Chapter 107: Cash Is King
"Pixar's been losing millions every year," Jennifer Connelly said that night as they returned to the hotel. "Are you really sure you want to buy it?"
Aaron stretched, unconcerned. "Yes. Pixar's got talent—some real talent."
"But Steve Jobs didn't seem too eager to sell," she said, furrowing her brows. "He wants to work with Disney instead, right?"
Aaron shook his head with a quiet laugh.
"He doesn't want to sell? Please. He's just stalling for a better price. As for Disney—if he partners with them, they'll drain him dry.
And now that I've stepped in, he's out of moves. NeXT is already eating up all his time and money. He can't afford to split his focus."
He leaned back against the headboard, his tone casual but sharp. "Right now, Jobs is nothing more than a disgraced prince—a man kicked out of his own kingdom. He's burned through most of the hundred million he made selling his Apple shares.
By the time he gets back to Apple and starts dreaming up some kind of 'smartphone,' we'll both be old and gray."
He smiled. "Let him think it over. Pixar isn't going anywhere."
Even if Jobs refused to sell, Aaron had his own strategy. He could easily acquire the other 30% of shares held by minority investors. Then, through a fresh round of funding, he could dilute Jobs' control entirely.
At a valuation of forty million, Aaron doubted any shareholder would hesitate to cash out.
---
The next morning, sunlight crept through the blinds of the Hyatt suite. Jennifer was still asleep in his arms when the sharp ring of the bedside phone jolted him awake.
He groaned and reached for it. "Yeah?"
"Boss," said Brad Grey's voice on the line, "rumor is someone's trying to acquire Heritage Entertainment."
Aaron sat up instantly, wide awake. Heritage was one of his long-term targets.
"Who's making the move?"
"Samuel Goldwyn Pictures."
Aaron's expression hardened. "Got it."
As he hung up, his mind was already racing. If Samuel Goldwyn Jr. was interested in Heritage, it could only mean one thing—he wanted Heritage Landmark Theatres, the boutique cinema chain owned by Heritage, to strengthen his distribution network.
Jennifer stirred beside him, her voice drowsy and soft. "What's wrong, darling?"
Aaron turned to her absently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her bare shoulders and soft curves gleamed in the morning light—but his mind was elsewhere.
"Nothing," he murmured, kissing her briefly. "But I need to get back to L.A. soon."
---
Pixar and Heritage—two assets Aaron had been watching for months.
Now, one was flirting with Disney.
The other was being poached by Goldwyn.
By the time he landed back in Los Angeles, he had already gathered every detail.
"So you're saying Guy Martin needs cash for a divorce settlement?"
In Dawnlight's office, Aaron leaned back in his chair, amused.
Jessica Parker, Dawnlight's CFO, nodded. "Exactly. Heritage's financials aren't great either, so selling is probably his easiest option."
Dawnlight, PolyGram, and Heritage had recently co-produced My Own Private Idaho, now in post-production. It had missed the Cannes deadline, but Venice later that year was still on the table.
Aaron knew the company inside out.
"Alright," he said after a moment. "I'll go talk to Guy Martin myself. You handle Pixar."
He paused. "I've already met Jobs. We're looking at a deal no higher than forty million."
Jessica nodded briskly. "Understood. I'll get in touch with Sony and make sure they wire our profit shares right away."
Aaron smiled faintly. "Good. Cash first—always."
---
Within hours, he was on a flight to New York.
By the afternoon, he was sitting in a corner office at Landmark Theatre, overlooking Times Square.
Across from him sat Guy Martin, the weary-looking head of Heritage Entertainment.
"So you're saying," Martin asked in disbelief, "you want to buy Heritage?"
Aaron smiled, calm and poised as always. "Yes. I'm planning to expand into film distribution."
He didn't bother hiding his intentions. Heritage might have been small, but its arthouse theater chain made it the perfect foundation for Dawnlight's next phase.
Martin tapped his fingers against the desk. "Well… you're not the only one interested. Samuel Goldwyn Jr. has also reached out.
Of course, what he really wants," Martin added dryly, "is the Landmark Theatres brand."
Aaron leaned back slightly, eyes glinting. "Then I suppose I'll just have to make him lose interest."
Aaron leaned back, a confident smile on his face.
"Dawnlight intends to acquire Heritage Entertainment's assets—but as for Landmark Theatres, I'm fine keeping you on as the operator. You can even retain part of the equity."
He paused briefly, watching Guy Martin's reaction.
"What I really want is the distribution network. Landmark's theater chain is the foundation of Heritage's distribution power."
He already had someone in mind to oversee it.
"Jack Wells has been doing an excellent job managing the Angel Theatre in West Hollywood. He could help you run Landmark's operations—keep the art house spirit alive while ensuring profitability."
Aaron's voice sharpened slightly.
"You see, I don't worry about independent production companies in Hollywood—most of them are just surviving on scraps.
Take Samuel Goldwyn Pictures, for instance. Or even New Line Cinema—sure, they've had a hit with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but that's nothing compared to what I can do.
If I had my own distribution company, that series would've been mine in the first place."
He gestured casually toward the window, the skyline glowing beyond it.
"And if you want proof of concept, just look at the Angel Theatre—business has been booming since I took over."
Guy Martin nodded thoughtfully. "I don't doubt your capabilities, Aaron. But Landmark isn't your typical theater chain. It's an art house circuit—we focus on foreign and independent films."
Aaron waved a hand. "Relax. That won't change. I'll keep the art programming intact.
But we both know that the business model has to evolve. Theaters can't stay small forever. Landmark's footprint is too limited—it needs to expand, acquire other chains, and modernize.
The old-school, single-screen era is over."
He could tell that was exactly the pressure Martin was under—Landmark wanted to grow but lacked the capital to do it.
---
Guy finally spoke, his tone careful.
"Aaron, the total valuation has to be sixty million dollars. Landmark alone is worth at least thirty."
Aaron almost choked on his coffee.
"Thirty million—for Landmark? Sure, maybe. But what else does Heritage even have?" he said incredulously. "A few foreign film prints and some art-house posters?"
He leaned forward, smirking.
"Come on, Guy. I could start a brand-new distribution company tomorrow for thirty million and it wouldn't be any worse than Heritage."
Guy's expression didn't waver. "Aaron, you're forgetting—you're not the only one at the table."
Aaron laughed, low and dismissive.
"Guy, do you really think Samuel Goldwyn Jr. can just pull forty or fifty million in cash out of his pocket like I can?
He'll have to beg for financing, then string you along with installments. How's that going to compare? You've seen the numbers—Boyz n the Hood and The Silence of the Lambs are printing money for me."
He let that sink in.
"Cash," Aaron said softly, "is king."
Guy Martin hesitated, and Aaron could see the calculation flickering in his eyes. He knew he had him.
Goldwyn had prestige. Aaron had liquidity. And in Hollywood, that was all that mattered.
Sony wouldn't dare delay Dawnlight's box office payments—not when they still needed his next projects. If they tried, he'd just take his films elsewhere.
---
"Alright," Aaron said finally. "Forty-five million. You'll retain forty percent of Landmark's shares, and I'll handle expansion."
Guy frowned, shaking his head.
"Fifty million. And I keep half the Landmark chain."
Aaron smiled faintly, swirling the coffee in his cup.
They were still far apart—but that didn't bother him.
He had time.
Deals like this weren't won by shouting; they were won by patience, by pressure, and by cash on the table.
And Aaron Anderson had all three.