The presidential race was in full swing.
As September gave way to October, the final debate loomed on the horizon.
"That little punk Martin," he growled in his office. "Has he forgotten he's a white guy? Throwing his all behind Obama like that—damn it, does he really think I'm doomed to lose?"
His chief aide quickly interjected, "Mr. McCain, you absolutely cannot let that kind of talk slip out in public."
"Relax, I'm just venting to you guys," McCain scoffed. "I'm not an idiot."
His aide, deadly serious, pressed on: "It's best not to say it even among us."
McCain raised an eyebrow. "What, you think there's a traitor in my campaign?"
"I don't know," the aide replied. "I just know that the closer we get to crunch time, the more careful we need to be. Even the tiniest slip could be weaponized by the other side. And I worry that if you get too comfortable saying it here, it might come out somewhere it shouldn't."
McCain chuckled. "Alright, alright, I'll save my rants for the bedroom."
He took the advice but couldn't resist muttering under his breath, "Damn Martin. Damn Obama."
Obama's strategy to provoke McCain seemed to be working.
In mid-September, as the election hit a critical phase, McCain stepped into another mess.
This time, it was during an interview with a Spanish journalist. McCain didn't realize José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero was Spain's prime minister and even mistook Spain for a Latin American country.
When asked if he'd invite Zapatero to the White House for talks, McCain conflated "Zapatero" with Mexico's Zapatista movement, calling Spain a "major Latin American nation."
Though his foreign policy advisor, Randy Scheunemann, scrambled to cover up the gaffe, and McCain himself clarified that Zapatero was Spain's prime minister while the Zapatistas were armed revolutionaries fighting Mexico's government, the damage was done.
The blunder spread like wildfire.
For McCain's supporters, it was a grim day. Many weren't exactly Zapatero fans, but it was disheartening that their hero couldn't even place Spain on a map.
Obama and his team watched the interview together, erupting into laughter in their office.
McCain's camp struck back swiftly.
On September 19, at an Obama rally, over twenty Black protesters stood up, shouting and waving signs accusing Obama of betraying Black communities. The signs read: "Ku Kux Klan Supports Obama."
(GodOfReader: The famous KKK.)
They were quickly booed and escorted out.
Obama's team brushed off the attack, dismissing it as a desperate move from a floundering McCain campaign.
By late September, McCain, the Republican nominee, proposed delaying the first presidential debate, scheduled for September 26. He cited the financial crisis as his reason.
Obama, the Democratic nominee, shot down the idea. "The American people need to hear both candidates' plans," he insisted, "especially now, when the crisis isn't just financial."
On Monday morning, Martin and Drew headed to Warner's headquarters in Burbank.
Martin's new project, The Joker, required his personal pitch. Though it was an original story, the character tied back to DC Comics, creating some complications.
He could strip away the comic book elements entirely, but that would dilute the film's impact, and Martin wasn't willing to compromise. So, The Joker couldn't be independently financed by Meyers Pictures. Partnering with Warner was inevitable, at the very least to secure the rights.
Truthfully, Martin preferred a second option, though it was a long shot.
In the meeting room, Alan Horn, Warner's head, personally attended the pitch discussion. No amount of enthusiasm for Martin's projects seemed excessive.
After quietly reviewing the script outline, Alan asked, "Martin, this story—it's about the Joker's origin?"
Even as a rough draft, the script left Horn stunned. It was... staggering. Through the character of Arthur, the Joker, it subtly tackled pressing social issues.
With the financial crisis erupting and an unemployment wave looming, the story carried a raw, soul-shaking power.
"Exactly," Martin said with a smile. "The Joker wasn't always the Joker. Nobody's born a villain. I want to tell an origin story—a tragic, traceable core that unpacks this character through narrative."
"Forgive my bluntness," a Warner executive interjected, setting down the script outline and proposal. "This script is too dark. It makes the new Batman trilogy look like a fairy tale. Its box office potential is... questionable at best."
Martin's smile widened. "Is that so? If Warner feels that way, we could go with the second option in my proposal—I'll buy the TV and film adaptation rights for the Joker outright. How's that?"
"No!" Alan Horn cut off the executive, his gaze sharp. Turning to Martin, he said, "I'm greenlighting this project. Warner will provide the character rights and invest $10 million for a 50% stake."
"Ten million's too low, and 50% is too high," Drew, who'd been silent, chimed in. "Twenty million for 20%."