Scott Swift's talks with Apple's board went off without a hitch.
The board gave the green light for Dunn Capital to buy up to 30 million more Apple shares on the secondary market over the next six months.
Pretty standard stuff.
Usually, when a big shareholder wants to sell off stock, the board steps in with some gentle persuasion—or outright resistance. But buying more? As long as it doesn't cross the 50% threshold to take control and shake up the board's power, they're all for it.
More shares mean a rising stock price, which is great news for shareholders and the board alike.
Plus, Dunn's never pushed for extra independent directors or tried to plant his own people. It's a win-win—they'd be crazy to say no.
If Dunn Capital hits that 30-million-share goal, their stake in Apple will climb past 16.5%. No doubt about it—that's a fortune big enough to rival nations down the road.
But Dunn wasn't exactly beaming over the good news.
Because today was September 11.
At 8 a.m., Dunn showed up at his office on time, the mood a little heavy.
If things went as expected, earth-shattering news would hit any minute.
That flight headed for LA took off from Boston at 8 a.m. Fifteen minutes later, it'd be hijacked. Another fifteen, and it'd be out of control. Fifteen more, and it'd appear over Manhattan, slamming into the North Tower of the World Trade Center.
Tragedy was looming, and Dunn couldn't sit still in his office.
His assistant, Isla Fisher, figured he was stressed about the movie Chicago. She grinned, "Kirk Douglas can kick up all the fuss he wants—Catherine Zeta-Jones already signed the contract. We're starting next week."
Dunn cracked a smile. "Oh, right—Gone Girl… How much are we at with the royalties?"
"Split fifty-fifty, all wired to your account," Isla said with a playful wink.
Dunn replied, "You know I don't touch my personal accounts. Everything goes through Dunn Capital—it's a trust fund."
Isla smirked, "Got it. You big shots and your trust funds. The royalties are over $21 million now—half for you, half for me!"
"That much?"
Dunn's eyes widened.
Isla beamed, "Yup! It's sold 2.8 million copies in North America—right up there with the Harry Potter series. And it's rolling out overseas too. The UK numbers are looking awesome!"
Dunn gave her a teasing look. "Didn't peg you for a little millionaire. You're not gonna pull a Reese and quit on me, are you?"
"Reese got a gig at Rose Pictures. What do I have? Writing a book was all thanks to you. If I quit, what'd I even do?" Isla shot back with a cheeky grin.
Dunn nodded. "Books like this have a short shelf life. Tell you what—get on the phone with Rose Pictures right now. Tell Kathryn Kennedy and Reese to start prepping this project."
"Gone Girl?"
"Of course."
"Whoa!" Isla practically bounced. "My book's gonna be a movie!"
Dunn shook his head with a chuckle.
Gone Girl was a bestseller, sure, but nearly 3 million copies in North America? That was mostly because "Dunn Walker" was on the cover.
Crime and suspense novels usually have a niche audience—not Harry Potter territory.
Better strike while the iron's hot and get the movie rolling.
A film and book boosting each other—everyone's happy.
Isla skipped off to handle it, and Dunn checked the time—8:40 a.m.
Even all the way in LA, his heart was racing.
In his past life, living in mainland China, 9/11 felt… distant. People brushed it off, cracked jokes, didn't grasp the horror or the global tension it unleashed.
It wasn't until he'd lived in the U.S. for a few years that it sank in.
Compare it to Pearl Harbor, and it all clicks.
9/11 killed more people than Pearl Harbor did.
The economic fallout was even worse. Manhattan's a global financial hub—this hit every major economy hard, with losses topping $1 trillion.
Dunn's feelings were tangled. He hoped fewer people would die, but he also wanted to cash in…
Just then, Isla popped back in, big eyes sparkling, grinning wide. "Boss, you've got a visitor!"
No appointment, just showing up—had to be a close friend or someone big.
Sure enough, in walked a familiar, punchable face—Leonardo DiCaprio.
"Movie post-production all wrapped up?" Dunn asked, knowing Leo had been vacationing in New Zealand before heading back to LA for Gangs of New York dubbing.
"Piece of cake," Leo said with an eye roll and a scoff, acting like it was nothing. He and Dunn were tight—best buds. He plopped down, legs crossed, slouching like some street punk.
Dunn didn't mind, pouring him a coffee himself. "What brings you running over here?"
Leo grinned slyly. "Yesterday, I swung by Steven's set and saw Natalie. Man, she's getting wrecked—looks like a total monster…"
"Leonardo!"
Dunn glared, teeth clenched.
"Alright, alright, forget her. Steven's got a new project. I chatted with him about it…"
"Hold up!" Dunn cut in, frowning. "Spielberg's got a new gig? Minority Report isn't even done yet, is it?"
"Nope," Leo shrugged. "Maybe DreamWorks is hurting so bad they're banking on his films to pull in cash."
That jogged Dunn's memory. Between 2000 and 2002, Steven Spielberg earned the nickname "Running Man" in Hollywood. In under 18 months, he cranked out three movies!
A.I., Minority Report, and Catch Me If You Can!
That explained why he'd risked ticking Dunn off to jack up the North American rights for Band of Brothers.
DreamWorks needed the money—or it was toast.
"New project… not with Tom Hanks, is it?"
"Huh? He told you?" Leo perked up. "Yup, it's locked in. We're heading back to prep. I'm lead, Hanks is supporting. Heh!" He smirked, leg bouncing smugly.
"You came all the way here just to brag?" Dunn jabbed. "Fair enough—Daniel Day-Lewis just acted with you, and now Tom Hanks is playing second fiddle. You're on a roll!"
Leo leaned back, soaking it in. "Exactly. So, to keep the momentum going, I'm throwing a huge party at my place. Tons of girls—you in? Oh, and I saw Colin on the Minority Report set. He's down too."
"Colin Farrell?"
"Yup!"
Dunn smirked.
Birds of a feather—Leo the carefree playboy, Colin the wild child. Perfect match.
Dunn had just hosted a big bash at his place two days ago and was still recharging. He shut it down without a second thought. "Cut the nonsense! Farrell's in the middle of shooting—his career's just taking off. Don't drag him down with you!"
"It's fine, he's cool with it."
"Of course he is—he's a notorious troublemaker!" Dunn waved him off firmly. "No party. Don't mess up his shot! And you—if you're dating Gisele, focus on her!"
Leo stared, dumbfounded. "You're lecturing me?"
Dunn's face flushed. "What's that supposed—"
Before he could finish, the office door flew open.
Isla rushed in, breathless. "Dunn, something's happened—the World Trade Center's been hit!"
Dunn froze, then barked, "Let's go—TV!"
Leo, still casual, quipped, "This'll be a mess. Airline screws up like that? Insurance won't even cover it!"
Dunn shot him a look.
This guy still thought it was a pilot error?
There was no TV in Dunn's office, so the three of them bolted to Bill Mechanic's office. Sure enough, he was glued to CNN's live feed.
The footage showed the North Tower of the Twin Towers engulfed in flames and thick black smoke.
Chaos on the ground—shouts and noise everywhere.
"This is insane. How does an accident this bad even happen? New York's mayor might have to resign over this!" Bill Mechanic growled, clearly thinking it was a fluke too.
Leo, seeing the brutal scene, dropped his cocky grin and sucked in a breath. "How… how does this even happen?"
Dunn stood silently in front of the TV, eyes locked on the screen, barely breathing.
9/11 had arrived.