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Harvey's expression soured. The mention of Fox felt like a slap. He hated that Marvin bypassed Miramax to shop his newest thriller around town, but he couldn't afford to alienate Wonder Boy. Marvin had handed him a blockbuster. Additionally, another project sat in the pre-production phase for its principal photography, so Harvey needed the relationship intact.
"Maybe he went to Fox because we didn't push the Oscar voters for his acting category," Bob suggested quietly.
Harvey waved a hand and dismissed the theory. "I've been busy running the campaign. I haven't checked in with him in weeks. I will call him right now."
---
Across town, under the glittering crystal chandeliers of a Twentieth Century Fox charity dinner, Marvin lowered his cell phone and pressed the end button.
The ambient noise of the ballroom—the clinking of champagne flutes, the soft hum of a string quartet, the overlapping conversations of studio executives—washed over their private table.
"Harvey?" asked Diana, seated beside him.
She wore an elegant, floor-length white gown that draped flawlessly over her frame. The dress lacked the heavy, restrictive royal jewels she used to wear, adorned only by a simple sapphire pendant resting at her collarbone, her new year's gift from Marvin.
Marvin smiled and set the phone face-down on the linen tablecloth. "Yeah. He checked in to assert his existence. Let's not waste our evening on him. Tell me what you'd like to bid on at the auction tonight. Pick anything in the catalog, and I will make it happen."
Diana laughed. The sound was bright, genuine, and free. She tilted her head, and her beautiful blue eyes sparkled with a mischievous warmth as she looked at him.
"You don't have to buy me anything, Marvin," she said softly, and reached out to rest her hand gently over his. "You've given me enough."
In the flawed timeline, the world stopped turning to mourn Diana in the late summer of 1997. A crumpled car in a Parisian tunnel cut her life short, chased by flashing cameras. But in this reality, guided by Marvin's intervention, she thrived.
She stepped out of the shadow of the royal establishment. She followed Marvin's warnings without dragging the royal family name, and she walked her own destiny. In doing so, she blossomed into a vital, trusted ally in Marvin's inner circle.
Their bond operated on a wavelength that the surrounding Hollywood elite could never quite understand.
To the paparazzi outside, they appeared to be an odd pairing—a global icon and a child prodigy whose fame seemed to grow by the month.
Yet the reality was far more complicated.
There was an ease between them that defied age, status, and circumstance.
While others saw a remarkably talented boy, Diana often found herself speaking to someone whose insight and perspective felt far older than his years. Conversations that began casually could wander into subjects most adults avoided entirely.
Around the table, they shared a quiet understanding that required few words.
Diana didn't focus on his age, his awards, or the headlines surrounding him.
She focused on the person sitting across from her.
And when she looked into his eyes, she saw an unusually thoughtful soul carrying far more weight than most people ever realized.
Their connection held a quiet, romantic intensity. Diana didn't see a teenager. She saw the soul burning behind his eyes.
She is also the skeleton key to the European continent.
Diana didn't just introduce Marvin to people; she tore down the velvet ropes of the old world. Through her, Marvin bypassed the grueling, decades-long climb usually required for an American entity to penetrate European high society. Suddenly, Scarlet Capital executives secured invites to Monaco charity galas, drank champagne in private suites at Wimbledon, and sat front-row at Paris and Milan Fashion Weeks alongside old-money aristocrats and media barons.
She provided an unassailable stamp of legitimacy. In a European culture where heritage and reputation served as the currencies that mattered, Diana's subtle backing acted as a royal decree. It signaled to the elite that Marvin's enterprise meant safety, power, and the undeniable future.
For Meyers Records, her influence triggered a commercial avalanche. He didn't have to fight for European distribution rights; the distributors fought each other for the privilege of carrying his label. Top-tier European artists asked to collaborate with his subsidiaries, and national radio networks granted his artists priority airplay.
Her power truly materialized in the intangible unaccessible market. Diana's networking secured prime, eye-level shelf space in every retail chain, HMV, and Virgin Megastore from London to Berlin. Meyers Records vinyls and premium merchandise flooded the continent.
That network effect bled directly into Meyers BrandWorks. Elite personalities and fashion icons quickly signed endorsement deals, eager to align with the business royalty supported. His products didn't just sit in standard department stores; they dominated the window displays of boutiques and monopolized the lucrative duty-free shops in every European airport.
Recently, the scope expanded. Meyers Publishing House Japan utilized her connections for supply chains across Europe. They no longer just sold English translations of *Shōnen Blaze* manga volumes to niche comic shops.
The Japanese team was working on drawing up blueprints to create their own dedicated retail stores in Paris, Rome, and London, designed to sell Meyers products—from music and movies to merchandise like *Harry Potter* and high-end figurines.
Without Diana, Marvin faced spending hundreds of millions of dollars and a decade of his life fighting for a fraction of that shelf space.
With her, he entered the market effortlessly.
Marvin turned his hand over beneath the table and squeezed hers lightly.
"I know I don't have to buy you anything, Sister," he said with an amused smile. "I do it because I enjoy watching you crush studio executives in bidding wars. The look on their faces is always priceless."
A warm smile spread across her face.
"You spoil me."
"That's because I love my sister too much not to," Marvin replied.
She shook her head, laughing softly.
"One of these days you're going to create a monster."
"Too late," he said without missing a beat. "That happened long ago."
….
…
..
.
As they chatted, the crowd near their table parted. A man approached their table. He looked entirely out of place among the sea of Tom Ford tuxedos and designer gowns. He wore round wire-rimmed glasses, a black turtleneck, faded jeans, and gray sneakers.
"Excuse me," the man said, and stopped at the edge of their table. He offered a polite, respectful nod to Diana before he turned his intense gaze directly to Marvin. "Marvin Meyers, correct? Could we have a word in private?"
