Those present were all sharp minds; what Mike davoy could think of, everyone else naturally anticipated too. Considering the impending dia storm, the atmosphere fell silent.
After a mont, Simon spoke up again. "Everyone, no need to stress too much. What we need to do now is just find ways to solve the problem as best we can. As for the outco, leave it to God. So, Pat, you have more experience in this—why don't you start?"
As Simon spoke, the others relaxed a bit.
Pat Kingsley reorganized her thoughts. "Simon, while it's not suitable to respond directly to that New York Tis article right away, we still need to get involved imdiately to avoid a one-sided dia narrative erging."
Simon pondered briefly and nodded. "Exactly—we'll muddy the waters first."
The other three, hearing Simon's phrase "muddy the waters," showed understanding expressions, feeling the taphor couldn't be more apt.
The situation was clear.
The doubts had surfaced. If Simon responded imdiately with evidence proving he had indeed made Run Lola Run, under manipulation from interested parties, it would only invite more skepticism. But ignoring it would let the one-sided doubts spiral into chaos, making explanations impossible later.
So, the best approach was for their side to stay behind the scenes too, responding indirectly through the dia to counter the doubts—turning pure skepticism into controversy, even a major dia debate over "Did Simon Westeros really make Run Lola Run?"
Once the controversy simred for a while and the topic cooled, Simon could step forward personally with a series of solid proofs, and the storm would pass safely.
With the strategy set, the rest was much easier. They discussed for nearly an hour more, hamring out an initial response plan.
What remained was execution.
Before Run Lola Run's release, Simon might have struggled to mount a dia counterattack.
But now, with the film's box office explosion and The Butterfly Effect imminent, whether through WMA, Orion Pictures, or Twentieth Century Fox backed by the News Corp behemoth, ample PR resources were being invested in him.
Moreover, even without their help, his newly hired PR manager Pat Kingsley had no shortage of dia contacts.
This woman had been in dia PR since the sixties. After the Reagan assassination attempt, it was Pat Kingsley's help that got Jodie Foster through the dia bombardnt and gradually back on track with her acting career.
Now, with the combined forces at work—even during their discussion of the detailed plan—a few opportunistic news drafts had already been intercepted.
They stayed busy until noon, had lunch, and no one left.
North Arican evening papers typically hit stands at 2 p.m.; info from the East Coast was already coming back, and Pat Kingsley and the others were still analyzing and responding. Simon, however, took a mont to lead Amy Pascal to the railing at the backyard cliff's edge.
Leaning on the railing, facing the warm afternoon breeze, he gazed contentedly at the azure sea under the gentle spring sun. After a bit, Amy Pascal opened her slightly squinted eyes and looked at the relaxed young man beside her. "Simon, several New York papers have already reacted—things are unfolding just as we expected. Aren't you worried at all?"
The world wasn't one where the innocent cleared themselves. Just like Michael Jackson could never shake the pedophilia suspicions until his death—because he couldn't.
Simon nodded. "I am a bit worried. But we still have to keep doing what needs to be done. So, Amy, how's your consideration going?"
Amy recalled her recent interactions with Simon, turning away from the distant sea view to face the young man beside her slightly. "Honestly, Simon, I haven't fully decided. My gut says to accept, because you're the kind of guy who creates miracles. But my reason holds back—making this choice is just too crazy. I'd be giving up a position I fought seven years for, starting over."
Hearing this, Simon turned too, studying Amy intently for a mont before suddenly extending a hand. "Co."
Amy, puzzled, instinctively reached out her right hand, which was grasped by a warm, strong one.
"See, you've already decided, haven't you?" Simon smiled, giving Amy's hand a slight squeeze before releasing it under her surprised gaze. "That was a little psychology test. Since you responded by reaching out, it ans deep down you've agreed."
Amy glanced confusedly at her still slightly raised arm, then back at Simon. Her gaze brightened gradually, a smile forming. "Simon, is there really such a psychology test?"
Simon held her stare for just a second before shrugging. "Fine, I made it up."
