After finishing the report, Frank rummaged through his office, finally dragging out a dust-covered cardboard box from the top shelf of the bookshelf. It looked like an old motherboard packaging box.
He emptied the foam inside and solemnly placed the box on his desk.
Three folded slips of paper were tossed into the box.
"Just sealing it isn't enough," Frank said, pressing the intercom button. "I'm afraid soone might sneak in and change the numbers in the middle of the night. Lisa, have the administrative departnt send over a bucket of industrial resin and so heavy-duty tape. Now, imdiately."
Twenty minutes later, Tom clapped his hands in satisfaction, looking at the box wrapped in resin and tape like a mummy. "Now it's safe. Unless soone brings a chainsaw, no one's getting inside this thing."
Takuya Nakayama smiled faintly, his gaze fixed on the simple box that held such audacious ambitions.
He was curious: in this crazy era, just how high would these two hogrown Arican elites dare to guess the number?
After advising Silicon Valley Online on its future developnt for so ti, Takuya Nakayama then approached Tom Kalinske.
"Tom, what's the status on that matter I asked you to look into earlier?"
Before leaving the conference room, Takuya Nakayama called out to Tom Kalinske, who was about to head off to tornt the Finance Departnt.
Tom stopped and waved the notepad in his hand. "Just about to tell you. Ted Turner's team responded—he agreed to a eting. Next Wednesday at ten AM in Atlanta. He'll be waiting for us at the CNN Center."
"Excellent," Takuya nodded. "Book my flight."
Outside, the California sun was beginning to soften, its rays fading into an orange-red glow.
He glanced at his watch: 5:30 PM Pacific Ti.
Takuya joined the stream of employees leaving the Sega North Arica Headquarters building.
A dry, cool breeze carried through the California air. He tightened his trench coat and headed straight back to his hotel room, bypassing the usual bars and restaurants.
By his calculation, it should be 9:30 AM the next morning in Tokyo—just as the workday was beginning.
He picked up the receiver and dialed the international number with practiced ease.
Tokyo, Suginami Ward, Sunrise Animation Headquarters.
Yasuo Miyakawa had just settled into his president's office. Before he could even take a sip of his hot tea, the phone on his desk rang.
Yasuo Miyakawa's eyebrows twitched. He quickly put down his teacup, cleared his throat, and answered the phone.
"Hello? This is Miyakawa."
"President Miyakawa, this is Takuya Nakayama."
Hearing the young yet steady voice on the line, Miyakawa instinctively straightened his back, his buttocks lifting half an inch from the comfortable boss's chair.
"Executive Director Nakayama! It's been a while. Calling so early—do you have any urgent instructions?"
Miyakawa's deference wasn't rely formal; it stemd from genuine respect.
When Sega invested heavily in Sunrise, becoming its largest shareholder, Miyakawa had initially feared the worst. Capitalists are all vampires, he'd thought. A new boss would just an a new way to be exploited.
Even before the investnt, Sunrise had been deeply tied to Bandai, functioning like an emotionless, factory-like workshop churning out GG model kits. Storylines were often twisted to boost model sales, and production schedules were so tight that even the legendary director Yoshiyuki Tomino had nearly been driven to depression.
But after Takuya Nakayama took the reins, everything changed.
The "Crown Prince," Takuya Nakayama, rarely interfered in the day-to-day operations of Sunrise Animation. Apart from offering so brilliant suggestions during crucial script etings, he largely delegated authority, focusing instead on leveraging his position as a major shareholder to facilitate partnerships and provide strategic support.
He provided ample funding, generous tilines, and complete creative freedom.
A few years prior, Takuya Nakayama had even used Mobile Fighter G Gundam to fill the production slot that Director Tomino was supposed to use for Mobile Suit Gundam F91. He had forcibly required Yoshiyuki Tomino to take a leave of absence for rest and recuperation, claiming it was "to ensure Gundam can fight for another twenty years."
This move had moved the veteran employees of Sunrise to tears.
Now, Sunrise was thriving. Not only did they no longer have to kowtow to Bandai's toy division, but their year-end bonuses had also increased significantly, leaving virtually no one at Sunrise regretting being acquired by Sega Holdings.
"No urgent matters, President Miyakawa. I just wanted to ask if you'd be interested in a trip to the United States?" Takuya Nakayama's voice carried a smile.
"The United States?" Yasuo Miyakawa was taken aback. "To inspect Sega of North Arica's operations?"
"No, we're going on a business trip. A major business trip."
Takuya Nakayama paused, then dangled the bait: "While Gundam is all the rage in Japan right now, doesn't President Miyakawa want to see our animated works on television screens across the Pacific?"
Yasuo Miyakawa's heart skipped a beat.
Expanding into the Western market had been Sunrise's dream for a decade, but they had never been able to find an opening.
Cultural barriers and distribution hurdles had kept Japanese animation on the fringes in the United States, relegated to gathering dust in the corners of video rental stores.
"Executive Director Nakayama, are you suggesting—"
"Cartoon Network," Takuya Nakayama said the na. "Their parent company, Turner Broadcasting, is looking for new content to fill their programming slots. I've already had Tom arrange a eting with Ted Turner for next Wednesday morning."
Yasuo Miyakawa gasped.
Ted Turner! The dia mogul who founded CNN!
How had Takuya Nakayama managed to secure a eting with soone of such stature?
"President Miyakawa, if you're interested, I'd appreciate it if you could work hard for the next couple of days and fly to the United States. We'll et in San Francisco."
"Interested! Of course I'm interested!"
Yasuo Miyakawa's voice rose an octave, completely abandoning his usual composure. "I'll have soone book tickets right away! Tomorrow— no, tonight, I can fly!"
"No need to rush," Takuya Nakayama said with a smile, reassuring him. "Just prepare the demo and materials, and bring the producer who knows the European and Arican markets best."
After hanging up, Miyakawa's hand still trembled slightly as he held the receiver.
He took a deep breath, yanked open his office door, and roared at the secretaries outside, "Stop drinking coffee! Notify all Section Chiefs and above in the Production and Rights departnts— eting in five minutes! Drop whatever you're doing and get here! We're going to the United States!"
While Miyakawa was in Tokyo scrambling to prepare materials for the flight across the ocean, Takuya Nakayama was also busy. He grabbed Bernard, who was in charge of Hollywood operations, and sped toward Hollywood.
Their first stop was naturally Universal Pictures.
The treatnt the Sega Managing Director received at Universal Studios was worlds apart from what he'd experienced just a few months prior. Previously, he'd had to make appointnts and wait in line. Now, the mont their car stopped, the manager of the Public Relations Departnt rushed out with a beaming, wrinkled smile, his enthusiasm so over-the-top one might think a head of state was visiting.
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