October 1997.
Breathing deeply, he finished his morning Karate class, carrying with him the lingering ache in his body; his legs felt like minced meat wrapped around bones that might buckle under the weight of gravity at any moment. The dojo, a polished wooden room, gleamed under the light, and each time he raised his gaze to the mirrors, he caught sight of his own weary reflection.
Intricate, demanding, yet vibrant, Billy took a long, cold shower. Summer was beginning to descend fiercely upon Australia; the sun grew harsher each day, and his shoulders sagged under the exhaustion of the heat. The air was dry, intense, almost unnecessarily so. Before he could find a response to it all, he drew in a long, steady breath as he passed through the spotless, immaculate streets toward the car waiting at the corner.
Rolling down the windows and letting the air strike his face, he sorted through the reports while awaiting Anne's updates on the new print runs. The October season was beginning to showcase new events, films, and re-releases of older ones. Films like A Bug's Life, officially joining the Luxtoons channel, were followed by Ice Age, The Iron Giant, and Lilo & Stitch—four titles set to fill the schedules across three animation channels, almost as if by luck, paving the way for the premiere of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Magician's Nephew, The Road to El Dorado, and Osmosis Jones as the third major release.
Narnia was scheduled for October 24, 1997. The Road to El Dorado was set for November 10, 1997, and Osmosis Jones for December 1, 1997—three films poised to spark a new wave of competition against Disney, which already had a December project lined up.
"To the studio," he murmured to his security detail as they drove him off. Now fame and fortune mingled with danger, censorship, and power, leaving him with a faint aftertaste of how life's true events and forms were often distorted.
He had waited long enough, but at last all his acting work was done—a brilliantly prolonged period. The production had spanned a full year; over nearly 190 days, he had delivered countless performances, and there were still another 30 days of shooting ahead, bringing the total to 220 days—a record, considering that post-production could take an additional four to five months, or about 150 days, stretching the entire project to over 400 days.
He stood before the olive-green studio door that clashed starkly with the building's white walls. The metallic surface carried the sterile scent of soap and the faint static hum of lights powered by a nearly radiant electric current—a vivid display of color and the pulse of life.
His steps were light, soft, almost inaudible, yet all eyes turned toward him as he walked close to the wall. Each face seemed to gaze upon Hollywood's newest heartthrob—the true face of romance. Every performance had reshaped his image in the industry; from Jerry Maguire, The English Patient, and Before Sunrise to Titanic, he was the sigh of countless young women. His profile had never been more recognizable, and his presence was becoming a defining face of the 1990s, with each role adding to a gallery of unforgettable cinematic memories.
"I hoped your destination would be the United States by now," greeted Carrie-Anne with an embrace. Their relationship was ambiguous but always cordial. Publicly, their connection was more about maintaining appearances for as long as necessary.
"I wouldn't leave without knowing that every scene was beautifully finished. Directors often have peculiar ways of reshooting after calling the final cut," Billy remarked, meeting her clear green eyes, which shimmered like twin stars, flourishing with calm yet ironically dazzling. Those eyes seemed born to seduce; her beauty had an aristocratic grace, her figure poised, with high, elegant cheekbones and a gaze that could steal one's breath. Her acting was restrained but precise, her words chosen with deliberate care.
"Then I'll take the opportunity to steal some of your time," Anne replied with a playful smile. She had long hoped for Billy's help in securing auditions, aspirations that stretched further back than he imagined. Taking a deep breath, she waited as they both devoted three to four hours to reviewing their work. When they were finally called to watch the footage from the previous day, there were only a few scenes left to assess, but inspiration often demanded extra takes—moments when a single scene could be fragmented into countless pieces to bring it truly to life.
…
A little over four months passed before the box-office statistics for Pixar's Gigantic, based on Jack and the Beanstalk, came to light. The film grossed $340 million, and after deducting its $50 million budget, it was an unequivocal triumph. The production had ushered in a pivotal change: the introduction of new software capable of capturing human motion based on body form, saving thousands of hours of painstaking work. With smoother lines and more natural movement, Pixar's frequent collaborations with Autodesk continually refined the ecosystem of their software.
"Thank you for coming," murmured Steve Parks, facing the multifaceted Bill Gates, who now regarded Autodesk's movements with renewed interest. The company's decision to go public had become the talk of Wall Street. Billy's appetite for acquiring glass manufacturers, food franchises, and assets in the collapsing Asian markets was an open secret.
"I'm interested in being one of Autodesk's first major shareholders," Bill Gates stated.
"That's for NASDAQ to handle—it's out of our hands. Still, we could reserve a 5% market share," Steve Parks replied, uncertain whether that would satisfy Seattle's voracious titan.
Why go public now, when money was flowing like rivers? Their profits were substantial, bolstered by licensing agreements worldwide for commercials, animated films, special effects, and intricate web design. Yet the market regulators' decision to authorize the capitalization of 100 million shares at $75 each, based on projected growth, seemed almost absurd. Analysts predicted that by year's end the price could reach $150, as Billy pledged to use a significant portion of the capital to acquire SanDisk.
Real-time modeling and rendering anticipated the graphics engines that would later define video games and VR. Physical simulation and computer-aided engineering (CAE) for fluid dynamics, structural analysis, and thermal performance—markets dominated by ANSYS and MSC Software—became focal points of investment. Concurrently, Autodesk acquired Alias/Wavefront to enhance its expertise in specialized fields. Billy envisioned Autodesk as the cradle of engineering, architecture, and education.
Pixar embraced Wavefront tools while deploying their advanced software to push production further, expanding into the video game market and sharing insights with id Software and Epic Games—no acquisition needed for the moment, just a collective bet on innovation. Bill Gates, closely following the project, was eager to extend his reach, seeing potential acquisitions on the horizon. But Billy planned to sell his shares at their peak by late 1999 and repurchase them when prices fell, leveraging them through a speculative fund while Autodesk remained the cornerstone of his vision.
Apple would carry the hardware to new heights, and Autodesk would push the software as far as it could go—driving the industry into the future.
...