"Oh—Mr. Perlmutter, hello. It truly is an honor to meet you today—"
"Hahahaha—Phil Spencer, right? You're really too polite. Honestly, I was very surprised when I received your card, because I never expected someone from Microsoft to ask to meet an old man like me."
"Oh—Mr. Perlmutter, you're far too modest, and you flatter me. I'm just an ordinary employee at Microsoft, while you were already famous worldwide twenty years ago—your achievements in finance leave me in awe—"
"No, no, no—that was just some minor experience. All right, let's not keep complimenting each other. Shall we sit down and talk? And please, don't call me Mr. Perlmutter anymore. Just call me Isaac."
"Okay, Isaac, let's go upstairs—and you don't need to use my full name either. That feels too formal. Just call me Phil. That's what all my friends call me—"
"Very well, Phil—"
New York was drizzly on November 11, 2006.
But Delmonico's at 56 Beaver Street in Manhattan's Financial District was warm and inviting.
Founded in 1837, it was America's first fine-dining restaurant and pioneered many culinary firsts—it was the first restaurant in America to offer private dining rooms and à la carte ordering from a menu. Classic Western dishes such as Eggs Benedict, Lobster Newberg, and Baked Alaska were all invented there.
Having survived in the bustling metropolis of New York for over a century, dining at Delmonico's was a symbol of status. And at this moment, Phil Spencer had booked out the entire place.
They took their seats at the central table in the main dining room and let the waiters begin the meal service. Since their discussion was confidential, they chatted casually while waiting for the food.
Isaac Perlmutter mentioned that he actually had a history with Microsoft going back more than ten years—the descendants of Coleco's founder, whom he knew, had all been developers there. After seeing the potential in video games, they left Microsoft to rejoin the family business.
Then they ran Coleco into the ground.
Phil Spencer laughed and said he had joined Microsoft back in 1988, by which point Coleco was already gone. He felt genuine regret at never having met those young heirs.
To outsiders, the two men looked like they were straining to make conversation. But in their own view—
As the waiters withdrew, Phil Spencer steered the conversation to the purpose of his visit.
"Isaac."
"Hmm?"
"The main reason I asked to meet you today is to discuss a partnership on behalf of Microsoft Game Studios."
"What kind of partnership?"
"We'd like to obtain the game development rights for Marvel's major characters—most importantly, the rights related to the Iron Man movie. What do you think?"
Phil Spencer looked at Isaac Perlmutter with a smile.
The upward curl of his lips made Isaac Perlmutter rub his nose, a sharp glint crossing his eyes.
"I think this is a good thing."
"The world's largest technology company is interested in our IP? That truly is an honor—"
"But I have to say I cannot decide on this partnership alone, especially the Iron Man game rights, because those rights are currently in Isabella's hands. So—"
Isaac Perlmutter spread his hands.
"You should speak with Isabella."
"Oh—Isaac—that's not exactly what I was hoping to hear."
Before Isaac Perlmutter finished speaking, Phil Spencer smiled and cut in: "You move in the same capital circles, so I'm sure you know that Microsoft recently had an unpleasant run-in with Isabella."
"Not long ago, Microsoft, Google, and Amazon all bid for YouTube. We felt our offer was sincere, but Google's price suited Isabella better. Since we didn't part on friendly terms over YouTube, there's no easy way to approach her directly now—she'd assume we lack sincerity regardless of what we say. That's why we came to you: to obtain the Iron Man game rights through an indirect route."
"We also know you have the ability to make this happen."
"Because the Iron Man rights in Isabella's hands are not full rights."
"Isn't that so?"
"What New Line bought from you was half the rights. So whatever IP merchandise Isabella produces, Marvel retains supervisory authority. And Marvel—isn't it under your leadership?"
Phil Spencer even winked at Isaac Perlmutter.
Those words, which said everything without saying it, made Isaac Perlmutter press his lips together in a slight smile.
He picked up his wine glass and took a sip.
Then he shook his head and said, "Since Microsoft has already looked into my situation so thoroughly, you should know that Marvel is my retirement plan. Would a man deliberately foul his own retirement plan?"
"You mean there's no possibility of negotiating?" Phil Spencer put on a regretful expression.
"No—"
Isaac Perlmutter swirled the red wine in his glass and said, "What I mean is, you'll need to put more money on the table."
"Hahahahaha!"
Phil Spencer burst out laughing.
"Okay! Okay! Isaac! I understand."
He picked up his wine glass and pushed it decisively toward Isaac Perlmutter. "What you want, we will give. So—shall we start with Microsoft's offer?"
"If that's the case, I have no objection."
Isaac Perlmutter extended his glass in turn.
They clinked softly—a crisp, clean ring—and the vast restaurant filled with laughter.
