The figures were undeniably shocking- €30 million came dangerously close to ten percent of Harry's liquid assets. It was an enormous commitment, even with Harry's contacts and vision but he didn't bat an eye.
In his eyes, this wasn't just a business venture and a large and initial investment. This statement was something greater.
This was a pledge to make a mark in London, one brick One statement, one smiling punter at a time.
And the decrepit theatre he just bought? - It was no longer just an old building that had seen better days, with seats falling apart and light bulbs that flickered. It had a name:
The London Dream Theatre.
"Theatre is supposed to be more than a place where you view movies," Harry had said to Lisa before he left. "Theatre should be place where punters forgot about their existence for 2 hours and remembered it with fondness when they leave."
That was the objective.
And it began with the basics:
Better food. Decent snacks, real kitchen hygiene, reasonable combo packages that didn't rip off families.
Better seats. Comfortable, wide seats with cupholders, and room to stretch your legs. Seats that let you feel like you weren't just sitting through a movie but living it.
AC and Toilets. The two things that 90% of theatres got wrong. Harry wasn't going to be one of them.
Customer Service. Kind, quick, responsive. Smiles that weren't fake. Staff trained to act like they actually wanted the people there.
The Dream Theatre had to be a landmark, not just for people touring outside Buckingham Palace, but for people from London.
Now, Harry was sitting in the manager's office, top floor of the building they bought, still wearing his blazer and slacks, in the middle of the construction zone, despite the dust flying up all around him.
And sitting across him, at the desk, was Marsh Wahan. A wiry man in his thirties, with slightly crooked glasses, and nerves on fire. Marsh had been an assistant manager under the previous owner, quiet, loyal, and overworked.
But Harry had reviewed Marsh's personnel file. He'd handled staffing, accounts, vendor management, and crisis control all while being paid like an intern. His experience was real, his understanding of the local scene solid.
"Mr. Wahan," Harry stated, clasping his hands together, "I've read your record of work. You've done more for this theatre than your title has implicitly granted."
Marsh swallowed hard. "Thank you, sir."
"That's why," Harry continued, "I'm offering you the manager's position for the London Dream Theatre."
Marsh's mouth fell open and, for a moment, couldn't even speak. When the theatre was sold, he feared the worst. He had a younger sister to get through university. Zero backup plan. No wealthy relatives. He had braced for the worst - being fired.
And, now, he was being handed the keys.
"I... please, yes. Yes. Thank you, Mr. Jackson," he stammered out.
Harry raised a finger. "There is a condition."
Marsh froze.
"I want the Dream Theatre to be known throughout London. It cannot just be 'open for business.' I want it talked about - talked about on the radio, at coffee shops, with students, with tourists, with locals. I want families to plan their weekends around it. I want couples looking to have their first date to bring them here. I want buzz."
Marsh's initial excitement tempered somewhat.
The Dream Theatre needs to gain a reputation in London. It should not be only marked down as 'open for business' I want it mentioned on radio, in coffee shops, amongst students, by tourists, by locals, I want people to be planning weekends around this place. I want people to come here on 1st dates. I want buzz.
Marsh's passion diminished somewhat.
"Buy other stores around here. Grow. Manage the brand," Harry said definitively. "Just keep it clean. No shady deals or backhanders. You will have got the money, but I want it delivering results in six months. Customer satisfaction, brand equity and profits. All three. Fail, I'd have to rethink the whole thing."
That six month timeframe settled upon Marsh like a ton weight. His heart raced. But there was no way he was going to say 'no'.
"Yes, sir," he declared.
Harry sat back and his expression softened. "Cheer up. At least you,ve got some cash to throw around. Just don't spend enough to go bankrupt me."
They both laughed.
____
Harry reclined on a toes-in-the-sand beach lounger in sun-blistered Mykonos. He wore sunglasses over his eyes and a cold drink in his hand. The water was mirror glass and the air stirred with salt and tranquillity in the conditioned breezes.
Holiday season, as Lisa had reminded.
He worked in a machine for years, in both lives. Non-stop. He refused to take the opportunity to lay around or wind down. Now, he was attempting just that. A few days of leisure. No demands, no deadlines, or calls. Just sunscreen and tranquillity.
Until, of course, he heard his phone ring.
He groaned, knowing who it was. "Lisa?"
"Hello, sounds delighted."
"Am I forced to be happy or is this to drag me back to earth?"
"Well," she said with cheery bravado, "earth wants you back. The Board wants to hear your take on a new studio partnership. Marsh wants budget confirmation, a hold on suppliers of seats. And a touch, although you are serious I trust, at Cannes next month to keep international scouting alive?"
Harry started long breath. "They don't even let me breathe."
Lisa laughed. "This is you, in case you forgot, 'We dry our coffers now so we can swim in white money later'."
Harry laughed. "I did say that. I should remember to copyright it."
He put his hand on the sand to stand up, knocked sand off his arms, and looked out at the sea.
He was not losing money. He was repositioning it. He was reinventing it. He was getting ready for something bigger than TV shows and licensing.
The Dream Theatre was only the start.