On March 10th, a Friday, the NASDAQ hit its all-time high—5,048.62. That's more than double what it was in 1999. Crazy, right?
But after the weekend, Monday the 13th rolled around, and a massive wave of initial sell orders triggered a full-on panic. Investors, funds, and securities firms started dumping everything. Big names like Cisco, Microsoft, and Dell offloaded stocks worth over $5 billion combined. In just six days, the NASDAQ tanked nearly 900 points.
Wall Street analysts, though? They're calling it a "market correction." No biggie, apparently. The feds are already digging into Microsoft for antitrust stuff, with a hearing set for two weeks from now. Word on the street is Microsoft's monopoly status is basically a done deal. As the poster child for tech stocks—and the world's highest-valued company—any hit to their stock is gonna ripple through the whole market. So, a little turbulence in the NASDAQ? Totally normal, they say.
I'm sitting in my office, skimming this report filled with hot takes from financial and stock experts. Honestly, it's kinda laughable.
Then Isla Fisher knocks and steps in, looking all serious. "Dunn, Bill wants you to swing by."
I blink, a little thrown off. I'm the boss here—shouldn't Bill be coming to me if something's up? But I don't waste time wondering. I head to the president's office, and the second I walk in, it's like a smoke bomb went off. Bill McNick's there, along with Andrew O'Hare, Nina Jacobson, Kevin Feige, Grant Hill—the whole crew.
"What's going on?" I ask, eyebrow raised. Something's off.
Nina's voice is low and heavy. "Dunn, *Spider-Man*'s being targeted."
"I know," I say with a shrug. "Disney and Fox's TV stations already banned coverage of it." I try to play it cool, but everyone's looking grim. "What, did they pull something bigger?"
"You bet they did!" Nina confirms.
I smirk. "What, they're not gonna slap an R rating on it, are they?"
Bill shakes his head. "No chance of that. PG might be a stretch, but PG-13's locked in. Universal's a core member of the MPAA committee, after all."
I narrow my eyes, scanning the room. Kevin Feige, the youngest and lowest-ranking guy here, hands me a file. "Dunn, Disney and Fox just shifted the schedules for their big summer tentpoles."
And there it is—lightbulb moment!
I skim the file quick. *Spider-Man*'s locked in for June 22nd—a Thursday, perfect for premieres and early screenings. Disney's A-list blockbuster was originally set for June 9th, but right after we announced our date, they bumped it to a June 20th premiere, hitting theaters nationwide on the 21st. And Fox? Their sci-fi action flick was slated for July 14th, but now it's premiering nationwide on June 24th, a Saturday.
You'd have to be blind not to see it—Disney and Fox are ganging up to squash Dunn Films!
Fox doing this? I get it. I ditched our partnership, and it left Tom Rothman in a bad spot. But Disney? This is next-level petty. All I did was clap back at Bruce Willis—do they really need to keep threatening, smearing, and stomping on us like this? Let's not forget *they* started it! If Disney hadn't pushed Bruce Willis to trash-talk *Spider-Man* to kneecap us, would I have even bothered retaliating? And even then, I didn't go after Disney—just gave Bruce a little taste of his own medicine.
But Disney? They flex their muscle like some untouchable titan, hitting us with wave after wave. Enough's enough!
I'm not even that mad at Fox or Tom Rothman. I saw this coming the second I picked Bill over them and cut ties. But Disney? It's been six months since the Bruce Willis thing, and they're still hounding us. It's straight-up bullying!
Grant Hill, my buddy from the *Spider-Man* shoot, knows how ruthless I can be—he saw me squeeze Jon Landau out of Hollywood firsthand. He catches my dark look and chimes in, "Dunn, it's not that bad. We can just tell Universal to shift the date and dodge them."
Nina's the first to shoot that down. "No way! *Spider-Man* isn't like Disney or Fox's stuff—it's Dunn Films and Marvel pouring everything we've got into this. We owe the fans max confidence and hype. Changing the date? That's admitting defeat."
