[Epic Night! The Voice finale draws 70,000 in-person viewers!]
[America in frenzy! The Voice finale hits an average of 58 million viewers!]
[History made! The Voice has become a legend—not just in variety shows, but in TV history itself!]
[Perfect ending! Season 1 of The Voice wrapped up last night! The long-awaited Bruno Mars took the crown! Katy Perry claimed runner-up! Lana Del Rey finished third!]
[Mariah Carey named champion mentor of the smash-hit show The Voice!]
[Rocket Man Elton John vows he'll be back!]
[Former Police frontman Sting admits he's not satisfied with the result!]
[Boss Springsteen says his protégé Katy Perry will always be his true champion!]
[…]
Amid the gasps of industry insiders and the roaring cheers of countless fans, the first season of The Voice of America officially ended late at night, December 27, 2003 (Pacific Time).
Its jaw-dropping finale ratings, on top of months of cultural domination, made The Voice not just the brightest star in North America—but arguably on Earth.
The next day, every major media outlet plastered it across their front pages.
Each report had a different focus—some emotional, some shocked, some just numb—but in the end, they all boiled down to one truth:
"Isabella is amazing!"
Yes—without Isabella, there would be no Voice!
Without The Voice, there'd be no legend!
Without that legend, there'd be no worldwide celebration!
In short—Isabella was the one who made everything happen!
Or to put it more dramatically—
She was the star!
Ahem.
On this, the people were united.
Because Isabella's success was something the world had witnessed step by step.
From Harry Potter to The Voice movie, to branching into music and TV—every move she made had been out in the open.
And none of it was smooth sailing.
At first, people said she was "too pretty" to play Hermione Granger.
Then they said she didn't really write The Voice's script.
Then Eminem took public shots at her.
Yet through all that, Isabella endured—and stood tall.
So when the rainbow appeared after the storm, the crowd's applause came naturally.
But—
The finale results didn't please everyone.
When Bruno Mars won the championship, the fans of the other three finalists were… less than thrilled.
"Damn! An Elvis impersonator wins? Based on what?"
"Right! All he does is cover hits. What's so special about that?"
"People only voted because he said he was 'honoring' MJ or Elvis! MJ fans voted for him, Elvis fans too! Ridiculous!"
"And he's short! No star aura at all!"
The finale had barely ended before social media erupted.
By morning, things exploded.
Since Disney hadn't tampered with the votes—Bruno truly was the people's choice—his fans weren't about to sit quietly while others trashed him.
In an instant, the counterattack began, igniting the whole internet.
"What do you mean Bruno doesn't deserve it?! Oh, please! You think Katy Perry or Lana Del Rey should've won? They're basic as hell! Always whining in their songs!"
"Yeah—Katy keeps saying she loves rock, but she's soft as a marshmallow."
"Same for Miss Melancholy Del Rey! Singing funeral songs like she's allergic to joy!"
"I honestly don't get how Lana made it to the finals. The Voice is supposed to be sunny and fun! Then she walks out and kills the mood. What?!"
"Exactly! Wasn't she in Sting's team? What, is Sting deaf now?"
Boom.
Once the fight spread to the mentors, even more fans jumped in.
"Oh really? Your Bruno won one trophy and now you're all arrogant? You think you can diss Sting? Bunch of idiots—"
"The Voice is a talent show! The mentors are Grammy winners! Bruno hasn't even released an album yet, and you're already crowning him king?"
"Let me tell you morons something—the finale's not the end, it's the beginning! If you think he's that great, fine! Let him release an album. If it flops, I'll eat my computer!"
"Same here! And by the way—Bruno's not even supposed to be eligible! He's from Hawaii but registered in California! He took a Californian's spot! That's not fair!"
"Yeah—giving him the trophy was pure nostalgia and pity!"
And on it went.
But the entertainment world thrives on noise, and fan wars are practically a sport.
So The Voice fans tearing each other apart online? Totally normal.