Amy burst into laughter, finding it funnier the more she thought about it, until she was doubled over the railing, face buried in her arms, guffawing.
Over a minute passed like this before Amy lifted her head, her face still flushed from the laughter, and looked at the big boy beside her. Abruptly, she asked, "Simon, besides base salary, what kind of incentive terms are you offering?"
Without hesitation, Simon replied, "5% of net profits from all projects you handle over the next two years."
Amy's eyes flickered as she pressed, "And after two years?"
In an instant, Simon offered another plan. "Or 5% of Daenerys Films' annual net profits, continuing after two years."
Amy seed relentless. "What's the difference between the two?"
[TL/N: The first one will make you a millionaire, the second one will make you a centi-millionaire ($100M ).]
Simon shook his head. "That, I don't know—because it'll definitely involve a lot of details. In the end, maybe the first is more, maybe the second."
Actually, both knew the implications of these two plans.
These were common Hollywood compensation sches.
The first suited ordinary studio execs: handle projects, take a cut from them—even after leaving, still earn from ongoing ones. The second fit studio heads: oversee everything, draw from the whole. Of course, upon leaving, ties were severed.
Amy stopped pressing this ti, her gaze sharpening as she thought quickly. "Simon, two years is too short—I don't think we can accomplish much. So, I'll sign for four years: $250,000 base, 5% of Daenerys Films' annual net profits. Plus, after four years—whether I stay or go—I get equity rewards equivalent to the net profit shares from those four years. Also, during these four years, if sothing happens making it impossible for to continue, I can leave with one month's notice. As breach compensation, I forfeit that year's salary and bonuses, plus the final equity clause. But if you terminate during these four years, I need a one-ti $1 million cash payout, plus equity equivalent to the net profit shares earned up to termination, as per the original four-year term."
Simon listened attentively to Amy's full pitch, then extended his hand without delay. "Deal."
Amy hadn't expected such quick agreent but promptly shook on it, smiling. "Here's to a pleasant collaboration, boss."
After the handshake, Simon added, "If Fox requires a buyout, I can cover that too."
"No need," Amy shook her head. "But I'll need a month before starting. Of course, if I can get Mr. Goldberg's understanding, maybe not even that."
Simon recalled Amy's earlier exit terms and understood. "No problem."
"And," Amy continued, "Simon, upon starting, you'll need to advance a year's base salary."
Simon nodded again. "That's only natural."
Over at the villa, everyone was still handling the dia crisis. With the deal settled, Simon wanted to head back, but seeing Amy not moving, he stayed to keep her company, leaning on the railing again.
After a thought, Simon initiated a topic. "Amy, I'm curious—why did you suddenly agree?"
Amy gazed contentedly at the distant sea view once more as she replied, "Simon, over the past few days, you know what your biggest impression on was?"
"Hm?"
Amy said directly, "Workaholic—and a robotic one at that. From Wednesday last week, three full days, we were all business, haggling over every Final Destination contract detail. At Saturday's party, you tried recruiting —not with ideals, but pros and cons, still in that all-business workaholic tone. This morning, eting again, more work talk. Honestly, Simon, after Saturday night, I've been mulling your offer, getting more tempted. But I couldn't help wondering: Is working for soone like you really the right choice? Simon, I don't mind workaholics—I'm one myself—but I don't want to work for a cold machine."
"I get it—there's always a 'but' in these things," Simon nodded solemnly before adding, "So then?"
Amy laughed again, shooting Simon a sideways glance. "Then, when you pulled that bizarre psychology test like you were out of tricks to coax , I realized you're just a big kid after all—and probably a fun one at that."
"Not probably—the fact is, I am," Simon said without modesty, hesitating briefly before cautiously adding, "Amy, though you don't like work talk—don't you think leaking news of you joining Daenerys Films soon could help with this incident?"
Amy eyed Simon's feigned caution, rolled her eyes, and pushed off the railing. "Let's head over—I'll call Mr. Goldberg first. Since I've decided, I definitely can't handle the rest of Final Destination at Fox."
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