Sitting across from Duke in the plush leather interior of his Cadillac was Michael Eisner, the executive who served as Duke's most trusted attack dog.
Eisner's lap was covered in thick, meticulously tabbed dossiers filled with balance sheets, and SEC filings.
Eisner was reviewing the numbers for the fourth time that morning, his eyes scanning the columns.
Duke liked Eisner as an executive, he even believed that if Diller got fired Eisner would be the ideal person for CEO.
"Are the projections holding up, Michael?" Duke asked.
Eisner looked up, a confident smile playing on his lips. "The numbers are great, Duke. Mattel is on a horrible financial path."
Eisner tapped a particularly dense page of the report with his pen. "But the real leverage we have today isn't just financial. It's political. The internal dynamics of their board are about to detonate."
Duke nodded slowly, "Arthur S. Spear," Duke murmured. "The opportunistic vice president waiting for his chance."
"Exactly," Eisner confirmed. "Spear knows the Handlers are losing their grip. He is quietly consolidating power among the dissenting board members, preparing for a coup. If we play this right, we can use Spear's ambition against Ruth Handler, forcing her to seek our protection as a White Knight against the board."
The Cadillac smoothly pulled up to the valet stand of Perino's, the legendary Los Angeles restaurant.
Waiting for them at a table was Ruth Handler.
The creator of Barbie and the brilliant, pioneering CEO of Mattel was a woman of undeniable historic significance.
Duke even remembered she appeared as a ghost on the Barbie Movie.
She sat with a rigid posture, and wore a tailored Chanel suit.
"Ruth, it is an absolute honor and a profound privilege to finally sit down with you, I hope your husband Elliot is doing good," Duke declared, while he extended a hand, taking hers in a gentle respectful grip.
He wasn't acting, he genuinely admired what she had built from nothing in a garag. "What you and Elliot have accomplished with Mattelo is great, definind the experience of millions of americans."
Ruth's smile widened, her eyes crinkling slightly at the edges. "Thank you, Duke. You are very kind. And congratulations on your recent success at the Oscars. Paramount is certainly having a renaissance under your leadership."
They took their seats as the waiters silently poured ice water and presented the menus.
Eisner sat to Duke's right, placing his sleek leather briefcase on the empty chair beside him.
For the first twenty minutes, Duke directed the conversation through the pleasant corporate small talk.
They discussed the changing demographics of the American family, the incredible, sustained cultural impact of Barbie, and the rising importance of international markets.
"I must tell you, Ruth, the synergy between what we do on the screen and what you create in the factory is incredibly fascinating to me," Duke said, casually swirling a glass of Caffè Leccese.
"We create the story, but you allow the child to hold the story in their hands. So, how is the current climate treating Mattel? From the outside looking in, with the sheer volume of product on the shelves, you must be enjoying an era of prosperity." Duke leaned back, his posture open and inviting, projecting nothing but supportive curiosity.
Ruth took a delicate sip of her tea, "We are doing exceptionally well, Duke. I would even go so far as to say we are thriving. Barbie continues to dominate the girls' market globally, entirely unchallenged by competitors."
"And the new 'Pulse' action figure line has completely revitalized our standing in the boys' demographic, specially Transformers."
"Our top-line revenue has never been higher, our manufacturing facilities are operating at maximum capacity to meet holiday demand, and Elliot and I are incredibly optimistic about our expansion plans for the near future." She spoke with the practiced cadence of a CEO addressing a friendly shareholder meeting. She believed her own narrative completely.
Duke maintained his warm smile, nodding slowly as she painted her fictional picture of corporate health.
"Michael," Duke said softly. It was the signal to release the hounds.
Eisner didn't hesitate. He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Ruth.
"With all due respect, Mrs. Handler, your characterization of Mattel's current economic health is fundamentally flawed, bordering on corporate delusion," Eisner stated, his voice flat, precise, and entirely devoid of the previous pleasantries.
Ruth's polite smile instantly froze on her face. Her eyes darted from Eisner to Duke, shocked by the sudden shift in tone.
Duke merely sat back, his expression neutral, allowing Eisner to do what he had planned.
"Your top-line revenue is indeed impressive, but it is functionally meaningless when analyzed against your operational inefficiencies," Eisner continued, opening his briefcase and sliding a heavily annotated financial spreadsheet across the table toward Ruth.
"You are generating massive gross sales, but your profit margins are very low. You are barely clearing a three percent net margin on the Pulse line due to badly negotiated supply chain contracts and bloated corporate overhead."
"Furthermore, you have leveraged the company to acquire non-synergistic assets like a circus, or a publishing house that are actively draining your cash reserves."
"You are servicing a mountain of high-yield debt at a time when interest rates are highly volatile. Economically speaking, Mattel is not thriving. Mattel is currently on life support, hemorrhaging cash, and desperately trying to hide the bleeding from the public markets."
Ruth's face flushed with indignatio. She stiffened in her chair, her hands gripping the edge of the table.
"I am not going to sit here and be lectured on the financials of my own company by a movie studio executive," Ruth snapped.
