The February snow fell gently against the tall windows of Duke's Manhattan study in his aparment.
Duke leaned back in his leather chair, surveying the documents scattered across his mahogany desk. Financial reports, legal briefs, distribution charts.
On his private study, Duke had chosen this space deliberately for this meeting, a warm wood paneling, built-in bookshelves lined with first editions and books, and comfortable leather armchairs that encouraged conversation rather than confrontation.
The atmosphere needed to be perfect for what he was about to attempt.
Across from him sat two men who looked like they had stepped out of a different era.
Jerry Siegel, now in his late fifties, and his partner, Joe Shuster, wore thick glasses and had the gentle demeanor of someone who had spent a lifetime bringing fantasies to life with nothing but pencil and paper.
These were the men who had created Superman, the most recognizable fictional character in the world and they had been robbed of their legacy.
"Gentlemen," Duke began, his voice carrying a reverence that neither man had heard in decades, "I want to start by saying something that should have been said to you long ago, 'thank you'."
Siegel shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Mr. Hauser, we appreciate you meeting with us, but if this is about acquiring rights—"
"It's not." Duke's interruption was gentle but firm. "I'm not here to buy anything from you. I'm here to give you something back."
Shuster looked up, curiosity replacing the wariness in his expression. "What do you mean?"
Duke reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a thick manila envelope. "What you created in 1938 changed the world. Superman isn't just a comic book character, he represents everything good about the American dream, about the idea that an outsider can become a hero."
The room fell silent except for the soft tick of an antique clock.
"The tragedy," Duke continued, "is that you sold that hero for $130 because you were young and desperate, and the men in suits knew exactly what they were taking from you."
"National Periodical Publications has made hundreds of millions from your creation, while you've struggled to make ends meet."
Siegel's hands clenched into fists. "Don't you think we know that? Don't you think we've tried everything? We've been fighting this for thirty-five years."
"I know you have," Duke said softly. "And I know how exhausting it's been. But I also know something else, the law is changing."
"Creator rights are becoming a real thing, not just a fantasy. And I want to help you win this fight, not for me, but for justice."
He slid the envelope across the table. "This contains documentation for a half a million-dollar legal fund. Anonymous donor. The best intellectual property lawyers in the country. A full-scale copyright reclamation suit against National Periodical Publications."
Shuster's hands trembled as he opened the envelope. "I don't understand. What do you get out of this?"
Duke smiled, and for the first time in months, it felt genuine. "I get to see justice done. I get to see the creators of Superman finally receive recognition for what they gave the world."
"And yes, I'll be honest, I also get to see one of my competitors tied up in legal complications while I build something new."
"Steve Ross," Siegel said, understanding immediately. "Kinney and Warner. You're going after Steve Ross."
"Ross doesn't understand what he owns," Duke explained. "To him, Superman is just another asset to leverage for short-term profits."
The two creators exchanged glances. "And... what if we lose?" Shuster asked.
"Then you lose fighting with the best legal team money can buy, with your story finally told to the world, with dignity intact," Duke replied.
"But I don't think you'll lose. The legal landscape is shifting. Creator rights are becoming fashionable among judges and juries. The public is starting to understand that the little guy deserves a fair shake."
Siegel leaned forward. "Why should we trust you?"
"Because," Duke said, standing and walking to the window, "I'm a creator too. I know what it means to fight for your vision in a world full of accountants and bean counters who see art as nothing more than a commodity."
He turned back to face them. "But more than that, you should trust me because you got no better option."
The silence stretched for several minutes. Finally, Siegel spoke. "What exactly are you proposing?"
"Full copyright reclamation. Not just for Superman, but for Superboy, Supergirl, the entire mythology. We'll argue that the original contract was unconscionable, that it was signed under duress by young men who had no legal representation and no understanding of the true value of what they were creating."
"The statute of limitations—"
"Is complicated by the copyright renewal terms and the fact that the characters have been continuously developed beyond the original work. My legal team has found several precedents that could work in our favor."
Duke returned to his desk and pulled out another document. "This is a complete analysis of the copyright issues surrounding Superman. It's going to be a long fight, probably five to seven years."
"But at the end of it, you'll either own Superman again, or you'll receive some compensation that reflects the true value of what you created."
Shuster looked at the legal document with wonder. "Five to seven years..."
