The 1982 wines he acquired were more than enough for his own enjoyment, but making a profit from them wasn't easy.
"Sir, the way you're buying might be problematic."
"What do you mean, Filson? Are the Bordeaux folks against me too?"
Filson was speechless. It wasn't just that he wasn't welcomed. They seemed ready to put up signs that read, "Dogs allowed, William White not allowed."
"Here's what we'll do: set up some companies in Europe. Target the four major chateaux and buy up all the 1982 wines, both futures and in-store stock."
"Sir, are you planning to sell wine?"
"Nonsense, we already have a vineyard. As for those in Bordeaux, frankly, our wine isn't as good as theirs."
"Sir, the prices are already very high. We won't end up in a Dutch tulip situation, will we?"
"No, Filson. Wealthy people's mentality is different. Truth be told, wealthy people don't mind the price of expensive wine. In fact, the pricier it is, the more they desire it. It's about showcasing their status. In ten years, you won't easily get your hands on these."
"I hope you're right. I'll get people on it right away."
Even if he didn't fully grasp it, it didn't stop him from executing it. William White wasn't short on cash; the royalties from his work alone covered the cost of these wines.
Let's face it, spending the money earned from writing on purchasing wine is rather elegant. Who could criticize that? But when people realized how rare this vintage was becoming, who knows if they'd start cursing?
The French would likely be very upset, right?
William could imagine the scene in his mind.
Ha! They called him shameless. Criticized their wine and mineral water, yet bought so much? If it wasn't good, why buy it?
...
"Fulton, is the airport on Lanai ready?"
"It's ready, young master. We're just installing the navigation equipment; it'll be operational soon."
"Great! Speed up the construction of the hotels and resort center too. We're about to start selling memberships."
"Young master, at a million dollars apiece, isn't that a bit steep?"
"Haha, Fulton, at least two million each, and no haggling. It's a status symbol. Also, reach out to some famous dining establishments and see if they're interested in opening branches."
"Sure, young master, I'll arrange it."
William knew that for such elite clubs, being too cheap would actually deter interest. The more expensive, the more sought after.
Some places nowadays wouldn't sell memberships to wealthy people without vetting their qualifications first.
No club would reject his membership, but he resented this sort of vetting. He was a simple country boy with money. His club only cared about how much money you had. Nothing else mattered.
The most beautiful golf course in the world? As if they'd sell it cheap.
...
"Sir, William White's art investments are all over the place. He doesn't have a specific taste; he just buys if the price is right. As for William White himself, he's just a big spender.
Anyway, charity auctions are really dull now. No one wants to put their cherished items on the block. If they do, they make sure he's not attending."
"Haha, must be nice having that kind of money."
"Sir, do you think this could be a sign of serious inflation? Otherwise, it's hard to explain his actions."
"With interest rates this high, inflation isn't likely. His situation is different. Haven't you noticed how low his debt ratio is?"
"Haha, that might be why Citibank is stuck with him."
"Exactly. As long as he's not borrowing, neither investment banks nor any conglomerate have leverage over him. Plus, with his media platform... we just have to watch this kid flaunt."
William not joining the Star Wars project was a regret for Morgan Stanley. They believed only investments of that scale might increase his debt ratio.
...
These days, White Films no longer required the boss to act as editor. In fact, a co-director helped out, and the work pressure was much lower.
After briefly explaining how Basic Instinct should be edited, he began shooting the next film.
Though this assembly-line method was frowned upon by industry bigwigs, it made every film company ridiculously eager.
It's a shame, what works for William White might not work for others. If you can't capture the audience's sweet spot, the film's bound to flop.
Moreover, do you possess that perfect storyboarding script?
If you do, anyone can helm the shoot.
Hollywood bigwigs long realized William White's secret was his knack for the script. Those old-timers were truly blind; while they could deny him other awards, Best Screenplay or Adapted Screenplay should've undoubtedly been his.
On this point, there's no doubt.
William White loved Demi Moore's big eyes, especially when she cried.
Alright, that sight was indeed captivating, worthy of love until death.
Nastassja felt dissatisfied. "I can cry too." But why couldn't she cry like that?
William White felt like telling her, though both were rebellious types, she didn't have that artistic vibe. When men looked at her, they only thought of the obvious, as for anything else, whatever.
Nastassja didn't understand. "You've met that woman once, yet you seem to see so much?"
Well, she was a bit afraid of him. The man had eyes that could see everything. Regardless of her aim or method, the outcome wouldn't change.
Ambitious and scheming, Nastassja felt she'd failed. Each meeting was filled with enthusiasm, but why did she always end up delivering herself like takeout?
Should she be more reserved? But she couldn't manage that!
Forget it, she'd better keep her distance. She's no fangirl, nor a delivery girl, behaving like this was too demeaning.
"Hmph, let this bastard wait in vain."
His pace was fast, possibly also quickening Cameron's pace. This guy finally wrapped up.
Alright, but the following post-production was frightfully slow, and when William White dragged him out of the editing room, he'd been holed up there for a week. As for love for cinema, William White indeed fell short.
*****
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