Chapter 170: The Dropout Alum
In today's U.S. market, stock splits are all the rage. Over the past four years, 375 of the S&P 500 companies have split their shares.
Wall Street analysts say splits can draw in more investors and boost liquidity without changing shareholder equity or the company's total value. Plus, they're usually seen as a sign that management's bullish on the future, which often pumps up the stock price.
Now, Apple—trying to claw back from a relentless price slide—voted at a shareholder meeting to split its stock again, the first time since June 1987.
This isn't the invincible, world-dominating Apple of later years. Right now, "miserable and washed-up" fits it better.
Back in the day, Steve Jobs begged his buddy, Oracle's Larry Ellison, to buy Apple.
But with Apple's computer market share down to a measly 4%, Ellison saw no profit potential and passed.
Dell's Michael Dell even taunted Jobs, telling him to shut Apple down already—no investor or big company would touch that mess.
Luckily, the internet boom gave Apple a lifeline. Jobs rolled out the well-received iMac, nudging their market share up to 9%.
Then the dot-com bubble burst. Giants like Dell, Cisco, and HP took hits but had the size and user base to shrug it off.
Apple, under Jobs? Not so much. They were stuck banking on a small-fry move like a stock split to save the day.
Post-split, one share became two, pushing Apple's total shares to nearly 4.7 billion.
When Scott Swift heard the news, he was over the moon.
Under orders from his big boss, Dunn, he had to gobble up Apple shares on the secondary market fast—which would've rocked the stock price.
If word got out that Dunn Capital was quietly hoarding Apple stock, it'd spike hard, totally against their interests.
But Apple's split was perfect timing. Scott could ride that wave, sneaking in to bulk up their holdings unnoticed.
That little win didn't faze Dunn, though. After nailing a strategic deal with Hasbro, he'd cracked open breakthroughs in movies, TV, and IP projects.
Animation, though? Still a total blind spot.
The latest scoop: Jeffrey Katzenberg was digging in his heels. DreamWorks Animation was tanking, but he was gearing up for one last big swing.
"Jeffrey's a hand-drawn animation guru. He crushed it at Disney. After starting DreamWorks, he saw the future in computers and pivoted. Their last few films mixed traditional drawing with digital—results were meh. He's gotta be planning something bold," Bill Mechanic explained.
Dunn's eyes flickered. "So, DreamWorks Animation's going full Pixar—100% computer-made?"
Bill nodded. "Yup. Blue Sky Studios is deep into tech now, and Jeffrey's not about to lag behind. Word is, he's begging big shareholders for cash to adapt a famous kids' book, all digital. If this flops, DreamWorks Animation's getting carved up and sold off."
"*Shrek*?"
Dunn's face twisted into a wry smile.
That's a classic in Hollywood animation history—right up there with Blue Sky's *Ice Age*.
Once *Shrek* hits and blows up, DreamWorks Animation will be riding high. Buying them out then? Fat chance.
"Whatever, Hollywood doesn't revolve around me. A loss is a loss." Dunn waved it off, sighing. "Oh, how's the Mattel talks going?"
Just days ago, Disney announced they'd trademarked "Disney Princess," folding all their past and future princess flicks into one mega-brand.
That kind of powerhouse vibe put serious pressure on Dunn, making him hungrier for Barbie rights.
Bill shook his head. "Not great. Mattel… they're not like Hasbro. They're stuck in the past, no vision. They don't get our 'pan-entertainment IP' pitch at all."
"So, spell it out for them. The world's top toy company can't be *that* clueless, right?"
"Tough sell!" Bill grimaced. "Unless we give up more ground."
"Meaning?"
"Make the deal simpler, sharper."
Dunn caught on. "You mean… just buy the rights outright?"
"Exactly!"
Dunn cracked up. "Mattel's gotta be kidding! They can't see past a quick licensing buck? Marvel sold rights because they were broke. Mattel pulling this? It's a joke!"
Bill smirked. "So, you're in?"
"Hell yeah, I'm in!" Dunn's grin turned mocking. "Chasing short-term fees while ignoring long-term profits? No wonder Hasbro ends up swallowing Mattel!"
"Hasbro buying Mattel?"
Bill froze, stunned. Mattel's worth triple Hasbro's right now!
Dunn waved it off. "I mean down the road. Watch—if Mattel keeps up this dumb, cautious game, they're toast. Worried about risks with a Dunn Pictures film? Hilarious!"
Bill was used to Dunn's cockiness by now. "So, what's next? Still doing that Nickelodeon cartoon?"
Dunn mulled it over. "They're jerks, but I'm not. I gave my word, so we'll do it. Viacom did help out during the PR mess, after all."
"Then just outsource it to some studio. Whip up a kids' cartoon—pays off the favor," Bill said, well-versed in Hollywood's "favors over promises" code.
"Nah, if it turns out trash, it'll smear Dunn Pictures' name." Dunn shook his head, then shrugged. "Let's just lend Nickelodeon the *SpongeBob* rights for one go. They've got their own animation team—let them handle it. If it's a hit, they can keep going. If it flops, we're done!"
"Smart move."
Bill nodded.
Just then, Reese Witherspoon peeked in, saw Bill, and flashed an embarrassed grin. "Oops, didn't know you were here. Keep talking!"
Dunn laughed. "Relax, we're done! Come on in—finished shooting?"
During Dunn Pictures' crisis a while back, Reese had taken a break from her set to stand by the company.
That move won her major props from everyone at Dunn Pictures.
She strutted in confidently, flashing a sweet smile. "Wrapped yesterday!"
Bill teased, "Reese, straight from set to the office? That's brutal. You should beg the boss for a vacation—somewhere scenic."
Dunn waved grandly. "Bill's right! Paid leave—take some time off."
Reese shot him a playful glare. "Paid leave? What's that, five grand? Eight? Guess how much MGM's paying me—$3 million!"
"Whoa, Reese, you're loaded! Time to treat us!" Dunn hollered, over-the-top.
Reese gritted her teeth, mock-fuming. "Loaded? I could shoot a hundred movies and still not crack the *Forbes* list!"
Bill cracked up, waved, and stood. "Alright, I'll leave you two to catch up. I've got work—that project needs more prep."
Once he was gone, Reese skipped around Dunn's big desk, spun cutely, and plopped into his lap, arms looping around his neck.
Dunn chuckled. "Well, hello there! Door's still unlocked, you know."
She rolled her eyes big-time. "Figures your mind's always on *that*."
"Huh? Then what's this about?" Dunn blinked, lost.
Reese bit her lip. "Dunn, can I ask you a favor?"
"Sure!" he said, all breezy. "We're pals, right? No need to be so formal."
"That's more like it!" She grinned, perking up. "So, I've got this senior alum who reached out through me, hoping you could help him out."
"Senior alum?" Dunn paused.
Reese explained, "Stanford buddy. Dropped out after a year, though."
"Dropped out?"
Dunn's eyes lit up.
That's the hallmark of a big shot!
Larry Ellison, Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerberg—even Hong Kong's Li Ka-shing.
Reese had already hooked Dunn up with Stanford alums Larry Page and Sergey Brin, landing him a 10% stake in Google.
Now, another Stanford dropout? Could be another legend in the making!
"Spill it—who is it?"
Dunn took a deep breath, bracing for a name that'd shake the world.
"Honestly, I don't even know," Reese said, helpless.
"What?"
She pursed her lips. "Okay, straight talk—it's my alum's little sister. She's obsessed_Create with movies and wants your help."
Dunn's vision went dark with frustration!
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