"We have short-term cash flow challenges, yes, like any rapidly expanding corporation. But our core brands hold strong market positions. The equity we hold in the minds of the consumer far outweighs any temporary balance sheet discrepancies. Elliot and I have weathered storms before, and we will weather this one. We know exactly what we are doing."
Eisner simply pulled a second, thinner folder from his briefcase.
"You might be able to weather a financial storm, Mrs. Handler, but you cannot weather a federal indictment," Eisner said, dropping the folder onto the table.
Ruth's eyes widened, the flush draining from her cheeks, leaving her visibly pale. "We are fully aware of the whispers circulating through the deepest channels of the financial district. We know that the Securities and Exchange Commission is currently preparing a formal investigation into Mattel's accounting practices. They are looking into fraudulent financial reporting, specifically the artificial inflation of earnings to maintain your stock price."
Ruth opened her mouth to deny the accusation, but no words came out.
"And worse than the SEC, you have a massive problem inside your own house. Arthur S. Spear," Eisner said, "Spear knows the SEC is coming. He is already holding shadow meetings with the institutional shareholders."
"He is painting you and Elliot as relics of the past who have cooked the books to hide your incompetence. The moment the SEC formally announces the investigation, the stock will plummet, and Spear will execute a boardroom coup."
"He will force the board to demand your immediate resignation. You won't just lose control of Mattel, Ruth. You will be stripped of your legacy, and quite possibly faced criminal liability."
Ruth Handler shoulders slumped, and she stared at the spreadsheets on the table in silence.
Duke leaned forward, "Ruth, listen to me, Michael is blunt, but he is correct. Of course, I did not bring you here today to insult you or to watch your empire burn. I want to help you and Elliot."
Ruth looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for a trick, "Why? What is Paramount's plan in all of this? Why would a film studio care about a toy manufacturer's board dispute?" She was grasping at straws, trying to understand the sudden problem.
"Because the future of entertainment is about vertical integration," Duke explained, "I don't just want to make movies. I want Mattel's manufacturing infrastructure, and Mattel needs Paramount's intellectual property to generate new product lines."
"Here is my offer, Ruth. Paramount wants to take a sizable equity stake in Mattel. We want a massive block of preferred voting shares. We will inject immediate, clean capital into your balance sheet to relieve the debt pressure."
Duke paused, letting the offer sink in, "In exchange for those shares, I will use the financial and political weight of Paramount Pictures to crush Arthur Spear's coup before it even begins. I will publicly back you and Elliot."
"When the SEC investigation hits the press, I will help you absorb the shockwave. The shareholders will not dare vote against you if they know it means losing the Paramount partnership. I will personally make sure that it is impossible for anyone to force you to step down from the company you created."
It was a Trojan Horse.
Duke was offering her salvation, protection, and the preservation of her position, all for the seemingly reasonable price of a massive equity stake.
Once Duke held those voting shares, he could start to move to control the board, and Mattel would be beholden to him.
Then from 1973 until 1977 get as much power and share inside the board until Star Wars is released and then focus on selling a lot of toys.
Ruth slowly sat up straighter, the panic receding from her eyes, a tight condescending smile returned to her lips.
"That is a very creative dramatic pitch, Duke," Ruth said, her voice dripping with dismissal. "You truly are a master storyteller. You paint a very frightening picture of wolves and coups, and then you cast yourself as the knight riding in to save the day. It's very cinematic. But this is not a movie."
She pushed the financial documents back across the table toward Eisner, refusing to even look at them. "I appreciate your interest in our company, but your offer is absurd. Elliot and I do not need your capital, and we certainly do not need your protection."
"Ruth, the SEC is not a story. Arthur Spear is not a fictional antagonist. If you reject our capital, how do you plan to survive the shareholder revolt when the stock inevitably crashes?" Duke asked, his tone genuinely curious, attempting to understand her delusion.
"There will be no revolt," Ruth stated with confidence. "Mattel is Ruth and Elliot Handler. We built the factories. We designed the products. We cultivated the retail relationships. The shareholders know that without us, there is no Mattel."
"It is fundamentally impossible for us to be forced to step down. The board works for me. Arthur Spear works for me. Thank you for the lovely lunch, gentlemen, but we will not be continuing this conversation any longer today."
Ruth placed her linen napkin on the table, picked up her designer handbag, and stood up. She offered Duke a final, polite nod. "I look forward to seeing your next film, Duke. Good day." With that, Ruth Handler turned and walked out of the private dining room.
The doors clicked shut behind her, leaving Duke and Eisner alone in the room.
Eisner let out a frustrated breath, shaking his head in disbelief. "...Is she... stupid? I have never seen such a profound level of corporate suicidal ideation," Eisner muttered, gathering the rejected dossiers and stuffing them back into his briefcase.
"She is standing on the tracks, staring directly at an incoming train, and she truly believes she can stop it by simply holding up her hand. She is completely delusional, Duke. The deal is dead. We can't save someone who refuses to believe they are drowning."
Duke leaned back in his chair, a smile spreading across his handsome face. "You are looking at this entirely the wrong way, Michael. The deal isn't dead."
