Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

No, nothing like these points existed in the MTL or any translation you may have read before. I am expanding all of this to an astronomical level. In the original, the MC did not even have a proper studio, let alone invest money into the stock market. The entire 1997 crisis was skipped, just like the Dot-com crash and many other major financial events. Most of the og story brushed past those things and focused far more on politics instead.

And yes, I create these Chapters myself—they are not bullshit. I am not doing this much research for no reason at all. If someone truly possessed knowledge of the future, you absolutely could use that information to generate massive wealth, especially before the market crashes that have or will appear later in this book. Obviously, you would need to be born in the past to fully take advantage of that knowledge, but through these Chapters, you can at least understand the concepts behind the stock market and how such opportunities could realistically be exploited.

Answers to K_Stormwalker and Nogods.

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******

”The cash from your three primary ventures—the movie, the EP, and the book—has officially started to settle into the holding accounts,” Amy reported, her voice professional but carrying an undeniable undertone of awe. ”But as we discussed, it is a long-term liquidity game.”

Marvin leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers. His nebula-blue eyes watched her with patience.

The entertainment industry’s accounting, he had quickly realized, moved on its own unhurried bureaucratic schedule. It was entirely indifferent to the split-second velocity of the Wall Street markets; it was deaf to the rapid rhythm of options cycles and the glowing green digits of Andrew’s brokerage terminals. Hollywood and publishing ran on paper, ink, and deliberate delay.

*The Parent Trap* had earned it first.

Because Marvin’s Aunt had secured a first-dollar gross arrangement, Marvin’s financial participation began accruing from the film’s very first ticket sale. There was no deceptive ”break-even” threshold to clear, no inflated studio marketing costs to magically recoup before he saw a dime. It was unadulterated leverage.

Disney’s accounting office in Burbank had issued its first quarterly settlement in mid-August, covering the initial theatrical run through roughly $80 million of the film’s North American gross.

”Five percent of the first-dollar gross,” Amy said, tapping her pen against the ledger. ”A single wire transfer of just over $4,000,000 landed directly in the primary Zenith Trust account three days prior.” She smiled slightly. ”And your father received his investment cut—a crisp check for $38 million. He more than doubled his initial investment.”

Marvin offered a satisfied smirk. The remaining domestic tail, the overseas tally, and everything still actively accumulating in theaters across the globe would follow in the next two quarterly statements, stretching deep into late 1997 and early 1998. When the final theatrical curtain eventually dropped, his total participation check across all installments would settle somewhere around $10,800,000. And that didn’t even begin to account for the lucrative VHS and future DVD sales.

But the book was a different animal entirely.

”Random House operates on a glacial timeline,” Amy sighed, flipping to the next page. ”Publishers run their royalty statements twice a year, covering January through June, and July through December. The statements typically arrive in April and October, respectively.”

The children’s novel, *Kung Fu Panda*, had sold 1.2 million physical copies and had already gone to an emergency second printing—a historic performance for any title, let alone one connected to a first-time author.

”At a fifteen percent royalty rate on the $16.99 retail price,” Amy calculated, ”the math produces something in the neighborhood of $3,058,200. But that capital is currently sitting locked inside the publisher’s accounting department in New York. It is untouchable until the October statement cycle officially closes. It will arrive. Just not yet.”

And then, there was the music.

The album was the most maddening of the three. *Marvin 1* had moved 1.62 million physical copies in three months, securing a Platinum certification from the RIAA. It was the kind of earth-shattering debut that made veteran label executives frantically rearrange their Tuesday schedules just to kiss the ring.

”But Columbia Records runs its artist accounting on a semi-annual clock,” Amy explained, tracing the contractual timeline. ”The first cycle didn’t close until June 30th, and the payment itself isn’t due to clear the corporate escrow until late September.”

After manufacturing costs, the global marketing spend, and Columbia’s twenty percent distribution fee, Marvin’s eighty percent share of the net would amount to somewhere slightly above $8,000,000. It was the largest single entertainment payment he was owed across his entire portfolio—and the money hadn’t moved a single inch yet.

”So,” Amy summarized, closing the final ledger and looking up at the handsome little man. ”The true, crystallized picture, as of today, August 19th, is this: $4,000,000 received, sitting completely liquid in the Zenith Trust account. And somewhere north of $18,000,000 more queued in the pipeline. It is owed, it is confirmed, and it is contractually inevitable—but it is moving at the speed of corporate accountants rather than market makers.”

