'll need to hit at least forty of them. It's tight."
Yup — the job that would shape Isabella's future in the music industry was picking contestants.
And that meant—
"Wow! Isabella, Mom, why are you carrying so many files?"
As Isabella and her mother came back to their suite with two big bags of documents, Catherine's shocked voice rang out — followed by little Robbie's curious gaze.
They hadn't gone to the meeting, of course. Robbie wasn't suited to listen in on The Voice's planning and financial details, even if she'd behaved with perfect composure.
Knowing her sister had real business to handle, Catherine had taken Robbie back to their room earlier, leaving Isabella and their mom to attend the meeting.
At her sister's question, Vivian shrugged. "Picking people."
"Picking people?" Catherine froze, then remembered the earlier discussion about The Voice. Looking at the mountain of files, she said, "How long will that take?"
"Won't take long~"
Grinning, Isabella flopped onto the sofa beside her sister and began flipping through contestant résumés for the national competition. Glancing at Robbie, who was watching from afar, she said, "Why are you sitting way over there?"
Getting the hint, Robbie giggled and scooted closer.
The first file was Robert David, Alabama.
Eighteen, average looks, happy family, songs performed…
"Swish—"
Before Robbie could even finish reading, Isabella was already on the next file.
Robbie blinked. Catherine's eye twitched.
"You finished that one?" Catherine asked.
"Nope."
"And you just skipped him?"
"Yep."
"So… random?"
"Ugh, sis, you make it sound so ugly. It's called efficiency. Ever heard of it?"
"…"
Sifting for gold might be hard for others, but for Isabella — a time traveler — it was child's play. One glance at a photo and she could tell who had potential and who didn't.
She wasn't clueless about pop culture from her previous life, so spotting future stars was basically cheating.
Soon enough, she'd gone through all 150 profiles — and then…
Holy crap. Bruno Mars?
Katy Perry?
Lana Del Rey?!
Jackpot.
Those three were legends in her past life.
Bruno Mars — hitmaker supreme. Uptown Funk alone had billions of views online, with his slick suits, gold chains, and swagger.
Katy Perry — another hit factory. Her song Firework wasn't just catchy; every Fourth of July it reemerged just to spar with Miley and… lose.
Right.
Firework went head-to-head with Party in the U.S.A.
And Lana Del Rey — her second album Born to Die topped charts in eight countries, and her Young and Beautiful from The Great Gatsby was iconic.
To put it bluntly, these three were the future of Western pop.
If a talent show could discover even one of them, the IP was set for life.
Because if a competition can't create stars, what's the point?
If viewers pour in time, energy, and money only for the show to produce no one memorable — that's a scam, right?
American Idol blew up only because Kelly Clarkson became a star in its first season.
But finding three legends at once?
"Damn, I'm amazing…"
Staring at their profiles, each marked "Beaver fans" in bold, Isabella beamed with satisfaction.
Her pause made Catherine uneasy.
"You're done?"
"Yup."
"You're not even gonna listen to their singing?"
"No need."
"Why?"
"Because they're my fans. My fans are always talented. I trust my taste."
"Hahahahaha—!"
Before Catherine could scold her, laughter exploded.
She and Isabella both turned — Vivian was clutching her thigh, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
Between gasps, she pointed at Robbie beside Isabella. "Oh—look at Margot—"
"Huh?"
They turned again.
Robbie sat there, biting her lip, eyes gleaming, trying not to laugh. Maybe she didn't want to speak up… or maybe she was embarrassed by her own thoughts.
Once she realized everyone was staring at her, she blushed, licked her lips, and murmured shyly, "I think Isabella's right."
"HAHAHAHA—"
Vivian burst out laughing even harder. Isabella joined in, slapping her knee.
Catherine, meanwhile, just went blank.
Right. She'd forgotten.
Robbie was also one of Isabella's fans.
And Isabella had signed her… partly because of that.
"Good grief, what kind of circus is this…" Catherine groaned, rubbing her temples.