In fact, ever since The Voice launched its nationwide auditions and regional live shows—basically idol-group training with fancier packaging—fan fights had been happening nonstop.
So, more fighting now? No problem.
But… doing it the very next morning after the finale?
Couldn't even last 24 hours in peace?
Some people really need more hobbies.
As for Isabella—she didn't know the full extent of the chaos, but she could imagine it.
She'd been a fangirl in her past life, after all.
She'd seen all the nonsense—fan wars, petty insults, trending hashtags.
She knew that fan "unity" in the pop industry usually came from endless bickering that welded fandoms together like combat veterans.
So no matter how loud things got outside, she didn't care.
After all, Bruno, Katy, and Lana were her people.
Let their fans fight—it all earned her money.
That said, even if Isabella wanted to care, she had no time.
Because although The Voice had ended, the real work was just beginning.
Okay fine—she was counting the money.
Heh.
Step one: sell the broadcasting rights!
Once The Voice's ratings broke the 50-million mark, TV networks around the world flooded Isabella's desk with offers.
Back then, she'd been too busy to deal with it. Now, her bald business partner, Valentine "Big Bald" O'Connor, had sorted through all the contracts.
"Isa, Mrs. Haywood, the offers may look messy, but really, they fall into two types—licensing and buyouts."
"For example, BBC wants a three-year license at £25 million per year, with renewal priority afterward. Canada's TVA, on the other hand, wants to buy the permanent Canadian rights outright for $50 million."
Both were standard business models.
The weird part was Disney's royalty clause—Isabella's cut.
Frankly, if Robert Iger hadn't been gunning for Michael Eisner's job, there's no way Disney would've let her take a percentage.
That clause was like stabbing the company and watching the profits bleed into her account.
As for why networks chose one model or the other—it came down to the IP's value and the buyer's nature.
If an IP was extremely valuable, buying it outright was smartest.
Because if you paid annually and the show kept growing, the licensor could jack up the renewal fee.
But public broadcasters—like BBC—couldn't just throw millions at a one-time deal.
They were state-audited, government-funded, and every penny had to be justified.
If they paid huge sums and the show flopped, they might literally go to jail.
And even if it succeeded, rivals could accuse them of corruption.
So, both yearly and permanent deals were fine by Isabella, as long as the price made sense.
Her mother Vivian, now surprisingly business-savvy, chimed in:
"Can you evaluate these offers?"
"Of course," said Big Bald, smiling.
"Then do it. Give me a report when it's ready, and I'll decide who to talk to first."
"Understood."
"Oh, and one more thing," Vivian said. "Why is Canada offering a buyout? And why fifty million?"
Big Bald adjusted his glasses. "Because TVA's a French-language network."
History lesson time: part of Canada was once "New France," a French colony.
Even after Britain took over, the French language stayed strong there.
So French-speaking Canadians got their own media.
And TVA, the biggest French-language broadcaster in Canada, wanted to make La Voix—the French Voice.
As for why they didn't do an English version—well, America already dominated the region.
ABC signals reached all of Canada.
The 58 million U.S. viewers? Some were Canadian.
"So TVA only wants French rights?" Vivian asked.
"Uh… they say they want everything," said Big Bald. "But since Disney owns the English version, we can easily restrict them to French-only production."
"How many people speak French in Canada?" Vivian asked.
"About 6.7 million as of 2001—roughly 20% of the population."
"In that case," Vivian nodded, "fifty million sounds fair."
Isabella shrugged—she agreed.
Since the rights deals would take time, the next task was reviewing Disney's revenue report for The Voice's first season.
Total ad revenue (including the spin-off The Growth) came to $1.63 billion.
Isabella's 10% cut: $163 million.
U.S. dollars.
The moment she saw the number, Isabella's grin nearly cracked her jaw.
And that was just from season one.
"The Disney report doesn't include radio royalties yet," Big Bald continued.
"Warner handles that, and they haven't finished settling with North American stations."
"Also, the VHS tapes and soundtrack albums haven't hit stores yet."