Eisner paused, looking at Duke with confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I offered her the easy way out," Duke explained, "We now know she will never voluntarily hand over power, and she will never accept our equity offer as long as she feels even remotely safe. So, we change the timeline. We wait for the wolves to start tearing her apart."
Duke stood up, buttoning his suit jacket, "Here is the new strategy. We continue to silently, aggressively accumulate the Mattel stock through our shell companies. We do nothing to warn her or help her anymore."
"You know I havent paid attention to the Washington Star since we bought them, maybe they would be interested in a scoop about the Mattel Scandal."
____
Duke wiped a thick bead of sweat from his forehead and surveyed the chaotic set of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.
Today was his first day on the crew, and he was not supposed to stay for too long, just a week to record his scenes, and the comeback for another week two weeks later for reshoots.
He looked around at the logistical miracles his money had bought.
In his past life, this production had scraped by on a pathetic $140,000 budget, the crew suffering in hellish conditions.
But Duke had pumped three million dollars into the project.
Of course he also auditioned for the role of Leatherface, suprisingly Tobe loved the idea, after all It was Duke's first time acting, which can be used as a promotional point.
And that money was visible, generators, equipment trailers, and most importantly, craft services tables overflowing with ice and cold Dr. Pepper.
Tobe Hooper, the director, walked over with his shirt completely soaked through, clinging to his skinny frame. He looked exhausted.
"We're ready for the next setup, Duke," Tobe said.
Duke slapped him on the shoulder. "Take your time, Tobe. The night hasnt arrived yet."
Tobe nodded.
The real agony of the day, however, was hanging on a costume rack inside a canvas tent.
As the wardrobe department started strapping him in, he quickly realized he'd underestimated the physical torture that came with the role.
First came the thick, padded "fat suit" designed to give his athletic frame a grotesque, lumbering silhouette. It trapped his body heat.
Over that, went heavy, unbreathable wool trousers and a sweat-stained button-down shirt.
Finally, the blood-spattered butcher's apron tied around his waist. By the time he was fully dressed, Duke felt like he was trapped inside a mobile sauna.
The crowning horror was the mask. Latex, designed to look like patchwork human skin stitched with crude stitches.
When the makeup artist pulled it over his head, the world went dark. The eyeholes were tiny, masking his peripheral vision. The smell inside was also a problem, not to mention the breating issues.
But at six-foot-five, expanded by the fat suit and also wearing that horrific mask, Duke knew he looked absolutely terrifying.
The physical challenges multiplied the moment they handed him the main prop.
A heavy, live chainsaw. Operating heavy machinery in hundred-degree heat while wearing a fat suit and being practically blind was a recipe for disaster.
During early rehearsals, Duke's limited vision led to chaos. He swung the saw, misjudged his coordinates, and tripped over lighting cables hidden in the grass.
In one memorable take, he ran straight through an entire craft services table he couldn't see.
Surprisingly, playing Leatherface became the most demanding acting challenge of Duke's life, specially since he had never truly acted before.
The character couldn't speak, so Tobe directed him to tell the story purely through body language, heavy panicked breathing, high-pitched squeals of confusion, massive stomping tantrums, the whole package.
Despite his terrifying on-screen persona, Duke found warm camaraderie with the actors playing his twisted family.
Jim Siedow (the Cook) and Edwin Neal (the Hitchhiker) were the most considerate people on the crew.
Whenever Hooper yelled "Cut!", they'd rush over to help Duke unbuckle the suffocating mask.
The men playing the most depraved murderers in cinema were basically running a supportive backstage friend group which Duke appreciated.
This dynamic stood in contrast to the tension surrounding actor Paul A. Partain, who played Franklin, the whiny, wheelchair-bound brother.
Partain had decided to engage in extreme method acting, refusing to break character, remaining in the wheelchair between setups, constantly whining in Franklin's grating nasal voice about the heat, the bugs, the catering.
The crew hated him.
Duke found it amusing.
As the afternoon sun began to dip, it was finally time to shoot the film's most crucial sequence.
The chase.
Leatherface had to pursue Sally, the terrified final girl, through the dense Texas forest.
Duke stood at his mark, muscles aching, sweat pouring down his back. Tobe called action. Duke yanked the pull cord.
The engine sputtered, and roared to life.
Sally screamed and sprinted. Duke followed, his massive boots pounding against the dirt. He swung the roaring chainsaw wildly above his head, letting out muffled, frantic grunts through the mask.
The tiny eyeholes made navigating the uneven terrain a gamble, but Duke channeled that fear into the monster's movement, he was also betting that the fat suit would protect him at least from falls.
He crashed through thick brambles, thorns tearing at his apron, ignoring the pain.
They ran until they were both breathless.
The day finally ended. The cast and crew were drained, covered in fake blood, and real sweat.
Duke shed the fat suit and mask, feeling a hundred pounds lighter. He waved goodbye to Siedow and Neal and climbed into his private, air-conditioned vehicle.
As they drove back to the motel, Duke was escorted to his room by his private security detail, who took up positions outside his door.
Tobe had kept him isolated from the younger cast members. Never ate with them. Never joked between takes, all to maintain an aura of mystery.
___
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