"During which time," Duke added with a slight smile, "Steve Ross can't develop any major Superman film or television projects without risking massive financial exposure if you win. It's the perfect delay strategic."
___
The next meeting brought Paul Goldstein to Duke's studio.
"Good morning, Paul," Duke said, gesturing to the chair recently vacated by Jerry Siegel. "Tell me you have good news."
Goldstein set down his briefcase and withdrew a thick folder. "Better than good. Steve Ross is in a complete panic about the arcade situation."
"How complete?"
"He's been calling emergency board meetings twice a week in a row. According to my sources inside Kinney, he's convinced that home video games are the future of entertainment, but he can't figure out how to break Atari's stranglehold on the market."
Duke leaned back, satisfied. "The patents?"
"Are ironclad. Your patents create what I can only describe as a perfect legal moat around the entire home video game industry."
"Ross can't develop anything competitive without either licensing from you at terms that would make it unprofitable or launching a patent challenge that would take years and cost millions, with no guarantee of success."
"And he's too impatient for either option."
"Exactly. He wants to be in the arcade business by Christmas 1973. He's been pushing his development teams to create Pong alternatives, but everything they come up with infringes on your intellectual property."
Duke smiled. "What about the other assets? DC and the animation properties?"
Goldstein's expression grew even more pleased. "This is where it gets interesting. Ross is treating both DC Comics and the entire Warner Brothers animation catalog as nuisance assets."
"Nuisance assets?"
"They're losing money. Comic book sales are somewhat down industry-wide and Marvel is taking DC market share, and the animation catalog requires constant reinvestment."
"Ross sees them as distractions from what he considers the real business, music, movies, and maybe arcades."
Duke felt a thrill of excitement. This was even better than he had hoped. "How bad is the situation?"
"Bad enough that Hanna-Barbera approached them last month with an offer to buy the entire Looney Tunes catalog for four million dollars. Ross apparently gave it serious consideration before his legal team reminded him that the properties might be worth more in tax write-offs."
"Four million dollars," Duke repeated slowly. "That amount is for... Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig..."
"The entire catalog. Every character, every cartoon, although not the library. Ross genuinely doesn't understand what he owns."
Duke stood and walked to his window, looking out at the bustling street below. "Paul, I want you to prepare a comprehensive report on the true value of those animation properties. Not what they're worth today, but what they could be worth with proper development and marketing."
"You're thinking about making an offer?"
"I'm thinking about making several offers. But I need to understand the full scope of what we're dealing with. These are cultural icons. With the right strategy, they could be worth hundreds of millions."
And most importantly, they could serve for the future Paramount Theme Park.
Goldstein made notes in his legal pad. "What about the Superman situation? How do you want me to coordinate with the Siegel and Shuster legal action?"
"Very carefully. I want there to be no official connection between the Ajax Group and their lawsuit. If anyone asks, we've never met. The legal fund is completely anonymous."
"Understood. But Duke..." Goldstein hesitated. "Are you sure about the timing? If Ross gets desperate enough, he might make some unpredictable moves."
Duke turned from the window, his expression confident. "Paul, desperation is exactly what I'm counting on. Desperate people make bad decisions. And hopefully Steve Ross is willing to make the worst decision of his career."
___
Stanley Jaffe burst through Duke's office door with the energy of a man carrying the best news of his life.
In his hands were several copies of PULSE Weekly, along with a stack of distribution reports that he could barely contain his excitement about.
"Duke, you need to see this," he said, spreading the documents across the desk. "The December numbers are in, and they're unbelievable."
Duke looked at the reports, but Jaffe's enthusiasm was infectious even before he processed the numbers. "Tell me."
"Five hundred thousand copies," Jaffe announced. "In one month. PULSE Weekly is officially the highest-selling comic publication in America."
Duke felt a surge of pride mixed with vindication. "Five hundred thousand..."
"And that's just the beginning. The January numbers are tracking even higher. We're looking at potentially seven hundred thousand by spring."
"How is that possible? Marvel and DC have been in this business for decades."
Jaffe's grin widened. "Because we're not in their business. We're in a completely different business, and they don't even realize it yet."
He pulled out a distribution map covered in colored pins. "Look at this. Red pins are traditional comic book stores. There are maybe three thousand of them in the entire country, and they're all located in urban areas with specific demographic clusters."