Because as a man who valued money above all else, how could Isaac Perlmutter refuse a partnership that had walked straight to his door? As long as the price was right, he would sell his soul to the devil himself.
The partnership Phil Spencer proposed was as follows:
Microsoft Game Studios wanted to acquire game production rights for Marvel's major IPs through a "guaranteed base price + profit sharing" model. Because each IP differed in fame and value, offers for the main characters and major series varied accordingly.
Since Microsoft's primary target was the Iron Man movie rights, the first contract placed before Isaac Perlmutter was naturally the most representative one.
The details were as follows:
Microsoft considered the Iron Man game rights highly valuable and was willing to pay $10 million in cash plus a 2% sales revenue share. To demonstrate sincerity, Microsoft was also prepared to sign a tiered guaranteed-sales agreement with Marvel.
If the global box office of the Iron Man movie exceeded $300 million, Microsoft would guarantee global sales of the related game at no fewer than 2 million copies. At the current industry standard of $35 per copy, that guarantee would yield Marvel $1.4 million in dividends.
2,000,000 × $35 = $70,000,000. 2% of $70,000,000 = $1,400,000.
If Iron Man's global box office broke $500 million, the guaranteed sales quantity would rise to 5 million copies — 2% equaling $3.5 million.
If box office broke $800 million, guaranteed sales would reach 8 million copies — 2% equaling $5.6 million.
If box office broke $1 billion, guaranteed sales would reach the maximum tier of 15 million copies — 2% equaling $10.5 million.
When that figure appeared, Isaac Perlmutter's face broke into a wide grin.
Microsoft's offer was genuinely tempting.
And this contract was only the floor-price version—the one only he could see. How much would remain once it went to the table? That would be decided entirely by him.
The logic was simple. When Isaac Perlmutter switched into his money-hungry mode and demanded that Microsoft share profits with him personally, he only needed to move a finger to redirect Marvel's cut into his own pocket. He could open a game company, have it participate in producing the Iron Man game, and the contract Marvel received would naturally shrink by half: the upfront rights fee from $10 million to $5 million, and the revenue share from 2% to 1%. The difference? Straight into his pocket through his own company.
Never mind whether that kind of dual contract is legal.
When you can hold the truth in your hands and debate legal principles with Microsoft and Isaac Perlmutter, then the transaction is illegal. But when Microsoft and Isaac Perlmutter are the ones holding the truth, it is legal.
After all, when Isaac Perlmutter outmaneuvered Ronald Perelman, the illegal charges on that man could have filled trucks. The public funds he had siphoned from Marvel alone came close to $600 million. And the outcome? He tossed $80 million to the disgruntled shareholders and walked away clean.
Precisely because Isaac Perlmutter stood to pocket tens of millions from the Iron Man deal alone—simply by halving Microsoft's offer—when he raised his head, his eyes were already lit with excitement.
This was legitimate business, after all. Not robbery. Not robbery. Not robbery. Important things bear repeating.
Yet just when Phil Spencer, having watched all of this, felt confident the partnership was settled—
Isaac Perlmutter suddenly put on a regretful expression, shook his head, and said, "Although this offer is very appealing, I have to say again: I have no way to force Isabella to sign this contract. Whether we ultimately reach an agreement—no one can guarantee that."
Phil Spencer's smile froze.
He understood exactly what Isaac Perlmutter meant. The man wanted Microsoft to sweeten the deal.
But that was impossible—not because Microsoft couldn't afford it, but because Phil Spencer didn't have the authority to raise the offer. Before this meeting, Steve Ballmer had told him plainly that the price was already more than enough for Isaac Perlmutter.
Phil Spencer's gaze shifted, and his smile returned. "Isaac, Microsoft believes you have the ability to bring Isabella around—didn't you previously reclaim the Spider-Man rights through a 'zero-dollar purchase'? Getting her to sign a partnership agreement shouldn't be beyond you."
The moment the phrase "zero-dollar purchase" landed, Isaac Perlmutter's Buddha-like smile vanished. His face darkened. His eyes fixed on Phil Spencer with a ferocity that could bore through glass.
Phil Spencer sat calmly, entirely at ease.
He knew Isaac Perlmutter wouldn't dare touch him.
Because all he had done was state a fact.
Yes.
The reason Sony was able to obtain the Spider-Man IP was not because nobody wanted Spider-Man — it was because after Isaac Perlmutter took control of Marvel, he used aggressive methods to wrest the rights back from their previous owner.
The full story was complicated, but in short: after acquiring Marvel, Isaac Perlmutter discovered the company's situation was worse than he had imagined. Marvel's rights had been scattered across outside parties, leaving the company unable to act on its own IP.
He decided to take them back.
