June 4, 1998.
A month and a half was the time it took to shoot all the remaining takes of The Mummy. It was intense and filled with different kinds of work: multiple repeated takes, storylines altered halfway through, and countless other scenes filmed in entirely different locations. Mega-productions have a way of leaving a person completely exhausted, and allowing that exhaustion to break them down is, in a way, one of the purposes of the job.
-—It was a great piece of work.— commented Stephen Sommers, holding a drink at his side, his eyes bloodshot and the tremor in the hand gripping the glass a clear sign of his fatigue. The entire crew looked the same way: inhuman workdays, filmed from different positions, through daylight, nightfall, and the relentless desert heat.
-—I think all that's left now is to rest and hope that tomorrow the finished work turns out to be far more than we expect.— Billy replied with a faint smile. He was certain that even in the months to come, Universal would not stop pressing the film with an iron grip. He never quite understood the executives, who only seemed to recognize the value of art when the press, the audience, and their own colleagues were shouting that it was a great movie.
-—I hope so.— He took another sip. Fatigue and alcohol dulled his senses and left him silent; everything he thought about his work remained unsaid. Now, without editing, doubt crept in, and everything else seemed to weigh heavily on his chest.
-—Let's have another drink.—
And so they did. Both sought to calm their anxiety—one by drinking, the other by thinking through the projects piling up in his head. The Matrix trilogy was set for its worldwide premiere on June 9, something people would remember, something that would leave everyone speechless. Beyond that, there was the One Piece film scheduled for July 1998, and Billy's own involvement in The Nutcracker. None of it aligned neatly, only serving as proof that time was racing forward and projects were suffocating his presence, leaving him voiceless, his own voice trapped between what he was and what he had yet to become in the world of cinema.
The whole crew seemed to get along wonderfully. The director dozed off with his head tilted back against a piece of furniture, completely spent, while some played cards and others listened to Frank Sinatra, stepping into small dance moves whenever the mood struck them.
Billy watched Rachel dancing from side to side—her long black hair, pale skin, and captivating gestures reminded him of Mónica. There was something about that kind of woman, one who lived on the edge of antiquity. The kind of woman who slipped away from gazes with a natural ease that belonged to her alone.
He joined the gathering late into the night, playing cards for a while and dancing briefly, waiting for the moment he would return to the United States to undertake one of the largest promotional campaigns of his life. He would travel across the planet promoting a film that would shape culture.
***
It was the day—perhaps one of the boldest days of all. Autodesk went public on the stock exchange. A company directly tied to Billy was now valued in the billions of dollars. In less than thirty minutes, Billy would be a millionaire—this was no joke. Each share was priced at 58 dollars, with a capital of roughly 51 million shares out of 110 available, effectively offering half the company to new buyers who watched eagerly as the shares they were about to acquire came into reach. There was a clause that left Billy with 10% of the shares carrying multiple voting rights; one of those shares was worth 100, meaning it would take 75% to neutralize any of Billy's voting power—but that was a concern for later.
Raimon walked around freely; the company would now have enough revenue to settle some of its debts with Pixar and, after that, invest in acquiring Photoshop and various art services for video editing. While investing in improving their own software, they also made a significant investment in developing programs for everyday use. They ceded the film-creation side to Pixar, but created a licensing model that would earn them vast sums of money.
It was well known that the company would not pay dividends for ten years, as the goal was to grow it to such an extent that, by the time others truly saw their investment, everything left behind would amount to an absurd surge in value. Perhaps then people would understand why Billy had taken to the market what experts called a corporate unicorn.
-—Here's the idea.— Raimon whispered to Anne. —We want to sell all these shares and leave behind the childish games that seem to linger in people's hands and possessions.—
-—Billy wants to inflate the stock, almost desperately, as if he's waiting for something—and then comes the fall. That's when he'll sell his shares at their peak and buy them back once they crash. The entire tech industry will feel the impact. But it will generate the money needed to pay off the debts. I heard we took out a 500-million loan for the UK to complete all the Harry Potter sets and staffing, which makes me doubt everything.— Raimon replied.
-—Exactly, 520 million. Apparently, he wants to replicate that in Florida. So we buy land in Florida and expand the UK facilities indoors. We now have one of the most expensive sets in the world—entire London streets recreated, the Underground, and a smaller-scale version of the Hogwarts train, complete with a real railway line that's currently being discussed with the community.— Anne replied, doubting Billy's ideas. He wanted to create a train that would travel all around London and arrive at the studio he planned to build. Even with government and royal support, she still couldn't fully understand it.
-—Well, Lux Films needs the money it'll make from the sale, and he doesn't seem to mind selling his shares, as long as we wait until 1999.— Raimon replied in a furious whisper. He checked his watch with a sense of ambivalence, frightened about what the coming days might bring.
-—I think we're going to make a lot of money with Matrix.— Anne said, surprising Raimon.
-—What did you say?— he exclaimed.
-—I'm confident. I saw the film. It's a good one—it impressed me.— Anne replied.
-—Just hearing you say that is enough to calm me, to think that maybe it's true.— Raimon said, now at a loss for words as the implications settled in.
-—If the film makes 100 million, we pay off the debts.— Raimon added. —Otherwise, he'll have to sell shares.—
Little did Raimon know that Billy would request another 2-billion-dollar loan within ten days, plunging the accounts into the red at negative one billion, and use that to ignite a massive boom in the industry. He would buy MGM's entire library at a price no one could reasonably refuse—every copyright, every film—taking on the risk that came with it. In return, he would gain a trove of classic cinema, art films, screen legends like James Bond, The Wizard of Oz, Ben-Hur.
But it was also a way to pay fewer taxes in San José, and to secure a piece of that golden list of classics that shouted their legacy from the marquee.
...