"We've been targeted by Fox."
London time.
Night of May 3rd, 2004.
In a meeting room in Leavesden, Isabella sat with Chris Columbus and Michael Barnathan.
At the head of the conference table was an HP computer, connected to a projector screen displaying a live feed from the West Coast—
the office of the Chairman of Warner Bros.
Barry Meyer sat before the camera, his expression heavy, caught somewhere between deep thought and attentive listening as Barnathan spoke:
"Mr. Meyer, that's the situation. Fox has now become one of the investors in Fantastic Four. They hold half the investment alongside Constantin, which gives them equal financial accountability. We don't know when this partnership was struck, but we have every reason to believe that Fox—or rather, News Corp, Rupert Murdoch himself—is targeting us."
"Their goal is to destroy Harry Potter."
You don't last decades in this industry by being an idiot.
So the moment Fox chairman Tom Rothman showed up, Columbus knew he'd been set up.
He also knew Fox wasn't after him personally. He was merely a stepping stone—Murdoch's chosen route to strike Harry Potter.
As for why Murdoch would want to do that—
come on, everyone knew that already.
That's why Columbus had immediately reached out to Barry Meyer.
After hearing Barnathan's report, Meyer nodded.
"I think your assessment is right," he said gravely.
"Murdoch is coming for us. And he's doing it in the filthiest way—holding the moral high ground, playing the victim. That makes every conspiracy look like an open-and-shut case of justice."
He gave a humorless laugh.
"Interesting."
Back in Steve Ross's day, Barry Meyer wasn't the strongest lieutenant. But after Ross's death, Meyer wiped out his rivals and took control of Warner. After decades in that position, it took only a glimpse of the situation for him to read Murdoch's entire playbook.
And yes—Murdoch's methods were venomous.
By crafting himself as a victim, he gained the right to scold everyone from on high. Even if he was wrong, his targets couldn't fight back—because he controlled the moral narrative.
"So what are your thoughts?" Meyer asked.
Silence. The room was still.
When no one spoke, Meyer continued, "Any ideas on how to respond?"
"Uh… not yet," Columbus sighed, shaking his head. "Barry, I've been thinking of countermeasures since I called you, but it's tricky. I've come up with a few plans, and all of them fall apart."
"Let's hear them," Meyer said.
Columbus nodded.
"Alright. From where I stand, Murdoch's trap has two layers."
"The first is getting me called back to California over Fantastic Four, keeping me from directing Goblet of Fire. To handle that, I saw two options: walk away or solve the problem."
"First option—cut losses and leave. That won't work. It's not about the money; it's about optics. If I just pay off the penalty and bail, it'll look like I'm guilty. Fox will spin the story—say I was kicked off for internal strife, use that to smear me, and attack Harry Potter by extension."
"Second option—go to California and 'fix it.' Also bad. The moment I return, Fox will drown me in endless 'official meetings,' keeping me there. That'll cripple Goblet of Fire's production. And if I so much as show mild impatience, they'll accuse me of disrespecting Marvel, of believing Harry Potter is superior. Then they can pit us against Sony."
"Actually, either route ends in the same conflict."
"I checked the summer release schedule before this call. Murdoch's trap goes deeper. The second layer is pulling Sony into the mess."
Columbus exhaled heavily, exasperated.
Meyer, on the other hand, chuckled.
"Chris," he said after a moment, "I think I understand why you're called the King of Children's Films."
"What do you mean by that? And for the record, I've never called myself that."
"Okay, okay. What I mean is—you think simply. You're not as… intricate as Steven."
"Oh, Barry—are you insulting me or him?"
"My God, Chris, I'd never insult either of you. I'm just saying—you've overlooked something."
"What's that?" Columbus asked, intrigued.
Meyer didn't answer immediately. He peered at the fuzzy video feed. The resolution wasn't great—this was 2004—but he could still make out Columbus and Barnathan turning toward the screen.
And Isabella…
"Isa?" Meyer called.
She was leaning lazily against her chair, chin propped in one hand, looking like she couldn't care less.
"Hm?" She raised her arm sleepily. "Barry? You talking to me? I'm awake, promise."
Her cutesy tone made the others laugh. Meyer said, "Isabella, you don't seem nervous at all. Murdoch may be attacking Harry Potter, but the person he most wants to destroy is you."
"Oh, that? I know. But it's not like this is the first time," she said breezily. "Last year, before The Voice aired, the people who wanted me dead included Michael Eisner, Rupert Murdoch, Ted Turner, Steve Case, and Edgar Bronfman Jr. So Murdoch's coming for me again? That's practically routine."
