The morning after his eight-figure Pixar payday, Zane was buzzing. But it wasn't the manic, giddy energy of a lottery winner. It was the cold, focused hum of a machine that had just been upgraded. He didn't celebrate, he didn't sleep in. He went to work.
He started, as he always did, with his stores. A routine inspection. He began at the Hollywood & Highland location, his second most profitable, just to keep his feet on the ground.
"Boss! Good morning," the store's manager greeted him, a warm, genuine smile on his face. "I was just getting the weekly report finalized to bring to you tonight."
The manager was Victor Jones. And Victor Jones was, by a country mile, the sharpest tool in Zane's box.
He was a 30-year-old family man, married with a young daughter. He'd been the general manager of a successful L.A. toy factory before the owner's gambling habit had torpedoed the entire company. Zane had practically stolen him.
More importantly, Victor was the only one.
When Zane had first proposed his insane, all-in gamble on Toy Story, the other managers, including his oldest friend James, had looked at him like he was a lunatic. They'd stammered about risk, about inventory, about the competitors.
Victor had just nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. "It's the right move," he'd said, interrupting the others. He'd then laid out a brilliant, concise case for why—the 3D animation, the tech, the storytelling pedigree from their Oscar-winning shorts. He saw what Zane saw.
On that day, Zane knew Victor wasn't just a manager. He was an asset.
"Victor, good to see you," Zane said, getting right to it. "Your resume. It said you were in the studio system for a while before the toy business?"
A flicker of something—nostalgia, an old dream—crossed Victor's face. "Yes, sir. Right out of high school. Worked my way up the ladder for years, made it to a management position. It was... it was a great experience."
"Why'd you leave?" Zane asked. It was a genuine question.
Victor's expression softened. "They were transferring me to the New York branch. A big promotion, but... my wife was pregnant at the time. It was a difficult pregnancy. I couldn't move her, not like that. So I had to resign." He shrugged, a gesture that spoke of old, accepted sacrifices. "The toy factory job let me stay in L.A. The rest, as you know, is history."
Zane nodded. His assessment was locked in. Capable. Loyal. Understood the business from both sides. And he was a family man, which meant he was stable.
"Victor," Zane said, his tone perfectly calm. "I need you to start preparing for a handover. Train your replacement."
The blood drained from Victor's face. Instantly.
"Boss...?" he stammered, his smile frozen, his eyes wide with a sudden, sickening panic. "Did... did I do something wrong? The numbers are good, I... I have a family, I..."
Zane let the man twist for one, single, agonizing second... and then he chuckled.
"Relax, Victor. You misunderstood," Zane said, enjoying the moment just a little. "I'm not firing you. I'm promoting you."
Victor just stared, his brain clearly unable to process the emotional whiplash. "What?"
"I'm in the final stages of buying a small Hollywood film company," Zane said. "The current management is... lackluster. I need a new CEO to run it. Someone I can trust. Someone who gets it. Are you interested?"
Victor's hand went out, gripping a shelf of Slinky Dogs to steady himself. The relief on his face was so profound it was almost painful to watch, quickly replaced by a dawning, incredulous joy. The dream he'd buried for his family was suddenly, impossibly, right in front of him.
"Yes," he said, his voice thick, choking on the word. "God, yes. Absolutely. I accept. I... thank you, boss. I won't let you down."
Half a month later, Zane's world had shifted on its axis.
After Pixar's market cap blasted past the one-billion-dollar mark, he sold. Every last share. His initial six-million-dollar investment was wired back to his account as more than twenty-four million dollars. After taxes and fees, he was left with a clean, staggering profit of over eighteen million.
With a cash flow that could drown a small country, he moved like a shark.
Three days later, the deal was done. After a week of brutal, round-the-clock negotiations led by Condy, the papers were signed. For $2.8 million, Zane completed the full acquisition of Hughes Pictures.
His first act as owner was to stand on the sidewalk, look up at the faded sign, and give an order.
"Change it."
The new sign, installed the next day, was simple, bold, and black. WALD PICTURES.
"Wald Pictures?" Condy had asked, nursing a coffee in the new lobby. "Sounds a little... old."
"Exactly," Zane had replied. "Look at Disney. Look at Warner. The names that last are the ones etched into history. The ones that become the studio. I'm not just playing the game, Condy. I'm building a legacy."
Condy just laughed. "Well, congratulations, Zane. As of today, you're officially a member of the Hollywood club. And I'm officially ten thousand dollars richer."
"Don't complain," Zane shot back. "For a deal this size, you gave me the friendship price, and you know it." He was right. For a multi-million-dollar acquisition, any other agent's commission would have been in the hundreds of thousands. Condy's fee was a gift. "Thank you, my friend," Zane added, his tone, for a moment, completely sincere.
Now, the three of them—Zane, Condy, and a shell-shocked Victor—stood in that same lobby.
"Victor," Zane said, turning to his new CEO, who was still trying to get used to his new suit. "As of now, you're in charge of Wald Pictures. I'm counting on you."
"I won't let you down, boss," Victor said, his voice resonating with a new, powerful sense of purpose.
With that, Zane and Condy turned and walked out the door, leaving Victor to give the introductory "new boss" speech to the studio's forty-nine employees.
"You're not even going to say hello?" Condy asked as they got to the car.
Zane snorted. "You know what a new-owner speech is traditionally accompanied by? A mandatory 10-to-20-percent salary increase for all staff. My inner vampire is allergic to 'mandatory expenses.'"
He was already focused on the next step. Making movies. The thrill of it, the sheer creative and commercial power of it, was intoxicating. He walked Victor back to the CEO's new, much larger, office.
"Congratulations again, Victor," Zane said, looking around the room. "Nice desk. Now, let's get to work."
He leaned forward, his eyes bright and cold, all trace of the friendly boss gone, replaced by the predator.
"Your first assignment is simple. Find me a script."
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