Marvin had learned to live with that distinction. The money was coming. It always came. It just arrived slowly, in thick, wax-sealed envelopes and staggered wire transfers, rather than in real-time on a glowing terminal screen..

Amy hesitated for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly. ”Marvin... you have had more than five million dollars sitting for over two days. I have never seen you leave capital idle in a checking account before. Do you want me to instruct Andrew to reinvest it into the Scarlet Capitals options pool?”

”No, Amy,” Marvin replied smoothly. ”That capital is not destined for Wall Street. I am reallocating it. Or rather, *they* will be reallocating it.”

”They?” Amy asked, confused.

”The Asian vanguard,” Marvin announced, his velvety voice ringing with authority. ”They will require immediate operational capital. I will be transferring two million dollars into each of the four newly established corporate shell accounts. The sixteen executives you helped me vet will be divided into four distinct groups. Two executives per country will manage the volatile share markets, and two will infiltrate the local entertainment sectors.”

Marvin stood up, walking gracefully toward the world map pinned to his study wall. ”I am not just opening bank accounts, Amy,” Marvin murmured, tracing a line across the Pacific Ocean. ”I am planting flags. We are establishing our presence in Taiwan, Japan, South Korea, and China. We are creating the Asian headquarters of not only Meyers Entertainment, but also the Eastern branch of Scarlet Capitals to handle foreign equity investments.”

Amy’s breath caught in her throat. The scale of his ambition was staggering. He didn’t wait to build a company at home before expanding; he was planting the seeds of a global business simultaneously.

”The corporate architecture is already filed,” Marvin explained, tapping the nations on the map. ”Japan will operate under *Meyers Media Japan.* China will fall under *Meyers Media China*. Korea will be governed by *Meyers Korea Studios*. For now, they will operate as independent, local ventures to avoid foreign anti-trust scrutiny. But in reality... they all answer to one master. Later, they will be unified under the official parent company: Meyers Entertainment USA.”

”And Taiwan?” Amy asked, noticing he had excluded it from the media list.

”Taiwan will not possess an entertainment division,” Marvin corrected, his eyes gleaming with the foresight of a transmigrator. ”Taiwan is the domain of Scarlet Capital. They are going there for the silicon. They are going for the semiconductor fabrication plants. Specifically, TSMC. I want them buying equity before the world realizes that silicon is more valuable than gold.”

The ink smeared as Amy’s pen scratched frantically across the legal pad, her heart hammering a hollow rhythm against her ribs.

She was staring at the expansion blueprints—contracts, lease agreements, and staffing budgets for new entertainment branches across Bangkok, Jakarta, and Seoul.

However, she had an internal question which she kept to herself: From where will the substantial capital required for this expansion plan be sourced?

But it was the television flickering in the corner of the office that made her blood turn to ice.

The news anchor’s voice was strained, reporting on the freefall of the Thai Baht and the spreading contagion across the Asian markets. It was a financial bloodbath. In the streets, families were watching their life savings evaporate in a single afternoon; in the boardrooms, national banks were being gutted by invisible wolves.

Amy looked from the screen back to the documents on her desk.

’He’s building local branches...’ Amy whispered to the empty room, her voice trembling. ’In the middle of the wreckage.’

The realization hit her like a blow.

While the rest of the world was pulling out, terrified of the economic death spiral, Marvin was diving in. He wasn’t just going to be expanding; he will be going to colonise a disaster zone. He will be buying up prime real estate and talent at pennies on the dollar while the local currency turned to ash.

A cold shiver raced down her spine. She thought of George Soros—the ”Man Who Broke the Bank of England.” He was the most hated name in global finance, a pariah whispered about with pure venom by prime ministers and peasants alike. Soros had earned the enmity of entire nations, becoming a lightning rod for state-level bans because he had profited from the collapse of the common man’s dream.

If Marvin was playing that same lethal game—if he was even *partially* responsible for the shadow moving across these markets—the cost would be apocalyptic.

’If they ever find out...’ she breathed, the pen slipping from her numb fingers.

Marvin was an artist, a future titan of the entertainment industry, and that made him uniquely, dangerously vulnerable. A hedge fund manager can hide behind a steel door in Manhattan, but a movie star needs a global audience. He was building cinemas and recording studios on the literal ruins of the middle class.

