Bella was still a complete newbie in the writing business, so there was no need at all for book-signing events.
The initial release of The Da Vinci Code was quiet and unremarkable. After three days—once a bit of word of mouth had formed among readers—Random House launched its publicity offensive.
"A mysterious, suspenseful masterpiece filled with romantic sentiment."
"Ten years in the making—a brilliant work that dissects human nature and the essence of religion."
"A shocking grand conspiracy! The long-buried truth of history, brilliantly presented by female author Isabella Swan, returning a true Mona Lisa to the public!"
Several newspapers and magazines that specialized in bestseller reviews all received advertising fees from Random House. Each devoted varying amounts of space to introducing The Da Vinci Code.
At this time, the internet had not yet become the primary channel for the public to obtain information. Most people with the means to buy bestsellers still relied on newspapers and periodicals.
When interviewed by magazines, Bella spoke at length about her childhood and creative journey.
Things like Final Destination or the glorious feat of bathing Paris in blood were, of course, off-limits. In her telling, she was merely a pitiful, weak, helpless, and impoverished girl who could barely afford to eat.
Sales during the first three days were mediocre. As word of mouth gradually spread, Random House increased its promotional efforts, and certain figures in New York also began pushing things behind the scenes. The book started selling explosively.
Random House sold fewer than twenty thousand copies in the first three days, and distributors across the country showed no particularly strong reaction.
Another three days passed, and the first print run of one hundred thousand copies was completely sold out. Distributors' phone calls flooded Random House.
An additional print run of thirty thousand copies was snapped up in a single day.
Another fifty thousand copies were printed, and they lasted barely a day and a half before orders came flooding in again.
On the U.S. bestseller list, The Da Vinci Code burst into the top ten like a dark horse, its ranking continuing to climb.
Praise from all sides could only be described as explosive.
Random House immediately notified its printing plants to run at full capacity and print another five hundred thousand copies.
By the end of June, Bella was ecstatic as she watched the sales figures climb day after day—but that weekend, she needed to return to Stanford.
Before leaving, she paid out of her own pocket to host a small celebration, as a gesture of thanks to the publisher and distributors for their support.
After that came visits to friends and acquaintances. As promised, she personally signed copies of The Da Vinci Code and gave them to several friends in New York.
Once people learned that The Da Vinci Code was her work, Nathan Ingram spared no effort, helping promote it around New York for several days.
The same words carried very different weight when spoken by a billionaire versus an ordinary person. Bella was deeply grateful for his help and gave both father and daughter a signed copy.
She gave one to the refined and easygoing history teacher Carl Elias, one to Storm, and one to Cyclops, whom she'd met only once.
Professor John Grey and Professor Charles couldn't be overlooked either—each received a copy.
"Miss Swan, may we talk?"
Before leaving New York, the bald elder Charles, accompanied by Storm, came to the hotel where she was staying.
The pitiful, weak, helpless—and very poor—beautiful author had been worried about being disturbed, so she'd stayed at the Hilton Hotel these past few days. As for what the bald elder was about to say, she was already somewhat prepared.
The book had sold far too smoothly. To claim there was no one pushing things behind the scenes—even she wouldn't believe that.
This was a capitalist society. Writing skill? How much was that per pound?
Without capital backing, even genius wouldn't guarantee success.
Nathan Ingram was indeed a billionaire, but his business had little to do with publishing. This refined middle-aged man had also candidly told Bella that even more influential figures were operating behind the scenes.
The bald elder—Professor Charles Xavier—was precisely someone capable of driving the entire process.
To the outside world, Charles Xavier's publicly visible assets amounted to 3.5 billion dollars—barely a fraction of Stark's wealth. In reality, that figure meant very little.
He'd inherited his family fortune during World War II, and even back then, he was already a renowned billionaire.
His intelligence ranked among the very best in Marvel, and he was also the most powerful telepath in the Marvel world—though this "strongest" title seemed somewhat diminished compared to the hordes of overpowered figures that emerged later.
Poor Professor Charles Xavier eventually became a unit of measurement in the new age—a benchmark against which later generations of powerful mutants were compared.
In later eras, his power was no longer impressive. But right now—before superheroes had fully risen and before Omega-level mutants exploded onto the scene—his strength was the absolute ceiling.
The White Queen amounted to only 0.8 of a Professor Charles, while Apocalypse himself claimed that in thousands of years, Xavier was the strongest telepath he'd ever encountered.
The ceiling of the old era; the unit of measurement of the new era—that was Professor Charles Xavier.
Such a powerful billionaire, living fifty years without illness or disaster, yet possessing only 3.5 billion in assets—did anyone really believe that?
Charles had laid plans across the world. On the surface, he appeared harmless, but his hidden influence was astonishing—something that could never be calculated by figures on paper.
Comparatively speaking, perhaps only Tony Stark—after reaching middle age, experiencing the Avengers' many breakups and reunions, and achieving true enlightenment—could rival him.
No one helps you for no reason. If someone helps you, it means you have value.
In Bella's eyes, her employee Max had no value—watching the shop every day, earning eight hundred dollars a month, and she still felt that was too much. Her roommate Heather, on the other hand, had value. Just cooking meals earned her eight hundred dollars, with raises possible in the future.
She judged others this way—and others judged her the same way.
With so many mutants out there, why did the bald elder choose Cyclops instead of others? Because Cyclops had the potential to become a leader.
Storm tactfully turned and left, while Bella pushed the bald elder along for a walk in the park outside the hotel.
"I once saw people very similar to you—right here in New York," the old man said softly.
People similar to me?
Bella didn't respond immediately. After a brief thought, she quickly understood—he was most likely referring to the group of mages at the New York Sanctum.
Given that Professor Charles could, with a casual thought, scan the minds of most of New York City, discovering the Sanctum was hardly difficult.
He might not be able to perceive someone on the level of the Ancient One—but the Sanctum housed far more than just her.
Those mediocre mages might have stepped out for mundane errands, only for their entire background to be thoroughly examined by this mutant mentor.