"Also, this time it's only Murdoch. Last time I beat five of them at once. Why should I be scared?"
Her laughter lifted the gloom in the room.
She wasn't lying.
She had been startled at first—but she'd calmed quickly. Like she said: you get used to it. The higher you climb, the stronger the enemies.
Seeing she wasn't panicking, Meyer got back to business.
"Alright, Isabella—so do you know what I'm thinking?"
"You mean the thing Chris missed?" she said.
"Yeah."
"Well, then no," she said sweetly. "Because if I said yes, I'd sound like one of those manipulative adults you just described. And I'm just a clueless little 13—uh, 14-year-old girl."
Meyer fell silent.
Columbus and Barnathan chuckled.
"Okay, okay," Isabella said, clapping her hands lightly. "No more jokes. Things are complicated, so let's stay serious. Barry, I don't know what you're thinking, but personally—I think the Fantastic Four director is a big problem."
"Because he's Black."
The moment she said that, Columbus and Barnathan froze, eyes narrowing. Meyer, however, smiled and nodded.
Exactly.
In his mind, Murdoch's scheme went far beyond two layers.
If Fantastic Four's director was Black, and Fox spread word that Columbus wanted to replace him—
well, that would make Columbus look like a racist.
And once that narrative hit the press?
Fox could destroy his reputation—and Harry Potter's with it—under the banner of "justice."
Why hadn't Columbus seen that? Simple—political correctness in the early 2000s wasn't nearly as fanatical as it would become later. And back then, Spielberg's shadow shielded him. The man was Jewish, after all, and Schindler's List had made him untouchable. Who'd dare accuse his protégé of bigotry?
If anyone tried, Spielberg could simply say, "My student isn't that kind of person."
Push further, and it becomes "You're accusing a Jew of being antisemitic."
Game over.
But this time was different.
Two reasons:
American Idol's money web was massive—big enough that Fox could drop the pretense and use "magic" openly. And Murdoch—well, that old man was a magician himself.
In Australia, he called himself a proud native son.
In Britain, he was the loyal descendant of patriots.
In America, an Anglo-Irish-Scottish American.
In Israel, a man with "one-eighth Jewish blood."
In short: wherever the wind blew, that's where his heritage came from.
When being "Jewish" helped, he was Jewish. When it didn't, he turned Christian overnight.
And when a man that shameless comes for you—he'll do anything.
If Columbus lost his defenses, Murdoch could cast his "spell" and smear Harry Potter instantly.
Isabella could already imagine the headlines:
"Oh my God! Chris Columbus is a racist?"
"How can someone like him direct a story about love and acceptance like Harry Potter?"
"Fire him! J.K. Rowling must refuse to work with such a man!"
"Boycott Warner! Boycott Rowling! Boycott Harry Potter!"
A true Granger-level master of magic.
"Motherf—! Murdoch's trying to kill me!" Columbus burst out.
"Oh sh—! This is bad! Really bad!" Barnathan groaned, clutching his forehead.
They weren't idiots. The moment Isabella spelled it out, they understood.
Murdoch's cunning made them sick. His cruelty gave them headaches.
"So Barry—do you have a plan?" Columbus asked desperately.
"Honestly? No." Meyer spread his hands. "Don't let the laughter fool you. That was gallows humor. Murdoch's plan this time is brutal—far worse than the last one. We have to handle this carefully."
"And by 'carefully,' I don't mean sitting here talking. I mean we start calling in favors. Every connection, every ally."
He looked at each of them through the grainy screen.
"Two hours. Let's take two hours to think, pull strings, find a way out. Then we reconvene. Okay?"
Everyone in that room understood—
a racism scandal could ruin everything.
This was the kind of crisis where everyone needed to use every ounce of power they had.
Anyone holding back now would sink them all.
May God bless you.
But even though everyone racked their brains and tossed around ideas together,
two hours later, when they met again,
the three still hadn't come up with a single concrete, workable plan.
It gave everyone a pounding headache.
Just as Columbus was loosening his collar, ready to start swearing, the quiet Isabella—raised her hand gently.
"Chris, Barry, Michael, I've got an idea. Not sure if you're in the mood to listen right now?"
Whoosh—
All three men turned toward her at once.
"Go ahead, Isa!"
Columbus didn't hesitate—
he was desperate enough to grab at straws.
"Oh Isa—"
"No matter when or where you speak, I'll always be in the mood to listen," Barry Meyer said with a small smile.
He was anxious too, but he knew panic solved nothing—it only made you the King of Panic.
As for Barnathan, he looked like a full-blown cult follower, staring at the "gold-and-black queen of good fortune," praying she'd work a miracle.
