The morning sun poured through the windows of the Paramount Pictures executive suite, Duke stood by the window, coffee in hand, looking out over the studio lot.
He always did this for some time, when he was on the Lot. He looked out of the window at people working, trying to look unaprochable, to keep certain mistery about himself.
Behind him, the oak doors opened.
Barry Diller walked in first, carrying a thick folder, Michael Eisner following behind him.
"Morning, gentlemen." Duke sat down, palms flat on the table. "I hope you're feeling as optimistic as I am. Paramount's never been stronger, and I want to leverage our position in the industry."
He wasn't exaggerating about the state of Paramount in the industry.
The Godfather had been an economic and cultural earthquake, $81.5 million in domestic rentals alone for now, the fastest movie ever to cross $100 million worldwide.
At this point it had a domestic gross of $135 million.
But that wasn't the whole story, Cabaret brought in $20 million, Lady Sings the Blues $19.5 million. Play It Again, Sam pulled $5.5 million.
Shaft's Big Score! and Blacula dominated the urban markets with $5.5 million and $5 million respectively each.
Even The Last House on the Left gritty, horrible film had delivered $3.1 million.
Paramount was as of February 3rd, swimming in cash with a combined 1972 box office of $194.1 millions. Of course that was without discounting the theaters cut.
Diller opened his folder, scanning the numbers. "We're in an excellent position, Duke. Which is why what's happening across town is so shocking."
He paused, letting the silence do its work. "I looked at Columbia's ledgers, just like you asked after your meeting with the Jaffes. It's... bad, there no other descriptor."
Another pause.
"Columbia currently holds $161.6 million in debt across 11 banks. And they're projecting a $50 million operating deficit this fiscal year alone." He shook his head. "It's a sinking ship, Duke."
Eisner let out a low whistle, sinking back into his chair. The numbers were almost too big to process.
Duke chuckled and leaned back, crossing his arms. "$161 million in debt," he said, almost admiringly. "Barry, you remember what I paid for this whole studio three years ago? $150 million for everything."
"And Columbia managed to rack up more debt than the purchase price of a healthy major studio." He shook his head. "That's what mismanagement looks like. But where there's chaos, there's opportunity."
Eisner leaned forward, with genuine concern. "But Duke, if we take a controlling stake, don't we inherit that debt? We're flush now, sure, but wiping out $160 million would drain our war chest. We'd be handicapping our own slate just to keep the lights on."
Duke smiled. "Michael, you're thinking like a studio head who wants to make movies. I personally have absolutely zero intention of paying off Columbia's debt."
"Not a single dime of Godfather money is going to fix the Jaffes' mistakes. We're not buying a studio to run it. We're buying the corpse to strip it of its gold teeth."
Diller's eyes lit up. "So we're vultures."
"We're vultures," Duke agreed. "Now tell me exactly what my two million dollars gets me."
Diller flipped to the second page. "At two dollars a share, two million gets you approximately ten percent of the outstanding voting shares."
"Given the fractured board and the panic among institutional investors, that ten percent makes you the single largest individual shareholder in Columbia Pictures. You'll have functional control over the board's major decisions, assuming the Jaffes play ball as your proxies."
"Ten percent for two million." Duke practically purred the words. "The greatest bargain in Hollywood history. But we have to be careful. The Justice Department is watching."
Diller nodded. "That's why we need a buffer. We can't have Paramount executives marching over to Columbia giving orders. I propose we establish an unofficial partnership with a talent agency, Creative Management Associates. Sue Mengers over at CMA. She's brilliant, and she loves money more than she loves breathing."
Duke's smile widened. "I like the idea. Walk me through the mechanics."
Diller adjusted his cuffs. "We use Sue and CMA as our proxy pipeline. We keep the best talent here, Coppola, Lucas, Friedkin projects."
"But whenever we have peripheral projects, B-tier scripts, or talent we want to keep warm but don't want to fund ourselves, we push CMA to package those deals at Columbia. We kickstart their slate just enough to make it look like they're experiencing an organic revival."
Eisner slapped the table. "I see it! We pump just enough oxygen into Columbia's lungs to make the stock price soar. We use their distribution networks for our overflow, maybe siphon off some of their international assets or real estate in the restructuring."
Duke pointed at him, "Exactly. Then we sell our ten percent stake bought for two million for twenty, maybe thirty million to a company like Coca-Cola or Pepsi in a few years. We extract the assets, flip the shares, and walk away richer, leaving someone else holding the bag on that original debt."
"It's a good move," Diller said, closing the folder with a snap. "And it keeps us insulated from the Justice Department."