If the public in those devastated territories ever connected the ”Wonder Boy of Hollywood” to the collapse of their pensions, the bankruptcies, and the silent wave of suicides that follows a national death spiral, the backlash would be biblical. He could bribe a corrupt official to sign a permit, sure—but even a puppet government has to bow when the streets are screaming for blood.

In the eyes of the world, he would no longer be a musical prodigy or a cinematic genius. He would be a vampire, sucking the wealth out of struggling nations to fund his glittering Hollywood dreams.

That’s why Marvin was keeping quiet. ​This wasn’t something you bragged about over vintage scotch. This was a ghost that could incinerate a legacy in a single afternoon.

​And Marvin was doing the exact same thing, but with a twist: he wasn’t hiding in a penthouse in Manhattan. He was opening offices.

’He’s building local branches...’ Amy whispered to the empty room, her voice trembling. ’In the middle of the wreckage.’

​It was a move so bold it bordered on psychopathic. Even as the families in these nations were counting their remaining pennies, watching their life savings evaporate into the ether of a devalued currency, Marvin was setting up shop. He was moving his entertainment empire into the very streets he had helped impoverish. He was building cinemas, recording studios, and talent agencies on the literal ruins of their middle class.

​The danger was huge. To the elite, Marvin’s involvement might be a ”close open secret”—a nod and a wink among the wolves who also fed on the carcass. But for the public?

​The moment the connection was made, his local branches wouldn’t just fail; they would be the first things to burn. The premiere of his next film wouldn’t be met with flashbulbs, but with paving stones and Molotov cocktails.

”When are they scheduled to fly out?”

”The flights are booked for August 24th,” Amy confirmed, flipping through her itinerary, getting rid of her wild thoughts.

Marvin offered a slow charismatic smile. ”Excellent. Schedule a private lunch for us at L’Ermitage in Beverly Hills, four hours before their flights depart.”

Marvin has already interviewed them and checked their psychological defenses. They all passed the final crucible. They are now in the phase of deployment.

---

The morning had begun the exact way most mornings began in Amy Adams’s life at present—with a list.

It was not a figurative list. It was not the vague, floating mental catalogue of a disorganized person desperately trying to impose some semblance of order onto the chaotic canvas of a Hollywood day. It was an actual, physical list, written the night before in the small, leather-bound notebook she kept faithfully on her bedside table.

The handwriting was slightly slanted and cursive. Each item was numbered and rigidly ranked by its urgency.

Amy had been keeping these lists since she was fourteen years old, navigating choir practice and high school theater in Colorado.

She had decided, somewhere in her early twenties while working the grueling, exhausting circuit at the Chanhassen Dinner Theatres in Minnesota, that these lists were the closest thing to actual control a person could reasonably claim over the fundamental unruliness of any given day.

Today’s list had seventeen items on it.

Item one was already complicated.

*1. Asian Vanguard team — final consolidation report, delivered to Mr. Meyers’ desk before 8:00 AM.*

She had been awake since five-thirty in the morning to finish it. The Asian market division—which had expanded in the last six weeks with a velocity that Amy still found slightly vertiginous to contemplate—had just completed its most recent cycle of offshore activity.

Amy sat alone at her desk in the quiet, sprawling place, rubbing her tired eyes. She had been working as Marvin Meyers’s executive assistant for less than fifty days. She had originally arrived expecting to manage the simple calendar and fan-mail correspondence of a prodigiously talented, slightly arrogant child actor.

Instead, she found herself coordinating the shadow-operational infrastructure of what appeared to be an emerging financial business with significant, multi-million-dollar stakes in three distinct Pacific Rim markets. The consolidation report sitting in front of her was a hundred and twelve pages of raw financial figures, corporate infiltration analysis, and strategic recommendations that she had spent the better part of two sleepless days assembling. She had synthesized the faxes from Jerry Yang in Beijing and the complex semiconductor equity purchases from Tony Hsieh in Taiwan.

She printed the document at six-fifteen. She bound it in a sleek leather folio at six-twenty.

At seven-fifty, Amy walked softly down the grand, sunlit corridors of the estate. The house was entirely silent, save for the ticking of a grandfather clock in the foyer.

She pushed open the doors to the master study.

*****

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