"You really are insane."
Christopher stared at Bruce for a long moment, then finally said it out loud.
Bruce only smiled.
"Isn't it always the madmen and the obsessives who get somewhere?"
The truth was, Bruce was not especially attached to whether Pirates of the Caribbean, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and Fifty Shades of Grey got published immediately in the U.K. or not.
What he really cared about was Christopher Ritt.
And beyond Christopher, J. K. Rowling.
What he wanted was the Harry Potter film rights and the mountain of related rights still in Rowling's hands. That franchise would go on to generate roughly twenty-three billion dollars over two decades, and it would keep making money long after that.
A lot of globally famous companies weren't even worth twenty-three billion.
So the moment Bruce realized this opportunity was sitting right in front of him, he had already made up his mind. Whether he succeeded or not, he was going to make a run at it.
That was one of the only two reasons, outside of football betting, that had brought him all the way to Britain in person.
According to the plan he had laid out in advance, step one had been simple:
Win Christopher over.
And for a literary agent, nothing was more tempting, or harder to refuse, than a genuinely valuable manuscript.
Now, between Christopher's willingness to lend him money and the importance he had clearly begun placing on him over the course of their recent meetings, Bruce knew he had essentially secured the key man standing between him and Rowling.
If that was the case, then whether the three books were published immediately, or even published in Britain first, no longer mattered so much.
The only real pity was that without a successful release already on the market, his original idea of borrowing against their publishing performance to fund even bigger football bets was probably dead.
"You really mean to start your own publishing house?"
Bruce nodded.
"Don't worry, Christopher. You'll get every penny of commission you're owed. And if you want an equity stake in the publishing company, you're welcome to come in."
Christopher studied him, then finally accepted that Bruce was not joking.
After a few moments of rapid calculation, he asked, "Then what happens to Pirates and Fantastic Beasts?"
Bruce smiled.
"You keep the best cuts for yourself."
Then he paused, and when he spoke again, his tone turned deliberately persuasive.
"Christopher, if you keep living off that five percent agency commission, you'll never become seriously rich. But if you join Thorn Bird Publishing, that changes everything. With content from me and Rowling, you as a senior partner could make more money than you've ever touched as an agent. At that point, the people from Wall Street and the City won't just know your name. They'll want you at their table."
Years of life had taught Bruce one thing very clearly.
If you wanted to persuade someone, the most important thing wasn't lofty principles. It was making them feel, deeply and concretely, that you were on their side and that staying with you would make them money.
Looking at the heat slowly building in Christopher's eyes, Bruce knew the man was tempted.
Really, almost anyone would be.
Pirates of the Caribbean, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and Harry Potter were more than enough to make the case on their own. A seasoned literary agent like Christopher understood exactly what that kind of catalog could mean.
"Thorn Bird Publishing?" Christopher narrowed his eyes at him. "Sounds like you planned to pull me in from the beginning."
Bruce smiled without correcting him.
In truth, he had only just come up with the name on the spot.
But if Christopher wanted to believe otherwise, that was fine too.
"So," Bruce said, "does that mean yes?"
"I want thirty percent."
After thinking it through, Christopher named his number.
Bruce stood and extended his hand.
"Then it's a pleasure doing business with you, Christopher."
They shook.
Once they sat back down, Christopher asked, "So how do you want to do this?"
"My five million pounds plus your one and a half gives us six and a half," Bruce said. "On top of that, we should be able to borrow at least another four million from a bank. That's enough to acquire a midsize publishing house in the U.S. You'll serve as CEO."
Christopher nodded slowly, then frowned.
"What about my agency?"
"Sell it," Bruce said. "Once you become a publisher, it doesn't make sense to stay a literary agent."
He was right.
A literary agent was supposed to stand between author and publisher and protect the author's interests. The moment an agent became the publisher, that role became compromised.
Christopher thought for a second, then said, "I think we should bring Rowling in."
Bruce felt a sharp burst of satisfaction.
That was exactly what he had been waiting to hear.
"In that case," he said, "I think we need to make a trip to Exeter."
...
Exeter, a historic city on the River Exe with a population of about 110,000, was both a cultural center and the county town of Devon.
The University of Exeter, located there, was one of Britain's top research universities, part of the Russell Group, with world-class strength across economics, finance, law, engineering, materials, humanities, medicine, anthropology, sports science, and more.
The Times had once called it the most beautiful university in Britain.
J. K. Rowling, who had become world famous through Harry Potter, was one of its most celebrated alumni.
And in 2000, after being awarded an honorary Doctor of Letters by the university, she had chosen to remain there.
"This place is beautiful," Bruce said as he looked out the car window. "Old, quiet, and almost unreal."
Christopher nodded.
"That's exactly why she stayed. It's scenic, peaceful, and ideal for writing. Being close to Exeter University mattered too."
Bruce was quiet for a moment, then asked, "What kind of person is she?"
Christopher thought about it.
"Gentle in manner. Grounded. Very resilient. Strong-willed. Once she decides something, she tends to stick to it."
Bruce nodded.
Soft on the outside, hard on the inside. Strong principles.
That was enough to start forming a strategy.
"We're here."
Following Christopher's gaze, Bruce saw it.
A distinctly English two-story house sat behind a waist-high wooden fence. Two oak trees stood in the yard. Ivy climbed the stone walls, giving the whole place an old, weathered grace.
The driver pulled over, and the two men got out.
"She should be home at this hour," Christopher said.
Bruce nodded and followed him, carrying the carefully chosen gift he had brought along.
They walked up a stone path with patches of moss gathered in the corners and stopped at the front door. Christopher rang the bell.
A few moments later, footsteps approached from inside.
The door opened.
Standing there was a middle-aged woman with long blonde hair over her shoulders, wearing a fitted black long-sleeve top, a light brown scarf loosely looped around her neck, relaxed light gray trousers, and blue shoes. She wasn't striking in the conventional sense, but there was something unmistakably intelligent and classically composed about her.
"Rowling."
"Christopher."
They exchanged a warm embrace.
"Is Neil home?"
"He's still teaching. Not back yet."
"This time I brought his favorite Bordeaux."
"Alcohol isn't exactly a virtue, Christopher."
Even as she said it, Rowling stepped aside and let them in.
"Don't be so severe," Christopher said with a grin. "You'll scare him off eventually."
Then he turned slightly.
"Oh, right. Let me introduce you. This is Bruce Guo, all the way from the States. He's an excellent writer in his own right, and one of your most devoted admirers."
Once she looked his way, Bruce stepped forward and offered his hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rowling. I'm a loyal Harry Potter reader. You created something extraordinary."
No matter who they were, people enjoyed praise.
Rowling was no exception.
"Thank you," she said, accepting it with easy grace as they shook hands.
"Please, sit. What would you both like to drink?"
"Coffee for me, as usual," Christopher said, completely at home.
"Just water for me," Bruce replied.
Rowling nodded and went into the kitchen.
Bruce took the opportunity to quietly study the room. It was built in that rich old European style, heavy wood everywhere, warm and understated.
Then he shot Christopher a quick look.
Christopher caught it at once and gave the smallest nod.
After deciding to join Bruce's future publishing venture, Christopher hadn't needed much convincing. He had already taken the initiative himself, suggesting that they bring Rowling in and even sketching out the first approach.
That only confirmed something Bruce had long believed:
Nothing moved people faster, or changed them more completely, than the promise of real profit.