Duke studied the map. The red pins formed small clusters around major cities, leaving vast areas of the country completely uncovered.
"Now look at the blue pins," Jaffe continued. "Those represent our distribution points."
The map exploded with blue pins. They covered not just cities but suburban areas, small towns, highways, and airports.
The coverage was comprehensive in a way that Duke had never seen in the publishing industry.
"Seven-Eleven alone gives us eight thousand distribution points," Jaffe explained.
"Hudson News covers every major airport in the country. Walgreens, Clinton Drug Store and CVS put us in suburban pharmacies from coast to coast. We're everywhere people buy magazines and newspapers."
"But how are we positioned? Are we competing with Superman and Spider-Man?"
"That's the genius of it," Jaffe said excitedly. "We're not in the comic book section at all. We're positioned next to Time, Newsweek, and TV Guide. People aren't buying PULSE Weekly as just a comic book, they're buying it to pass time."
Duke picked up a copy of the latest issue. The cover featured a striking illustration of Ben 10 about to press his watch.
"The format is perfect," he realized. "We're telling several stories and as long as they like one, they buy all the issues."
"Exactly. And because we're positioned as a magazine rather than a comic, we're reaching demographics that haven't bought comic books since they were children."
"Adult men picking up reading material for business trips. Women buying magazines at the grocery store. Teenagers who think comic books are childish but are intrigued by Tranformers."
Duke flipped through the pages, admiring the layout and design. "What's the feedback been like?"
"Incredible. We're getting letters from readers asking for more details about Slam Dunk, and about Ben 10."
"And the advertising?"
Jaffe's expression grew even more pleased. "That's where it gets really interesting. Madison Avenue is starting to take notice. We're getting inquiries from electronics companies, car manufacturers, even some aerospace contractors."
Duke set down the magazine and looked at Jaffe with genuine admiration. "Stanley, you've just solved comic book publishing."
"No," Jaffe replied, "We're in the magazine business now, and the magazine business is ten times bigger than comics ever were."
The implications hit Duke immediately. "If we can maintain this trajectory..."
"We'll be the most widely read fiction publication in America within two years. We'll have more influence than Marvel and DC combined. And we'll be generating revenue that makes the traditional comic book industry look like a corner newsstand."
Duke stood and walked to his wall of windows, looking out at the city with new eyes. "Stanley, I want you to start planning the next phase. If we're truly in the magazine business, then we need to think like magazine publishers."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean spin-offs. Special editions. Annual issues. If PULSE Weekly is successful, why not PULSE Plus? Why not PULSE Girls? Or maybe PULSE Fantasy?"
Jaffe made notes eagerly. "And the international markets?"
"Absolutely. This concept could work in Europe, Japan, anywhere there's interest in good storytelling."
Duke turned back to face Jaffe, his mind racing with possibilities. "But more importantly, this success gives us leverage. DC and Marvel, and the other companies have been dismissing us as a quirky little comic book company. But five hundred thousand readers per month? That's real market power."
"How do you want to use it?"
Duke smiled. "Very carefully, and very strategically. But first, we need to make sure this operation can run without me micromanaging every decision."
___
The following week, Duke found himself in an unusual position, actively trying to work himself out of a job.
Not out of the company, but out of the day-to-day operational responsibilities that had been consuming his time and energy for months.
He had asked Stanley Jaffe to stay late for a conversation that would reshape both of their futures.
"Stanley," Duke began, settling into his chair with a serious expression, "I need to ask you something important. How do you feel about the idea of running this entire operation?"
Jaffe looked surprised. "You mean PULSE Weekly?"
"I mean everything. The publishing division, the coordination with Paramount, the oversight of our Atari relationship, the whole Ajax Group entertainment strategy."
"Duke, I... that's a huge responsibility. Are you sure you trust me with that?"
Duke leaned forward. "Stanley, you've just achieved something that nobody in the comic book industry thought was possible. You've found a way to reach half a million readers per month with original content. You've created a new distribution model that bypasses the traditional gatekeepers entirely."
"It was a team effort—"
"It was your execution. I provided the initial concept and the financing, but you made it real."
Jaffe sat quietly for a moment, processing the offer. "What would this mean, exactly?"
