July 14th.
Los Angeles, the gleaming headquarters of the Golden Dawn Entertainment Group.
The main conference room was filled, the air humming with the quiet, expensive confidence of people who knew they were winning. High-level executives from Wald Pictures, the UPN Television Network, Water World Animation, the SpongeBob's Secret Chest chain, and the new Golden Dawn Music label were all gathered.
The only thing missing was the man who owned it all.
The chair at the head of the table was empty.
Victor, the group president and Zane's right hand, stood in that empty space, clearing his throat.
"Alright, let's get started," Victor said, his voice projecting a calm he didn't entirely feel. "As you know, the boss has... other work to be busy with. So this mid-year summary meeting will be run by me."
"Yes, sir," came the chorus of nods.
But in that "yes," there was a current of confusion. Donna, the head of UPN, exchanged a quick, puzzled glance with Steven Solenberg from the animation studio. Where was Zane? What "other work" was more important than his entire, exploding empire?
Only Victor knew. And as he looked at the faces of his colleagues, he had to suppress a smile. Oh, if you only knew what he was 'busy' with.
"Kevin," Victor said, turning to the new head of the movie studio. "You first. Report on Wald Pictures."
Kevin Fitch nodded, his face a mask of calm professionalism. He'd only been promoted to Vice President of Wald Pictures at the end of June, after the staggering success of their last film, and this was his first time at the head of the table. He was relishing it.
"Thank you, Victor." He didn't even look at his notes. He knew these numbers by heart; he slept with them.
"As of yesterday, 'The Human Elimination Project' has been in theaters for one month. Cumulative North American box office is 123 million dollars. Overseas, after ten days, it's sitting at 45.7 million."
A low whistle came from the end of the table.
"At the same time," Kevin continued, his voice steady, "we purchased four small films from the festival circuit. Three have been released. Their combined domestic box office has exceeded 11.5 million. Furthermore, our back-catalog titles—'Lola Run,' 'Deadly Turn,' 'Juno,' 'Fruit Hard Candy'—have generated another 8.5 million in profit this half from home video and TV broadcast fees."
He paused, letting the numbers hang in the air before delivering the final, crushing blow.
"Combining all data, in the first half of this year, Wald Pictures has generated a total profit of 79 million dollars."
$79 million.
The number landed like a physical weight. Donna's eyes widened. James, the head of the retail stores, felt his stomach clench. That was more money than he could even comprehend.
Kevin allowed himself the smallest, tightest of smiles. "We are confident," he said, the very picture of calm, "that our revenue in the second half of the year will exceed that of the first."
Donna, the president of UPN, let out a light, tinkling laugh that was pure steel. "Well, Kevin, that's just... adorable," she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Our little UPN Television Network can't really compare to your movie magic."
Kevin felt a flush creep up his neck.
"Our 'America's Got Talent' program, for example," Donna continued, "has only generated a little over 100 million in advertising fees. And it only added... what was it? Oh, yes. 40 million new subscribers."
Now it was Kevin's turn to feel his jaw tighten. He'd been showing off? She had just one-upped him with a number that would likely translate to hundreds of millions in recurring revenue.
As Kevin and Donna traded their playful, shark-like smiles, James just wanted to disappear. He was the head of the SpongeBob's Secret Chest chain. He was the first employee. And his division was, by a huge margin, the least profitable.
He felt like a fraud, sitting at this table with these titans. He knew he wasn't good enough for this. He'd even told Zane as much, begged him to find a replacement. Zane had agreed, but said he was too busy, and no one else was ready.
James just... felt small. He was completely, hopelessly outmatched.
The only person in the room who seemed to be enjoying himself more than Victor was the head of the newly formed Golden Dawn Music. He hadn't even released a record yet, but thanks to 'America's Got Talent,' his new artists—Eminem and Beyoncé—were already household names. He was sitting on a goldmine, and he knew it.
Soon, the meeting ended. The formal tension broke, and people stood, stretching and grabbing coffee, the room buzzing with speculation.
"So, where do we really think he is?" old James asked, trying to sound like one of the group. "Lima's closed training in Europe is ending, right? I bet he's there."
Donna shook her head, grabbing her purse. "I don't think so. My money's on the UK. He's checking on the crossover production for 'Talent Show' with ITV."
Steven Solenberg laughed. "You're all wrong. He's in a cabin somewhere, pounding out a new screenplay. You know how he is. Our boss is a creative."
There was a lot of discussion, but Victor just laughed and said nothing, sipping his coffee.
You're all so cute, he thought, an almost giddy smile hidden behind his cup. He's busy, all right. He's busy making more money than all of us combined. He's busy making big, big money.
...
Gale Capital.
Victor wasn't wrong. Zane was, in fact, busy.
After his initial five-day raid on the Thai market, which had netted him over $24 million, the past few days had been a blur of smaller, careful skirmishes, adding another $13 million to the war chest.
He was standing in the center of the trading floor, a war room that hadn't slept in a week.
"Boss," Henry Jugenberg said, his voice gravelly from lack of sleep. "The Thai market is overheated. The big predators are just tearing at scraps now. We have to turn our attention. Indonesia, the Philippines, Singapore... they're next. According to our intel, the international speculators are already moving in force. If we're late, we won't even get to drink the soup."
Zane nodded, his eyes fixed on the glowing tickers.
He'd known this, of course. He'd been intentionally waiting. He'd let the other, greedier, crazier speculators rush in. He'd let them create chaos, let them get "washed out."
And they had. The news was already spreading: Lyon Capital of France, a veteran European firm, had gone in too hard, too fast. In just three days, they had been vaporized, losing a staggering $600 million in the Singapore and Indonesian markets.
Zane had let the titans bloody each other. He had waited for the perfect, quiet moment to strike.
"The time has come," Zane said, his voice quiet but echoing with finality. "Henry, get in. Right away."
"Yes, boss!"
...
Zane, with the unholy advantage of foresight, made a fortune.
In just two days, the foreign exchange markets of Southeast Asia, already wounded and bleeding, were shattered by the second, overwhelming wave of speculators.
July 17th.
The tickers turned blood red. The bottom didn't just fall out; it ceased to exist.
Thai Baht: -4.6%Malaysian Ringgit: -5.2%Philippine Peso: -4.27%Indian Rupee: -2.73%Singapore Dollar: -6.71%
Simultaneously, the Korean won, the Hong Kong dollar, the Japanese yen... all of them began to buckle under the strain.
The Southeast Asian market had completely, utterly fallen.
It fell with a speed that defied logic, despite the desperate, futile efforts of their governments.
What had started as a targeted, surgical operation by a few financial institutions had just, in the span of a single week, become a full-blown, world-changing catastrophe.
The 1997 Asian financial crisis, the next great economic crisis since the 1930s, had officially, and apocalyptically, begun.
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