And Isabella…
"I don't actually have a full plan," she said lightly.
"But I do think there's a way to break both of Murdoch's traps."
"Let's start with the first one. You think Murdoch's trying to stir up a fight between us and Sony, right?"
"Well, tell me—doesn't Iron Man belong to Marvel?"
"And don't we already have Marvel characters under our belt?"
"So are we 'looking down' on Marvel now? Oh—Chris—remember what you told me last year when we talked about Fantastic Four? Who was it that didn't respect Marvel first? Wasn't us, was it?"
At that, the young Isabella paused, winked at Columbus—
and the man who'd been sulking all night suddenly burst into a wide grin.
"Oh! Sh*t! Isa! That's a brilliant angle!"
Columbus's instant understanding made the girl shrug casually.
Without lingering, she went on, "Now, for the second trap… uh, Barry?"
"Mhm? I'm here." Meyer wasn't sure why she called his name but replied immediately, joking, "I'm not asleep, you know."
"… Copying my joke? Really?" she said, rolling her eyes. "Is Nathan Bailey there?"
"Yes."
"Let him show his face."
"Okay. Nathan?"
Though there were four people in the meeting, five were actually involved—
Barry Meyer's assistant, Nathan Bailey, had been quietly listening in the whole time.
Not by choice.
Barry was a bit of a fossil and couldn't use a computer to save his life.
So when the boss waved him over, Nathan popped into view.
"Nathan," Isabella said, "do you remember what you told me the year before last when we met?"
"Uh…" Nathan froze. "Your Highness, we met quite a few times that year…"
"End of that year," Isabella reminded him. "After Chamber of Secrets released, before The Voice aired."
"Oh—right!" Nathan's eyes lit up. "You were going to crush The Lord of the Rings?"
"Yeah~ I was going to crush The Lord of the Rings~" she said cheerfully, clapping her hands.
"Now tell me—why did you want me to do that? Because Chamber of Secrets underperformed, right? And why did it underperform? Because of 007?"
"If I remember correctly, our Warner TV used to air a cartoon called Jackie Chan Adventures."
"And there was a line in it that went—'You have to fight magic with magic.'"
"Fox wants to accuse us of racism? Okay. But is Murdoch's ass clean?"
"I don't believe it is."
"I don't have proof. But…"
"I believe you can find it. Can't you?"
"Ohhhhh!" Nathan suddenly shouted.
"Motherf***! I've got it! I've got an idea!"
Before Isabella could even finish, Nathan was already yelling his head off.
"Boss! I know what to do! We just have to stall! If we can drag this out for three days—we'll win! And not just win—we'll crush them!"
His roar was like an invisible engine, kicking the whole machine back into motion.
Because by May 3rd, Fox had already drawn their sword.
That polite "invitation" for Columbus to return was just the pre-battle courtesy before the strike.
So, the next morning—London time, 7 a.m.—a private jet to Los Angeles took off.
With the time difference, it landed at 10 a.m. Pacific Time, May 4th, 2004.
Perfect timing for "talks."
Once the plane touched down, the visitors from Britain went straight to Fox headquarters in Century City.
And there—
"Oh—Michael! Welcome, welcome!"
"It's been so long! I'm thrilled to see you!"
"Huh? You came alone?"
"Where's Chris?"
At the Fox main entrance, a welcoming lineup waited.
Leading them was Fox chairman Tom Rothman.
He gave Chris Columbus's right-hand man, Michael Barnathan, a big hug—
then noticed Columbus wasn't there, and frowned.
Barnathan just smiled.
"Oh Tom, here's the thing—when we heard Tim Story might've misunderstood us, and that the misunderstanding could affect Fantastic Four, Chris panicked. He wanted to fly out that very night—but I stopped him."
"Why?" Rothman frowned harder.
Murdoch's exact instruction was to get Columbus back to California to stall Goblet of Fire.
So what use was Barnathan showing up alone?
"Well," Barnathan said smoothly, "we've all had disagreements, right? And we all know—whether in life or work—when there's misunderstanding between two sides, meeting face-to-face too soon might make it worse. So I offered to come first, calm Tim down, and, most importantly, understand the situation."
"You know how it's been. Because of Goblet of Fire, we've been managing Fantastic Four remotely. Communication gaps were inevitable. So if there really was a misunderstanding, and it's our fault, we'll apologize."
"But to avoid pointless fighting, Tim can vent his anger on me first. That way, when Chris comes later, everyone can sit down calmly."
"Oh—and Chris mentioned you'd be willing to mediate?"
"Wonderful! That's really wonderful."