"Vice-Chairman of the Ajax Group. You'd oversee all publishing operations, coordinate with Paramount Pictures on our entertainment strategy, and work with me to develop new properties and expand into new markets."
"And what would you do?"
Duke smiled. "Return to what I do best. Writing. Directing. Creating the content that drives everything else. I've spent the last year learning how to read balance sheets and negotiate contracts, but my real value is in knowing what stories to tell."
"The creative side."
"Exactly. I want to write the scripts that become the movies. I want to develop the concepts that become the PULSE Weekly stories. I want to work directly with the talent writers, artists, directors."
Jaffe's excitement was building. "And you think I can handle the business side?"
"Stanley, you've already proven you can handle it better than I can. You understand distribution, marketing, audience development. You know how to work with corporate partners without losing our creative independence."
"What about Paramount? How does that fit into this?"
Duke's expression grew more animated. "That's where it gets really interesting. I already told you I want to create a Paramount Animation Studio that can compete directly with Disney."
"I need someone I trust completely to handle the business operations while I focus on the creative development."
"Duke, I'm honored. But I'm also terrified. What if I screw this up?"
Duke laughed. "Stanley, you've already succeeded beyond anyone's wildest expectations. And besides, you won't be doing this alone."
"What do you mean?"
"I want to bring in additional talent. Frank Yablans will be promoted as President of Paramount Pictures, for example. He has the experience and connections to navigate Hollywood politics while we focus on creating great content."
"Yablans is brilliant, but he can be... difficult."
"Which is why we need someone else, someone who can work with both of us and keep everyone focused on the bigger picture."
Jaffe raised an eyebrow. "You have someone in mind?"
"Actually, I was hoping you might have suggestions. You know the industry better than I do at this point."
Jaffe was quiet for a moment, then his expression brightened. "There's a guy at ABC named Barry Diller. He's young, maybe thirty, but he's already making waves with something called the 'Movie of the Week' concept."
Duke felt a jolt of recognition. Barry Diller.
In the years to come, Diller would become one of the most powerful executives in entertainment history.
Getting him now, before he reached his full potential, could be a masterstroke.
"Tell me more about him."
"He's smart, aggressive, understands both television and film. He's also got this ability to anticipate what audiences will want before they know they want it."
"Sounds perfect. Can you arrange a meeting?"
"I think so. But Duke, are you sure about this whole structure? You're essentially stepping back from the day-to-day management of your own company."
Duke stood and walked to his window, looking out. "Stanley, I've learned something important over the past year. I'm good at creating things, but I'm not necessarily good at running things."
"And more importantly, if I spend all my time running the business, I don't have time to create the content that makes the business valuable."
He turned back to face Jaffe. "The Ajax Group succeeds when we produce entertainment that nobody else can produce. That requires me to be focused on the creative process, not the corporate process."
"And you trust me to handle everything else?"
"I trust you to build the infrastructure that lets creative people do their best work. I trust you to negotiate the deals that give us the resources we need. I trust you to recognize opportunities and threats that I might miss because I'm focused on something else."
Jaffe nodded slowly. "What's the timeline for all this?"
"I'd like to have the new structure in place by March. That gives us time to bring in Diller, get Frank settled in his new role, and transition my responsibilities to you gradually."
"And then?"
Duke's expression grew excited. "Then I get back to doing what I love. I have a book I want to finish writing. I have a film concept that i would like to pursue. I also have ideas for PULSE."
"What's the book about?"
"A nurse kidnapping her favorite author and breaking his legs."
Jaffe's face froze and decided to move on. "And the film?"
Duke smiled. "Something I dreamed. A story about a man wearing a mask made out of human skin and using a chainsaw to hunt people to cook them after the jobs left his town."
"...Ok"
Jaffe was quiet for a moment, "Duke, Let's hope our 1971 slate works."
"That's the plan, Stanley."
___
Late that evening, Duke found himself alone in his study for the first time in weeks.
The negotiations with Jaffe had gone better than he had hoped, the transition planning was moving smoothly, and for the first time since launching the Ajax Group, he felt like he could breathe.
He pulled out a fresh notebook and opened it to the first blank page. For months, his desk had been covered with financial reports, legal briefs, and distribution charts. Tonight, it was empty except for this notebook and a simple pen.
Duke began to write the story of Star Wars roughly, he had the time to refine it later.
___
Long Chapter