Marvin glanced at him and took in the uniform of the turtleneck and jeans. The visitor's identity was obvious.
Steve Jobs stood waiting for an answer.
---
Through this sea of tailored velvet and silk lapels, a man navigated the tables wearing a black mock turtleneck, faded denim jeans, and gray New Balance sneakers. He moved with a purposeful, unhurried stride, entirely ignoring the sideways glances of the surrounding elite. He stopped at the edge of Marvin's table.
Marvin gazed at the casually dressed man. A subtle smile touched his lips. Steve Jobs—the founder of Apple Computers and one of the most brilliant minds of the era.
"Marvin Meyers, can we talk?" Jobs skipped a greeting. He stood with his hands resting in his pockets, and projected a quiet superiority that demanded the space adjust to his presence.
"Of course, Mr. Jobs," Marvin replied warmly. He remained seated and kept his posture relaxed.
Despite Jobs' well-documented reputation for impatience and a litany of personal controversies, Marvin respected the raw genius underneath the abrasive exterior. Apple's clean, cutting-edge designs would soon dictate the aesthetics of the entire technological world.
Marvin admired that unwavering vision.
*Toy Story* triumphed in the movie market, caused the market value of Pixar Animation to soar, and returned Jobs to the ranks of billionaires.
In 1996, Apple was in trouble, and its market share dropped from its peak of 16% to 4%.
Correspondingly, Jobs' new company became famous due to *Toy Story*, and his personal net worth reached 1 billion US dollars.
Apple's board swallowed their pride and awkwardly asked Jobs to come back.
Jobs accepted. After all, Apple was his biological son and Pixar was just his adopted unwanted son.
After he returned to Apple, which he always loved, Jobs made drastic reforms, stopped unreasonable R&D and production practices, ended the years of patent disputes between Microsoft and Apple, and developed new products, the iMac and the OS X operating system.
Last year, Apple introduced the iMac computer, featuring an innovative transparent shell design that gained popularity among technology enthusiasts.
The revenue generated from computer sales enabled Apple to overcome its financial difficulties and solidified Jobs' leadership role within the company.
Nevertheless, during this time, Jobs continued to oversee the development of Pixar Animation.
Marvin knew exactly why Jobs stood at his table.
"You want the animation rights for *Kung Fu Panda*, don't you?" Marvin ventured, bypassing the hollow small talk Jobs despised.
Jobs raised his chin slightly, a trademark gesture. "Correct. Pixar's next animated feature should be *Kung Fu Panda*."
Marvin's smile widened. The man wasted no time.
"Mr. Jobs, I admire Pixar's prowess in 3D animation," Marvin began, his tone polite but firm. "Your team's work changes the medium. But regarding the option rights for the novel, you must speak with my agent."
Jobs adjusted his round, wire-rimmed glasses. He looked down at the teenager, and condescension laced his tone. "I could do that. But since we sit here right now, why dance around the perimeter? My time is valuable. Your time is valuable. Let's cut out the middlemen."
The tone carried a distinct edge. It avoided outright rudeness, but the subtext screamed: *Speaking with me is an honor.*
Marvin leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. He let the polite warmth fade from his eyes, and the weight of the aura surfaced. He met Jobs' gaze, and his smile grew sharper.
"Perhaps your time is precious, Mr. Jobs," Marvin said coolly, his voice dropping into a colder register. "But right now, you waste my equally valuable time. I refuse to discuss *Kung Fu Panda* over dinner."
Jobs blinked. The blunt refusal caught him off guard. Few people in the corporate world spoke to him with such casual dismissal. His brow furrowed as his mind recalibrated the social dynamic of the table.
"I hear rumors," Jobs said slowly. He pulled out an empty chair and rested his hands on the backrest. "I hear your family has been acquiring Apple shares on the open market. Is that true?"
Marvin's smile deepened. "Indeed. If you want to sell your personal shares, I would be delighted to draft the paperwork."
Jobs let out a short, dry breath. The faint outline of a smirk appeared on his face. "I'll save you the trouble. You won't be able to acquire any significant number of voting shares. Not without my explicit consent."
Marvin tilted his head, his gaze unflinching. "I think you're mistaken."
"Oh?" Jobs raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Quite the contrary, Mr. Jobs. You won't stop the institutional shareholders from selling their stakes to us. In fact, if you look at the board's current layout, you may even encourage them to sell to me."
Jobs stared at Marvin, incredulous. "And why would I do something so counterproductive to my own control?"
"Because," Marvin said softly, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of a promise, "who wouldn't want a major shareholder who holds zero interest in meddling with the daily affairs of the company?"
Jobs froze, the gears turning behind his eyes. "Someone willing to delegate their voting proxy rights directly to a capable leader," Marvin continued, and leaned in just a fraction to lock eyes with the older man. "Someone like you, who wants to keep Apple on the right track, and who wants to ensure the tragedy of 1985 never happens again."
The mention of 1985—the year the Apple board of directors ousted Jobs from the very company he built—struck the nerve.
Jobs' lips parted slightly, and his planned retort died in his throat.
"Think about it, Mr. Jobs," Marvin said, and let the silence work for him. "A silent, well-funded supporter. A partner to back your vision without a single ounce of corporate interference. Isn't a shield exactly what Apple needs right now?"
A flicker of realization crossed Jobs' face. The defensive tension drained from his shoulders. His lips curled into a genuine smile—a rare expression for the famously stoic CEO.
"Interesting," Jobs murmured, and looked at Marvin not as a child actor, but as a peer. "You have a point."
He straightened his posture, and his demeanor softened. "Fine. I will have my assistant discuss the rights to *Kung Fu Panda* with your agent tomorrow. But let's schedule a private meeting to talk about these proxy shares."
****
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