Donovan walked down the grand mahogany staircase of the Blackwood estate.
Apollo, his massive St. Bernard, followed closely behind.
The dog's heavy paws made soft thuds on the expensive carpet.
The first floor was quiet. Most of the staff had already gone home for the evening.
Donovan walked toward the heavy oak doors of his father's study.
Even from the hallway, he could smell the faint scent of expensive cigars and coffee.
He pushed the door open slightly.
Richard Blackwood was sitting behind a massive desk covered in legal pads and contracts.
He had the phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder.
He was aggressively rubbing his eyes.
"I don't care what the test audiences said," Richard growled into the phone.
"The ending is too depressing. Reshoot it. Make the dog survive."
"If you kill the dog, we lose the family demographic. Fix it by Friday."
He slammed the phone down onto the receiver with a heavy sigh.
He looked up and saw Donovan standing in the doorway, notebook in hand.
Instantly, the ruthless executive expression melted away.
Richard smiled, leaning back in his leather chair.
"Come in, Donnie. Is it past your bedtime already?"
"Not even close," Donovan said, walking into the room.
Apollo trotted over to the desk and rested his massive head on Richard's knee.
Richard chuckled, scratching the giant dog behind the ears.
Donovan sat down in the leather chair opposite his father.
He placed his notebook on the desk and slid it across the polished wood.
"Mom said you wanted to talk about software development," Richard said.
He opened the notebook, expecting to see more computer schematics for the Burbank studio.
Instead, he saw a drawing of a yellow mouse with a lightning-bolt tail.
Richard raised an eyebrow. "Is this for the pirate cartoon?"
"No," Donovan said simply. "It's a completely different project."
"Donnie, your grandfather just bought you a warehouse for animation," Richard said gently.
"You haven't even hired your lead artists yet. Don't spread yourself too thin."
He pointed at the drawing of Charizard. "These are great drawings, really. But you have to focus."
"I am focused," Donovan replied. "That isn't a cartoon. It's a gold mine."
Richard paused. He looked at his ten-year-old son.
Whenever Donovan used that specific, calm tone, something massive usually happened.
"Explain it to me," Richard said, folding his hands on the desk.
"They are called pocket monsters," Donovan started, pointing at the page.
"The idea is simple. You catch them, you train them, and you battle them."
"But there is a catch. There are over a hundred of them. And you can't find all of them in one game."
Richard frowned slightly, his business mind starting to turn. "Why not?"
"To force interaction," Donovan explained.
"If a kid wants to collect all of them, they have to physically trade with their friends."
"It makes the game a social event. If one kid at school has it, his friends have to buy it too."
Richard stopped scratching the dog.
He stared at the notebook.
The concept was terrifyingly brilliant. It was viral marketing built directly into the product.
"We release it on handheld consoles," Donovan continued smoothly.
"Kids take it to the playground. They trade. They battle."
"Once the game is popular, we release the trading cards."
"Kids who don't even own the game will buy the cards just to collect the shiny monsters."
Richard's eyes were locked on the drawings now.
He wasn't looking at them like kid's doodles anymore.
He was looking at them like intellectual property.
"And then?" Richard asked quietly.
"Then we release the animated series," Donovan said.
"It acts as a thirty-minute commercial that airs every single day on national television."
"We sell the toys. We sell the lunchboxes. We sell the plushies."
"It becomes a self-sustaining ecosystem."
The study was completely silent.
Only the sound of Apollo's heavy breathing filled the room.
Richard ran a hand through his dark hair.
He looked at Donovan. He was trying to find the ten-year-old boy in those deep blue eyes.
But right now, Donovan just sat there, perfectly still.
He didn't need to yell or make a dramatic presentation.
He just let a subtle, invisible weight settle over the room.
It wasn't intimidating or scary.
It was just pure, overwhelming conviction.
Sitting across the desk, Richard felt it.
A sudden, absolute certainty washed over him.
Any doubts he had about his son's age completely vanished from his mind.
He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this idea would make billions.
"You need a game development studio," Richard finally said, his voice completely serious.
"I need a hungry, talented team," Donovan agreed.
"A small studio that knows how to code for handheld devices, but doesn't have the funding to make their own hits."
"We buy them out. We give them the designs, the mechanics, and the budget. They do the coding."
Richard pulled a blank legal pad toward him and grabbed a gold pen.
"I have contacts at a few tech firms in Seattle and Tokyo."
"I can have a list of potential studio acquisitions by the end of the week."
Richard looked up from his notes, a sharp, predatory smile on his face.
It was the smile that made rival studio executives wake up in cold sweats.
"We will put it under a new subsidiary company. Completely separate from the Blackwood film division."
Donovan smiled back. "Perfect."
"What are we calling the company?" Richard asked, ready to write it down.
Donovan thought about it for a second.
He was bringing monsters into the world. He was basically hijacking the future of entertainment.
"Rogue Entertainment," Donovan said.
Richard wrote it down in bold letters.
He closed the notebook and handed it back to Donovan.
"Keep drawing those monsters, Donnie. I'll handle the corporate takeover."
"Thanks, Dad."
Donovan stood up and patted Apollo on the head.
The giant dog happily followed him toward the door.
"Oh, and Donnie?" Richard called out just as Donovan reached the hallway.
Donovan turned around. "Yeah?"
Richard smiled, looking suddenly like a normal, tired dad again.
"Your mother said you did well in History today. Keep it up. She worries, you know."
"Tell her not to worry," Donovan grinned. "History is easy when you already know how it ends."
Donovan closed the study door behind him.
He walked up the stairs, feeling the quiet power of the Blackwood empire working for him.
He was only ten years old.
But the golden age of his reign had officially begun.