Chapter Forty-Two: Reclaiming the Family Estate

Beloved by many, that much is true—the director’s work is commendable, and Forrest Gump is indeed a profoundly inspirational tale. It is not merely a story of an underdog’s rise; it also encapsulates a slice of history. Though the protagonist’s intellect is modest, he manages to overcome adversity time and again through perseverance. Even someone half-witted is sent off to war, underlining the sheer brutality of conflict.

They believe William White completed this masterpiece through his own unique perspective, weaving his reflections on history into the narrative via a fictional character. This, without question, is the mark of a great work. Yet, to see the same book elevated to such heights by John Bull is surprising. One must admit, their minds and tongues always seem to twist in ways unlike anyone else’s.

Well then, William White has no grounds for rebuttal; after all, in the hearts of a thousand readers dwell a thousand Hamlets. With such varied historical and cultural backgrounds, it’s only natural for each reader’s experience to differ—an utterly ordinary phenomenon that requires no over-interpretation.

Americans, however, are somewhat baffled—what on earth is a Hamlet, and is it something edible? Their cultural foundation can be rather exasperating; while others discuss Shakespeare, they wonder if he can be served for dinner.

Despite their generally higher level of education, Americans are notorious for specializing in their chosen fields. If something doesn’t interest them, they’ll scarcely give it a second thought. That’s why, when it comes to more artistic films, Hollywood so often recruits actors from London. There’s a reason for this—if you’re an actor in Britain unfamiliar with Shakespeare’s works, you’re likely to be laughed at for the rest of your life.

“Foster, how much White Oil do we currently hold?”
“With the government’s portion included, nearly forty-five percent,” Foster replied with casual ease.
“Good, file for the tax payment then. Better to bring it all back first.”
“Understood, sir. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

At last, this ordeal could come to an end. This damned inheritance tax truly was excessive. Preparations must be made for the future, or else his descendants would be in real trouble.

Once White Oil was secured, it would be time to deal with the Hunter family. Those scoundrels had no time for oil at present, engrossed as they were in their frantic efforts to drive up silver prices. Let them continue their madness.

The IT world had been in turmoil these past few days. The Blue Giant and HP were clearly restless. They would not surrender the minicomputer market without a fight. They had thought they could afford to wait, but now it was clear they had to accelerate their strategies.

The shifts in the capital market said it all—both companies’ stocks had taken a hit, not severe, but enough to stir shareholder dissatisfaction. Their disregard for microcomputers had caused significant trouble, and now, the CEOs were faced with the urgent task of resolving the crisis.

Acquisition seemed the most effective solution, and they had long considered this route. The best targets, naturally, were Apple and White Software. Unfortunately, neither was an easy mark. Apple’s ownership structure was convoluted. Investment was one thing, but outright control was out of the question. With America’s current zeal for antitrust enforcement, even a misstep could spell disaster. No one wanted to be broken up by the authorities—the fate of many a company.

White Software was even more peculiar, with all shares held by a single individual. Though he didn’t reject investment outright, time waited for no one. If an acquisition were feasible, Wang An would have made a move long ago—the rise of microcomputers affected him even more, and his word processors were already losing their edge.

The Blue Giant was hardly one to give up easily. They had their ways of forcing rivals to compromise; their tactics with Wang An had been similar—many patents were acquired for next to nothing. Wang An’s legendary path was an anomaly; he’d seen through American hegemony and deliberately taken a different road. The Blue Giant had no interest in word processors; their focus was mainframes, and everything else was secondary.

But what about William White? Just look at Hollywood now—United Artists was practically spitting blood. Their earlier conduct might well be ruled as fraud, and if they had to pay up, the company could go under. And they weren’t the only ones. The entire summer box office was nearly a write-off, the losses staggering. Most frightening of all, the distribution mechanism monopolized by a handful of giants now showed a gaping vulnerability.

This quasi-temporary theater system could satisfy the needs of most films. Their days of easy profiteering might be nearing an end. William White was clearly building his own distribution channels, making it obvious he had no intention of cooperating further. He was setting up shop anew, and, most galling of all, they were powerless to stop him.

More precisely, they dared not try. William White at full throttle was a formidable opponent. If he continued to press the attack, Hollywood would be thrown into utter chaos. In truth, coveting his novels was understandable—but their methods had been crude, resulting in a stunning slap in the face. It was humiliating, as if their pride had been tossed into the Pacific Ocean.

Had things ended there, it might have been bearable—they still had their reservations and couldn’t afford to behave as recklessly as William White.

Unfortunately, what followed was nothing but humiliation. One company tried to buy the rights for a mere two million; another claimed the property was worthless; yet another made an outrageously exorbitant offer, acting out of sheer caprice.

The film they deemed worthless was now on track to gross over a hundred million. Was this what they called lacking value? Their so-called “valuable” productions were now trampled into the mud, yet they continued to pontificate about value.

Artistic merit?
Don’t be ridiculous. They were in the business of commercial films—what place was there for lofty discussions of artistic value?

Nor did the other studios fare any better. The three mentioned at least bothered to watch the film; the rest didn’t even have the interest to take a look. Their arrogance was baffling—did they assume all films were as poor as their own simply because their own output was trash?

The New York press would not let them off lightly. Regional antagonism in America ran deep, especially in sports and entertainment. By comparison, New York’s entertainment scene was considered more refined, and the city’s critics looked down on Hollywood’s mediocre offerings—they were Broadway’s domain, after all.

Hollywood, on the other hand, was all about profits, willing to tackle any subject. The rivalry in sports was even fiercer; nearly all New York and Los Angeles teams were arch-enemies.

Sadly, except for baseball, New York was routinely outmatched in most fields. Without the Yankees, the city would likely be dismissed as a sporting wasteland.

Now, with their adversaries in distress, New York’s media naturally piled on. Their tabloids thrived on controversy and cared nothing for others’ feelings.

To spite Hollywood further, they’d already counted White Pictures among the industry’s eight major studios. With Hollywood now reduced to seven, White Pictures conveniently filled the void left by the missing Lightning Studios.

Their imagination had run wild, and Hollywood was thoroughly irked by their antics.

Really? One film and suddenly there are eight majors? Could Hollywood truly be so cheap?

William White refused to accept this farce. The so-called “eight majors”—he was but a tiny company. Their praise was nothing but a poisoned chalice, a thinly veiled attempt to destroy with flattery.