"Then there's the upcoming concert tour. You'll get a cut from that too. And the tour will drive sales of concert recordings and albums—all The Voice spin-offs.*"
"You'll keep earning from this season for years. Even conservatively, you'll make another $163 million."
Isabella smacked the table, thrilled.
If she smoked, she'd light a victory cigar—probably with a rolled-up hundred-dollar bill.
But she didn't.
And even if she did, she'd never dare in front of her mom. Vivian had an iron fist.
So instead—
"Mom! I'm buying you a two-million-dollar handbag!" Isabella chirped.
Vivian had been beaming, but at that—her smile vanished.
With a dramatic sigh, she said, "Oh—my dear daughter—if I recall, you promised me that same two-million-dollar bag earlier this year, before you made this much money."
"So… does your love for me depreciate over time?"
"This wounds my heart deeply—"
"…Mom," Isabella groaned, twitching.
She knew her mother was teasing, but still—her speed and commitment to the bit were terrifying.
"Stop, stop! Mom, if you keep that up, I'll be declared Britain's most unfilial daughter!"
"I'll make it three million, alright? You get the rounding too!"
Vivian gasped theatrically. "So your love for your mother is only worth the rounding now?"
"…," Isabella's eyelid twitched.
She decided to stop bantering with her mom—because she realized, once her mom got excited, she could out-talk anyone.
"Because I want to use the rest of the money to buy an island, okay?"
"?"
Vivian dropped the act and blinked. "Buy an island?"
"Yeah, an island." Isabella nodded.
Yes—ever since she was little, Isabella had a dream.
To own an island of her own.
The reason was simple:
To chase that poetic idea of distant fields and open skies. To touch that thing everyone secretly craves—freedom.
The first part's obvious: islands are beautiful.
The second part… had a story behind it.
It all started with Larry Ellison, the founder of Oracle.
Anyone who follows North American news probably knows this one:
Hawaii, the 50th U.S. state, is made up of many islands.
Larry Ellison owns one of them—Lanai.
It's inhabited, with over three thousand residents.
So the island has everything: public facilities, government offices, the whole package.
And because of that, when Ellison privatized the island, he also had to take over everything—funding public infrastructure, paying government workers, even providing jobs for locals.
It sounds crazy at first, but it's actually pretty logical.
Normally, things like public maintenance and government salaries come from taxes.
But when a single company—or one person—is the only taxpayer…
That person is the government.
It looks foolish on paper, sure.
But in reality?
That kind of control gives you absolute power.
Yeah—he's the king.
Federal law says police bodycams must be networked and upload data to Washington, right?
Not on Lanai. All the data goes straight to Oracle's servers.
Federal law bans civilians from owning armed forces, right?
Ellison simply registered a security company on the island.
Then had it "hired" by the local government—so he could openly buy police-grade weapons.
If he wanted to take them off the island, he just signed his own authorization note.
Done.
People love to say "capitalism lets you own guns but not armor."
That's cute. Those laws are for ordinary people.
Rich folks have a thousand perfectly legal ways to drive around in armored cars.
Isabella freely admitted—she was basic.
When she read that story in her previous life, she'd been so jealous.
Don't laugh. Nobody hates freedom.
And now…
Now she was rich enough to taste it.
"Mom, I want an island of my own."
"You remember Aidenthorpe Island? The one we filmed The Voice on last year?"
"Wasn't it amazing?"
She winked at her mother.
Vivian paused—she understood right away.
Just like in the U.S., the British legal system also had its own loopholes.
Honestly, the American ones were copied from old British ones anyway—remnants of the monarchy.
Many dukes still had their hereditary estates, and with those came… flexibility.
Vivian's lips curled into a smile.
"Oh~ if it's that kind of island… yes, that would be wonderful."
"But… not easy to pull off."
Then she laughed.
"But who cares? Having a dream is already incredible."
No one dislikes freedom.
"Okay!"
Isabella snapped her fingers and turned to Big Bald Valentine. "Uncle Valentine…"
"My turn," said Big Bald, cheerfully taking the assignment.
