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“How much?”
Charles stared at him as if he had misheard.
“Ten million,” Ethan said, enunciating every word.
“Conservatively.”
Ten million dollars was real money in 2002.
Enough to finance two or three low-budget features.
Enough that plenty of directors and actors would work their entire lives without touching a production that size.
For a moment, Charles simply looked at him.
“Son,” he said at last, “what exactly are you trying to do?”
Ethan had no intention of hiding the broad shape of the plan.
His father was family.
More than that, buying MGM would require him.
“If I’m entering entertainment, why start as hired talent?” Ethan asked.
“What’s better than owning the company?
You’ve worked for MGM for decades.
Haven’t you ever wanted to stop working for someone else?”
Charles’s expression sharpened, but he did not dismiss the question.
“Every salaried executive dreams about owning the building,” he said.
“But this industry is complicated.
You don’t start a company because the idea feels exciting.
Hollywood buries new companies every year.”
“I know.”
“I’ve spent more than thirty years in this business.
I’ve seen storms you haven’t even imagined.
At this point in the industry, one person trying to build a studio from nothing has almost no chance.”
Ethan raised a finger.
“I’m not talking about building one from nothing.
Starting from scratch means production, distribution, relationships, all of it.
Too much time.
Too much overhead.
I want to buy an established company.”
Charles looked at him.
Ethan smiled.
“And what company makes more sense than MGM?”
The room went silent.
After a long moment, Charles reached out as if to touch Ethan’s forehead and check for a fever.
“Dad, I’m clearheaded.”
Charles burst out laughing.
His shoulders shook, and the tired heaviness in his face cracked for the first time all night.
“Ethan, if you think I’m going to fund an MGM acquisition, even you can’t expect me to take that seriously.
Buying MGM is less realistic than starting your own company.”
“MGM has been drifting for years,” Ethan said calmly.
“But it still has decades of history.
It was one of the great studios.
That weight has value.”
“Exactly.
Do you know how much value?”
Ethan picked up the remaining half of the pear and took a bite.
“Since Kirk Kerkorian took control again, MGM has been moving in the wrong direction.
My estimate is roughly one to one-point-one billion dollars in debt.”
Charles stopped laughing.
“The library, the brand, and the rest of the operating business should put the equity value somewhere between one-point-eight and two billion.
Am I close?”
Charles’s brow tightened.
As MGM’s CEO, he did not carry every account line in his head, especially with Windtalkers still shaking the internal forecasts.
But the first-quarter reports were close enough to his son’s numbers that the guess should not have been possible.
MGM’s internal estimate put the equity value around 1.835 billion, with roughly 931 million in debt.
That was not information an ordinary shareholder could easily pull from a hospital bed.
And until now, his son had shown almost no interest in the film business.
His son had come prepared.
“Even if your numbers are right,” Charles said, “before cash adjustments, fees, and a control premium, you’re looking at a deal close to three billion dollars.
Three hundred times what you’re asking me for.
Tell me what ten million is supposed to do.”
“A lot.
Capital attracts capital.
And to acquire MGM, we don’t actually need to bring three billion in cash.
One billion in real equity may be enough.”
Charles leaned forward despite himself.
“How?”
“Use the future as collateral,” Ethan said.
“Step one, I raise as much of the first billion as I can.
Then you come in.”
“Me.”
“You already deal with the banks.
MGM’s financial condition means the company is constantly talking to lenders.
You know the process.
You know the people.”
His father did not deny it.
“With one billion as a foundation, we approach the major banks for roughly two billion in acquisition financing.
The debt would fund at closing, when MGM’s assets and cash flow could support it.
That gives us three billion in firepower.
Enough to make the deal possible.”
On the surface, the idea sounded outrageous.
MGM was not theirs yet.
How could they borrow against assets they did not own?
But his father understood the game.
That was how acquisition finance worked when the prize was large enough.
Structure the deal correctly, let the target’s assets and cash flow support the debt after closing, and banks would listen.
A billion in equity would get the banks’ attention.
The library alone was a feast, and the fees on a deal that size would be worth a long meeting even before anyone committed a dollar.
If Ethan somehow swallowed the lion, a two-billion-dollar loan would produce years of interest.
If he failed to manage the studio, the banks would still have a claim on the assets.
If the deal died before closing, the lenders could still collect arrangement and commitment fees.
Banks were not sentimental.
They preferred to win from every angle.
The real question remained the same.
Where would the first billion come from?
His father was quiet for a long time.
When he spoke again, his voice had lost its amusement.
“Ethan, it seems you actually learned something in finance.
You have the outline of a plan.
But I still have one question.
Where are you going to get one billion dollars?”
Ethan smiled.
“That’s my problem.
Give me a month.
I’ll show you.”
There was no chance he was telling his father about the gambling.
Charles would think he had lost his mind.
Worse, if the sportsbooks noticed anything strange, the less his father knew, the safer he would be.
They talked for more than three hours, sitting in the hospital room until deep into the night.
By the time Charles finally left, he had agreed to front the money.
The most important reason was simple: the family could survive ten million dollars.
Charles had spent decades near the top of a major studio.
Compared to the people on the Forbes lists, he was not a giant.
Compared to most actors, producers, and executives, he was still very rich.
Ten million hurt.
It was not pocket change.
But it was his son.
And Ethan’s vision had done something dangerous.
It had tempted him.
Buying MGM.
Owning the studio.
Taking the seat instead of defending it for someone else.
Life was a gamble anyway.
Two days later, Emily helped Ethan complete his discharge paperwork.
Dr.
Carter still looked baffled.
Faced with a recovery that violated his expectations, he finally had no better word for it than miracle.
The car rolled into Beverly Hills, an independent city in Los Angeles County where movie stars, athletes, artists, money, and luxury stores all seemed to breathe the same expensive air.
When Ethan opened the front door, several party poppers cracked at once.
Streamers rained down over him.
A crowd rushed in and surrounded him.
“Welcome home!”
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I hope this chapter drew you further into the story.
Stick around, because there’s still a lot waiting just ahead.