Duke stood, walking to the window. "We must play the long game. The political climate under Nixon is too restrictive for a true megastudio merger. We have to wait for the regulatory environment relaxes enough for us to consolidate openly. Michael, start looking at our script vault for things we can use to talk to Sue Mengers."
____
Later that evening, Duke sat in his wood-paneled study in Owlwood Estate.
Across from him sat Marcus, his financial manager.
Marcus adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and opened a thick leather ledger. "Good evening, Duke. I have compiled the current valuations of your personal, non-studio holdings."
He paused, "Let us begin with your legacy equities. Your initial investment in Coca-Cola, purchased in 1967 for ten thousand dollars is performing exceptionally well. The stock has experienced an split. Your original shares have doubled to one hundred and fifty shares, currently valued at approximately twenty-two thousand dollars."
Duke nodded, savoring his scotch.
"And the athletic venture in Oregon?" Duke asked, a knowing look in his eye. Two years ago, he'd secured a 25 percent ownership stake in a fledgling shoe company called Blue Ribbon, that was planning to change it's name to Nike.
Marcus flipped a page, his neutral face cracking into a faint smile. "Nike is expanding rapidly. Cash flow is tight since they're reinvesting every penny into inventory and marketing but the value of your twenty-five percent stake is growing exponentially as they capture market share from Adidas and Puma. Highly illiquid at the moment, but the long-term outlook is very positive."
Duke grinned. He knew exactly what Nike would become. That stake alone would eventually be worth tens of billions.
"Now, to the technology sector." Marcus continued. "This is where your foresight gave you an advantage, Duke. You currently hold 42,550 shares of Intel Corporation, acquired during their IPO for one million dollars."
"You also hold 64,516 shares of Advanced Micro Devices, AMD also acquired for one million dollars. The semiconductor market is volatile, but Intel itself was a great choice."
Duke leaned forward, "We hold those tech stocks forever. Not a single share can be sold, doesn't matter if a war breaks out, or the market crashes. What's the aggregate look like?"
Marcus calculated meticulously, the public equities, the private 25 percent of Nike, the complete ownership of Paramount, Atari, DC Comics, and Vanguard Petroleum in Texas. "My conservative estimate places your current personal net worth somewhere between two hundred and two hundred fifty million dollars."
The number hung in the air. $250 million in 1973 was a huge sum. Duke took another slow sip of his scotch, the warmth spreading through his chest.
"Two hundred and fifty million," he murmured, a smile spreading across his face. He looked directly at Marcus, his eyes shining. "Tell me. How long until I'm a billionaire?"
Marcus let out a short laugh, then saw the look in Duke's eyes, and his laugh died. He cleared his throat. "You're serious. Very well."
He sat up straighter. "Let us put this in perspective. The richest men in America right now J. Paul Getty, and Howard Hughes have fortunes built over lifetimes. They're estimated between one and two billion dollars. That's across their lifetime."
"And how do I compare?" Duke pressed.
Marcus closed the ledger, folding his hands on top of it. "You are, without question, already one of the richest men in the United States. By virtue of owning Paramount and Atari alone, your influence outpaces your liquid capital."
"You are not yet a member of the 'three-comma club.' But you have one profound advantage over Hughes and Getty. You are young. You've accumulated a quarter of a billion dollars in a few years. If Paramount continues its trajectory, reaching a billion dollars is not a fantasy."
Duke felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him. He was on track at least.
"We need to talk about philanthropy, Marcus. Not just for the tax shelters, though I appreciate those. I want major, high-profile donations going to veteran charities. The boys coming home from Vietnam are being treated disgracefully. And Second we do... Tech education."
Marcus nodded, pulling a gold fountain pen from his pocket. "Education is an excellent focus. It provides societal goodwill and allows you to shape the future workforce."
"Speaking of which, I've been analyzing Atari's growth projections. The engineering required for your future systems will be highly specialized. There's a severe shortage of engineers on Videogames, after all, Atari invented the Genre."
"I will suggest you look to history. When Walt Disney realized he lacked specialized animators, he funded the California Institute of the Arts, CalArts to train his own talent pool."
Duke's eyes went wide. "A university. A dedicated institute of technology and digital arts."
He sat forward. "Marcus, that's smart. Of course, not now, i'm too young to fund an university."
Marcus smiled. "It is a suggestion for the future. A project of that magnitude requires years of planning and immense capital."
"You can start drafting feasibility studies tomorrow." Duke's energy surged. "Also, I want you to create a completely private investment arm, a family office, handled exclusively by you."