His easy tone made the girl grin.
Yeah—she knew freedom wasn't easy.
She knew freedom came with power.
And she knew that in this era, the quickest way to climb was through Silicon Valley.
But—whether ten years ago or ten years from now—investing in tech was never "too late."
It's just that financial investments alone can't buy you power.
Endless wealth growth just makes you a fat, shiny pig.
Take Berkshire Hathaway, for example.
Why does Warren Buffett insist on joining the board every time he invests in a company?
Because that's how he controls employment.
When Buffett pays tens of thousands—or even hundreds of thousands—of workers,
it's not that his companies are too big to fail.
It's that he can't fail.
So… step by step.
Just like building a house.
You buy the land first.
Then you build upward.
So for now—
Buy the island.
Enjoy it.
Be happy.
Heh.
"Oh—our princess has arrived!"
"Hahahaha—Isaaa—good evening!"
"My goodness, Miss Isabella! It's such a pleasure to finally meet you. You probably don't know me, but we've worked together for years! Let me introduce myself—I'm Douglas Daft, Chairman of Coca-Cola."
December 28, 2003.
Wearing a black evening gown, Isabella stepped into the celebration party Disney and Warner had thrown for The Voice.
Yeah—when a project you run becomes a monster hit,
the corporations have to throw a lavish party to declare victory.
Otherwise, how would they make their rivals miserable, right?
And the moment she appeared, the crowd swarmed her.
There was Disney's CEO Robert Iger;
Warner Bros. Chairman Barry Meyer;
Coca-Cola's Douglas Daft;
McDonald's COO James Skinner—
And a whole bunch of people Isabella didn't even recognize.
That, right there, was why she'd been buried in work all day—if she was meeting potential partners tonight, she had to know their stances first.
If someone gave her the cold shoulder, she wasn't about to smile back like an idiot.
Since this was a celebration banquet, the profits had to be settled first.
Otherwise, if she got tricked and still cheered along, she'd look like a total clown.
But since all risks were already sorted—tonight, Isabella was glowing.
She smiled and nodded at the eager crowd,
then followed Robert Iger and Barry Meyer up to the red-carpet stage at the front of the hall.
There, on a long table, sat something hidden under a big red cloth.
Clearly… a surprise.
When the cloth was pulled off, the room gasped—
It was an ice sculpture.
Shaped like a mountain.
Carved into it: 58,000,000.
Fifty-eight million.
A hostess brought over a ceremonial hammer.
Iger and Meyer invited Isabella to smash the sculpture.
She'd never been to a celebration gala before, but she got the gist.
However—
"Okay, everyone, before I smash this, I just want to say something."
Taking the microphone, Isabella smiled at the crowd.
"I'm really grateful to all of you for coming."
"Because without you, I might never have seen this mountain of ice."
"I've worked with Warner for years now—whether it was The Sorcerer's Stone breaking records, The Chamber of Secrets going big, or The Voice's success, even my mini-album selling ten million copies—none of those victories ever got me a celebration party."
"In fact, when The Sorcerer's Stone broke records, I heard about it on set—"
"Because I was already filming The Chamber of Secrets."
"So when I found out there was actually a celebration tonight—wow~ I was honestly shocked."
"I even thought, 'Wait, these things exist in Hollywood?'"
"If that's the case, then haven't I missed out on, like, five dinners already?"
She paused, frowning in mock confusion.
The crowd burst into laughter.
Barry Meyer rolled his eyes.
He looked like he wanted to retort but swallowed it.
Then Isabella turned to him, smiling sweetly.
"Barry, Warner's really lucky to have you. You're so good at managing money—so good at saving costs."
Barry's face froze.
He gave a stiff, embarrassed nod.
The room exploded in laughter again—
That was applause in disguise.
Recognition.
Status.
And after that, Isabella lifted the hammer and struck the ice sculpture with force.
Crack—!
The crystal mountain shattered into gleaming shards.
As the pieces scattered, cheerful music filled the hall.