Marvel's most valuable asset was Spider-Man, so Perlmutter hired a copyright lawyer, Carole Handler, and tasked her with finding a legal basis to reclaim the rights. After reviewing Marvel's prior sales agreements, Handler discovered that the current rights holder's ownership had already expired.
Marvel promptly announced that Spider-Man had returned to the company, then sold the rights to Sony.
And that was that.
Of course, if someone were to dig deeper and ask how the rights holder failed to notice that his own rights had expired — that is a question best answered by those holding the truth rather than the law.
In the 1998 Spider-Man rights lawsuit, Handler's argument was straightforward: the rights holder had failed to register the patent in a timely manner with the United States Patent Office. The rights holder countered that timely registration had no bearing on the validity of the contract itself. Handler's response was that under American patent and copyright law, failure to register a newly obtained patent constitutes voluntary forfeiture of that patent.
The people at MGM were dumbfounded.
That's right — the rights holder at the time was MGM.
MGM argued that Marvel was talking nonsense, but the company's CEO was directly threatened by Perlmutter. The choice was simple: admit in court that MGM's Spider-Man rights had expired, or face consequences far worse than a courtroom loss.
MGM could not match Perlmutter. They admitted defeat.
Game over.
Because Isaac Perlmutter had never conducted a day of conventional business in his life, Microsoft was confident he had the ability to maneuver Isabella into signing their partnership agreement.
After staring at Phil Spencer for a long moment, Perlmutter suddenly laughed.
"You Microsoft people have no sincerity at all."
He began swirling his wine glass again and said, "On the surface, Microsoft wants a partnership with Marvel. But your real intention is to set Isabella Haywood and me against each other — isn't that right?"
"Microsoft has conflicts with Google. Microsoft has conflicts with Apple."
"And Isabella has embraced both."
Those simple words slowly drew a smile across Phil Spencer's face.
Since Isaac Perlmutter had stopped pretending, so would he.
Turning the wine glass in his hand, he said, "Isaac, do you like Isabella Haywood?"
"I don't."
"Then why not cooperate?"
"Because your offer isn't enough."
Perlmutter set his wine glass down on the table with a firm thud.
"If this were a straightforward partnership with Isabella," he said, "your price would be fine."
"But if you want me to join forces with you against her — you'll need to add money."
Phil Spencer paused.
He had to admit that Perlmutter had a point. Several tens of millions was not enough to bring a man like this into a fight.
But Microsoft would not raise the price.
Phil Spencer took a slow breath, steadied himself, and said, "Isaac, I'm not certain you have a way to handle Isabella — so if you genuinely think the partnership can't be done, then I'll give you our approach free of charge. Whether you use it is entirely up to you."
"The idea is simple. First, go to Isabella and open negotiations on behalf of Marvel — tell her that Microsoft has approached Marvel about buying game development rights for the movie."
"Quote the price however you like. She won't agree on the first round."
"Then raise your terms and negotiate again. Do this three times in total. By the third round, the price must be reasonable — but the negotiation must break down."
"Once a deal has been discussed three times and falls apart at a fair price, you occupy the moral high ground. From there, you can go on the offensive. Say she's obstructing Marvel's development by rejecting legitimate outside partnerships. Point out that while she's producing Marvel films, she's simultaneously involved in DC productions — and suggest, publicly if necessary, that her loyalties are divided."
"You could also imply that she has shared Marvel's proprietary information with competitors."
"Threaten to make all of it public."
"I trust you know how to work these levers better than I do."
"Once the situation reaches that point, you'll face two main scenarios."
"One: Isabella refuses to back down and chooses a direct confrontation."
"Two: she accepts the pressure and seeks a settlement."
"There may be other outcomes — but regardless of which way it goes, you will be in the strongest position. If she settles, you can turn her into a reliable revenue source. If she doesn't — you already hold the moral and legal high ground. And if she retaliates with force, you can always call on Lehman."
Isaac Perlmutter's expression shifted. He narrowed his eyes and studied Phil Spencer in silence. After a long moment, he nodded. "It's a decent plan."
"So — do we have a deal?" Phil Spencer raised an eyebrow.
Perlmutter shook his head and raised one finger.
"My answer is the same. The money isn't enough."
"A straightforward partnership? Fine — I like what's on the table."
"But if you want me out front, dealing with Isabella directly, you'll need to pay for that."
"Otherwise, regardless of how I feel about her, I won't make a move."
"As for the price — since you won't name one, I will."
"One flat fee: one billion."
"Transfer one billion to me, and I will arrange a meeting with Isabella for you."
"It must come from Bill Gates's personal account to mine."
"I think you understand what I mean."
Isaac Perlmutter smiled — slow and deliberate — at Phil Spencer.
Phil Spencer's brow furrowed. The man across from him was going to be very difficult to deal with.