"So, Tom, tell me—what exactly went wrong with Fantastic Four? When did you guys invest? We're all friends here, so be honest—did you hide the deal because you thought the market might think you were ditching the X-Men franchise? Because if I recall correctly… X2 didn't hit the numbers you expected, did it?"
Rothman blinked, overwhelmed by the flood of words.
When did Barnathan get so damn talkative?
Before he knew it, the man had an arm around his shoulders, steering him straight into the elevator, completely glossing over Columbus's absence.
Annoying—but Rothman couldn't very well blow up in front of someone being so polite. So he swallowed his irritation and explained the project's issues.
That day, May 4th, on the West Coast, a big meeting was held.
Each side laid out the problems Fantastic Four faced.
Barnathan took careful notes, promised to fix the real issues right after the meeting.
They talked through all the conflicts, too.
When accused unfairly, Barnathan explained calmly.
When real mistakes were mentioned, he apologized sincerely.
Smooth as silk.
So smooth it made Rothman's pupils contract—this was not the chaos he'd wanted.
Only Tim Story's stubbornness gave him comfort.
No matter how polite Barnathan was, he couldn't hide the fact that Columbus hadn't shown up.
In Story's eyes, that meant Columbus was deliberately avoiding him.
So even if Barnathan smiled and denied everything, Story didn't buy it—he demanded a face-to-face.
And that's when Barnathan struck again.
"Alright, everyone, I've taken notes on your concerns. I'll talk to Chris tonight. Let's meet again tomorrow, same time, same place. I'll relay his responses then. Tim, don't worry—we'll give you a full explanation."
"You're a director, you know how production works. There's a process. With a process comes paperwork, with paperwork—archives. So Chris will bring facts, not words. Sound fair?"
And well, nobody punches the guy bowing that low.
So they agreed.
Next day, May 5th, another meeting.
Barnathan presented follow-ups and promised further communication.
When Story pressed for a confrontation, Barnathan smiled.
"Sorry, Tim. When Constantin first approached us, we were deep in Prisoner of Azkaban production, so we thought all Fantastic Four files were in our London office. Chris spent all day yesterday looking—nothing. Then we remembered, the deal was actually signed in Los Angeles, so the records might've been brought back here. I'll go check right after this. Once I find them, Chris will come. Tomorrow sound good?"
Story grudgingly agreed.
But on May 6th—day three—Barnathan didn't show.
They waited an hour. Nothing.
So Rothman called him. Wind roared through the receiver.
"Oh! Tom! Sorry! Can't make it today! Tell Tim I spent all night searching the office—nothing! Then after talking with Chris, we realized the master files might be at our San Francisco HQ! So I'm on my way there now! Let's meet tomorrow, okay?"
"…He's f***ing playing me!"
Tim Story exploded.
Now he was sure Columbus never meant to work with him.
He turned to Rothman—
who, truth be told, had known from day one that Barnathan was stalling.
And it made perfect sense.
Warner had no way out, so the only winning move was delay.
Columbus didn't want Story. That was undeniable. Fantastic Four's production was already a mess. Nobody could fix it overnight.
So if Warner could drag things past Prisoner of Azkaban's release, they'd be safe.
It was simple math:
If the Fantastic Four scandal broke now, it'd hurt Azkaban.
If it broke later, after release, even if it still blew up, the damage to Harry Potter would be minimal.
After all, Goblet of Fire wasn't until next year.
Even if Fantastic Four "exploded" and took Columbus down with it, Warner would have a full year to distance themselves.
But Fox wasn't going to let them stall forever.
"Ha… You really think we'll let you drag this out?"
When a company's only response to a crisis is delay, that's not a strategy—it's a death rattle.
So Rothman made his call.
Murdoch smiled when he heard the update.
"Okay. I know what to do."
He hung up and called in his assistant, raising two fingers.
The assistant nodded immediately.
Within minutes, News Corp and Fox's media arms had received pre-written smear drafts. After confirming the plan, the assistant leaned back with a sigh.
"Chris… you poor bastard. I actually liked your movies."
"But you chose Warner. And that sealed your fate."
He didn't hate Columbus. He just worked for Murdoch.
And as he was thinking that, already picturing the coming storm—how within four hours, the rumor that Columbus 'looked down on Marvel' would flood America and push Sony into the fight—
Riiiing—
The phone on his desk rang.
He picked up.
"Bad news! Something's happened!"
"Fantastic Four has been attacked!"
"...What?"
Murdoch's assistant frowned. He didn't understand—
until he followed the caller's directions and opened Yahoo.
The headline on the front page made his pupils dilate.
"The Tragedy from Ten Years Ago Returns! Fantastic Four's Production on the Brink of Collapse!"