The same night Simon and Robert Galvin shook on the deal, Westeros Company received Motorola's $30 million good-faith deposit.
At the agreed $70 per share, the remaining 4.13 million shares were worth just under $289 million. Adding the 570,000 shares already sold, Westeros would clear more than $320 million total from its Motorola position.
Motorola couldn't wait until morning—they announced the buyback that very evening. The stock still opened below $60 the next day. For the following week the press kept yammering about the transaction, but Simon had already moved on.
Against an original investment of roughly $250 million, pulling out $320+ million in a little over two months was, by any measure, a monster win.
At the same time, the acquisition of New World Entertainment was officially underway.
To keep the price as low as possible, James Rebould designed a two-stage plan: quietly accumulate from the open market for two weeks, then launch a public tender. The creeping phase didn't require Simon's daily attention, so right after New Year's he flew back to Los Angeles.
1988 had arrived.
In Hollywood.
Robin Williams's Good Morning, Vietnam had opened Christmas Day on just four screens and instantly earned rave reviews across North America. Variety called it "an exhilarating cinematic journey," and Williams's performance was the talk of the town.
Even without a wide release, a smash was guaranteed. There was no longer any chance of signing him to Dead Poets Society for pocket change.
But what Simon cared about most was still Rain Man.
After their first meeting, UA chairman Tony Tomopoulos had insisted Simon come in person after Christmas. Since Simon didn't return until after New Year's, nothing happened.
In the meantime he heard Michael Ovitz had pitched the project to Michael Eisner again, hoping for a Disney co-production. Nothing came of it.
After Amy recounted every detail of that day's meeting, Simon understood perfectly why Robin had suddenly backed out and why Ovitz had gone back to Eisner.
Still, his clout wasn't yet at Spielberg levels—where merely liking a script triggered a bidding war. A decisive CEO like Eisner wasn't about to bet on a project the entire town had written off just because Simon Westeros might believe in it.
Tomopoulos wanted to negotiate face-to-face. Simon never showed, stayed in New York, and made another fortune on Wall Street.
After some posturing, UA finally blinked—they couldn't carry the movie alone. The holidays passed, Daenerys played it cool, and Tomopoulos cracked first. He called Amy himself.
In the two days before Simon landed, Amy and Tomopoulos hammered out the broad strokes.
United Artists would sell both Rain Man and The Hobbit rights to Daenerys Films for a combined $2 million. Daenerys would fully finance and produce Rain Man. MGM-UA would handle all North American theatrical, home-video, and television distribution; Daenerys retained foreign rights.
Other key points: MGM-UA guaranteed a minimum 1,000-screen opening on December 16 (prime Christmas real estate), Daenerys would cover P&A, and MGM-UA would take 15% off the top of North American box-office as its distribution fee.
In plain English: a deal massively tilted in MGM-UA's favor.
UA risked almost nothing yet pocketed 15% of domestic gross on a Tom Cruise–Dustin Hoffman movie locked into the best date of the year. Even if the film bombed, tricking audiences out of ten or twenty million was the easiest layup in town.
And UA had insisted on handling home-video and TV domestically too—leaving themselves plenty of room to "work" those revenues later.
MGM Headquarters, Beverly Hills.
Tony Tomopoulos signed his name with a flourish, glanced up at Simon Westeros signing across the conference table, and—despite a lingering suspicion something was off—couldn't quite hide the glint of a man shearing a fat sheep.
Whether that was self-delusion, even he wasn't sure.
An old-school producer with decades in the trenches, Tomopoulos trusted his gut about movies.
After Amy's pre-Christmas meeting he had seriously considered cutting Daenerys out entirely. When he floated the idea to MGM-UA owner Kirk Kerkorian, however, it was shot down cold.
UA's balance sheet was threadbare. Going it alone meant pre-sales plus bank loans. With the whole industry sour on the script, pre-sales would be minimal. Most of the budget would have to be debt-financed—on top of prints and advertising, UA would be on the hook for at least $20 million.
Twenty million was pocket money to the newly flush Simon Westeros. To UA it was existential risk. One flop and the label could go dark again.
The signing ceremony wrapped, a quick lunch followed, and the Daenerys group left Beverly Hills for Santa Monica.
Inside Simon's SUV.
Amy watched him leaf through the contracts. "Columbia's dug in at seven million for the Charlie's Angels TV rights and won't budge lower. If you're good with it, we can sign tomorrow."
In Simon's memory, Drew Barrymore had bought those same rights early and cleared $120 million from syndication and DVD once the movies hit. Seven million was a steal.
"Sign it," he said. "Also, reach out to Warner about Batman, and get in touch with Alexander Salkind for the Superman rights."
Amy raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were going after all of DC?"
Simon gave a helpless shake of the head. "While I was in New York I called Steve Ross directly—wanted to meet face-to-face. He shut me down on the phone. I even called a number. No one answer."
Steve Ross—chairman and CEO of Warner Bros.—controlled the entire Warner empire; Warner Bros. Pictures was just one piece. The Time merger hadn't happened yet, but talks had been underway since last year.
"So how do we play it?" Amy asked.
Simon thought for a moment. "Start with Warner—get Batman, even if we only end up with half the rights. But Daenerys has to have full creative control. Once Batman is locked, talk to Salkind about Superman. Throw whatever money it takes—we're grabbing that one. Oh, and Wonder Woman too—sweep her up while we're at it."
Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman.
If he could land the future big-screen Trinity, he'd effectively own DC.
Amy caught the excitement in his voice and smiled. "Want The Flash too?"
Simon paused, snapped out of the daydream, and laughed. "Warner's not that stupid. Just make sure we get Batman. That's priority one. Everything else can wait."
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