Marcus looked surprised. "A private investment arm? Duke, you already have your hands full with a major studio, a video game company, an oil firm, and a comic book publisher. What will be the specific focus?"
Duke leaned back, "You're going to be running it Marcus, you just have to buy what i tell you. You send me report of potential company and i'll decide."
___
A few days later, the scene shifted from Los Angeles to Washington D.C.
Duke sat in a private dining room tucked behind a high-end hotel near the Capitol.
Duke was flanked by Barry Diller and Robert Evans.
Across the table sat the heavyweights of the Nixon administration.
John N. Mitchell, the Attorney General, Henry Kissinger, the global diplomacy guy, and Pat Buchanan, the speechwriter and political operative.
Mitchell, nursing a heavy glass of bourbon, leaned across the table, his eyes locking onto Duke. "Duke, we appreciate what Paramount's doing for the culture. We do. But the President needs you in the trenches."
"We've discussed your entry into the news industry, and the administration is feeling impatient. The liberal media is crucifying us daily. We need a friendly, powerful voice in print, and we need it yesterday."
Duke maintained a calm, respectful demeanor. "John, I understand the urgency. But acquiring major legacy news institutions is a delicate, heavily scrutinized process. You can't just buy a newspaper and flip the editorial board overnight without triggering a massive public revolt. I need a little more time."
Mitchell scowled, tapping his ring against his glass. "Time is a luxury we don't have, Duke. I'm telling you this in confidence: Congress is going to form a special investigative committee to look into the Watergate incident. It's already decided and we need a counter-narrative."
Barry Diller smoothly interjected. "Paramount is not standing still. We're currently in the final stages of acquiring The Washington Star, a respected, established paper. Once the acquisition is finalized, we'll have a powerful platform right here in the nation's capital."
Pat Buchanan, who'd been quietly smoking, leaned forward, "Buying a paper is good, but it's slow. We need immediate, decentralized distribution. I propose using Paramount's resources to create the American News Exchange, ANE."
Duke raised an eyebrow. "Explain the mechanics, Pat."
Buchanan smiled. "We create a wire service, fully funded but offering free, polished content to any local newspaper in the country with circulation under fifty thousand."
"These small-town papers are starving for content, they can't afford their own investigative desks. ANE provides them with written columns, op-eds, and 'news analysis' pieces entirely free of charge. And the headlines will be calibrated to support our narrative."
He counted off on his fingers: "Did the Pentagon Papers Leak Break Laws First? or How the DNC Ran a Massive Slush Fund. We flood the country with our framing before the Congressional committee holds its first hearing."
Barry Diller raised his hand, shaking his head with absolute finality. "Absolutely not. We're not putting the Paramount Pictures brand anywhere near a partisan political wire service."
"Our primary business is selling movie tickets to every demographic in America, Republicans and Democrats alike. If the Paramount name is attached to a Nixon-defense operation, it'll decimate our box office in urban centers."
Duke nodded, backing his executive. "Barry's right, Pat. We want the reach, but we can't endure brand damage. If we build ANE, it'll have to be housed in a deeply buried, insulated shell compan-"
Robert Evans interrupted. "Come on, Barry, we have to stand for this! The GOP has been incredibly good to our business interests. We need to defend the administration!"
Duke slowly turned his head and shot Evans a side-eye that silenced him instantly. Duke tolerated Evans' creative eccentricities, but he would not tolerate damaging Paramount brand in a room full of career politicians.
Evans lowered his head, and suddenly became focused on his steak.
The conversation shifted to specific counter-measures. Mitchell poured himself another drink, "We have multiple fires to fight, Duke. And one of them is coming from Hollywood. My intelligence people are hearing credible rumors out of Los Angeles. That say Robert Redford is heavily pushing Universal to greenlight a big-budget feature film about Watergate."
Duke remained neutral, though his memories, immediately recognized the project. 'All the President's Men'.
"I've not heard these rumors that you speak of, John," Duke said calmly. "But let me be clear about the realities of Hollywood. Even if the rumors are true, I will not attack Lew Wasserman to stop this movie."
Kissinger frowned. "You're afraid of Wasserman?"
Duke laughed sarcastically. "Lew Wasserman is the most powerful individual in the entertainment industry. He's also a deeply entrenched, beloved mega-donor to the Democratic National Committee. I won't attack people that will just beat me."
Mitchell looked furious, but Kissinger placed a hand on his arm. "Calm down, John. We must rely on the shell companies and the ANE strategy to control the narrative."
Duke raised his glass, signaling the end of the debate. "We'll build the American News Exchange, John. We'll flood the news with friendly content."
The men raised their glasses in a toast.
___
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