Andrew O'Hare nods. "Exactly. Dunn Films is all about grit, hustle, and never backing down. Folding before the fight even starts? That's not us!"
I shoot Andrew an appreciative glance. He's an OG here—gets my vibe completely.
Bill locks eyes with me, his tone heavy. "I don't know your personal deal, but I know the company's. We've got $50 million in the bank right now. Restructuring taxes and the org chart's gonna cost us more. Point is, our debt's a mess—*Spider-Man*'s box office can't take a hit!"
Grant backs him up. "I'm with Bill. Why risk it all on pride? If *Spider-Man* kills it at the box office, Disney and Fox's little games won't mean squat."
I turn to Kevin Feige, Marvel's assistant prez and *Spider-Man*'s assistant producer—my pick for the next Marvel head. "What about you, Kevin? What's your take?"
Kevin pauses, choosing his words like he's giving a TED Talk. "You're all making solid points."
I nearly explode. *Seriously?!*
He catches the weird looks, coughs, and scrambles to add, "*Spider-Man*'s Marvel's first movie—$150 million invested, directed by Dunn himself. We can't back off. It'd make fans doubt us and dent Dunn's red-hot rep."
Everyone nods. Fair point. Whether it's Dunn Films or Marvel, I'm the heart of it all right now—the fans' trust hinges on me. We can't let my image take a hit.
"I get it," Kevin continues, clearly not wanting to ruffle any bigwigs' feathers with his junior status. "This movie's carrying huge debt, so the box office has to pop off—Bill and Grant are right about that."
I frown, not loving his fence-sitting, and pin him with a stare. "So, what's your plan?"
Kevin meets my gaze, steady as a rock. "Play it cool."
"Play it cool?"
"Yup! We can't lose the fans' faith or the box office haul. Best move? Chill out and see how it plays."
I crack up. "Kevin, sounds like you're pretty damn sure of *Spider-Man*."
His face is all determination. "I'm positive *Atlantis* and *The Fast and the Furious* won't touch its numbers."
Bill, never big on superhero flicks, frowns. "That's a hell of a gamble!"
Nina jumps in. "I think Kevin's onto something. *Atlantis* cost $75 million, *Fast and Furious* $90 million. Us? $150 million! Cost alone says we've got no competition."
Andrew catches my glance and weighs in. "Dunn Films dropped *The Sixth Sense* before—got sniped by *The Matrix* and *Star Wars*, plus all that shade. And what happened? We crushed it every time. I'm betting on *Spider-Man*!"
Bill and Grant exchange a look, both kinda stunned. Where'd I find these wild execs? They're a bunch of lunatics!
Box office is a crapshoot—no one can predict it. Even the Big Six studios bend over backwards to dodge risks. But me and my crew? We don't even blink at "risk"—just charge headfirst like maniacs.
Sure, *Spider-Man*'s a monster of a movie. Even sandwiched between *Atlantis* and *The Fast and the Furious*, it's got a solid shot at winning. But there's still a chance it flops. Shouldn't a leader stack the deck to minimize that?
Company profits come first, right?
I get where Bill's coming from—he's used to boardroom oversight, playing it safe to avoid losses. But Dunn Films isn't that. I've got unshakable faith in myself. My money? I'm not letting a dime slip away!
"My movies don't flop!" I stand up from the couch, throwing my hand out to shut down the debate.
"I see Disney and Fox's game. They think we're crippled by debt, too scared to roll the dice, so they're teaching us a lesson. Well, they've miscalculated!"
"Damn right!" I keep going. "No Disney, no Fox—*Spider-Man*'s still a smash. With them in the mix? Still a smash! They wanna crush us? Fine, let's play for real! I'd love to see *Atlantis* and *Fast and Furious*—those two duds—do a damn thing to my movie!"
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