Prologue PROLOGUE ON THE MORNING OF SEPTEMBER 16, 2024, a convoy of black SUVs carrying the most powerful media dynasty in the world snaked through the Nevada high desert like a funeral procession, which in some ways it was. Rupert Murdoch had destroyed his family in pursuit of his lifelong dream of anointing firstborn son, Lachlan, his successor. The final resting place was not a cemetery but the Washoe County Courthouse in Reno. The reckoning had been nine months in the making. On December 6, 2023, Murdoch put forth a motion to amend the irrevocable family trust to cement Lachlan's control over a right-wing media empire that had shaped politics on three continents for the last half century. Murdoch's adult children from his first marriages--Prudence, Elisabeth, and James--united to stop him. The roots of the family war stretched back much further. From birth, Murdoch had pitted his children against one another in a Darwinian struggle to determine who would run News Corp, the global conglomerate Murdoch built out of a single Australian newspaper he inherited from his father. The rivalry played out in pull-up contests James and Lachlan did as children and in the competitive games of charades the family played at Christmas. This was much more than a boardroom battle: it was a blood feud to win a father's love. Around 8:00 a.m., the first vehicle pulled to the curb and was surrounded by journalists: Prudence and her husband, Alasdair MacLeod, a longtime News Corp executive. At sixty-six, Prudence was dressed entirely in solemn black, which contrasted sharply with her shoulder-length platinum hair. Prue was the only child from Murdoch's first marriage to Australian flight attendant Patricia Booker. As the oldest sibling, Prue kept the greatest distance from the business and never entered the succession race. She settled into her outsider status after it caused deep pain. Years ago, Prue was devastated when Murdoch didn't mention her when he named his children in an interview about the succession. She called Murdoch screaming. A moment later, Murdoch's second daughter, Liz, exited the SUV with her husband, the artist Keith Tyson. At fifty-six, Liz wore a beige suit with the poise of a businesswoman who spent decades fighting to be taken seriously. She was by many accounts the sharpest, but Murdoch subscribed to old-fashioned primogeniture and dismissed the child many considered to be the most worthy successor. Liz quit the family business in 2000 and launched her own phenomenally successful television production company. Despite this injustice, Liz didn't express bitterness. She tried to maintain close relationships with her dad and Lachlan. In the family geography, Liz thought of herself as Switzerland. The Nevada trust case forced her to finally choose a side. Last came the person most responsible for this legal reckoning: James. He clasped his wife Kathryn's hand as they approached the domed courthouse steps. James, fifty-one, wore a dark suit and slim tie--a corporate look he once rejected. The family rebel, James was the moody kid with bleached hair, tattoos, and piercings who loved archeology and dropped out of Harvard to start a hip-hop music label. But Murdoch was the sun upon which this family orbited, and his gravitational pull was too powerful to escape. James returned to the business in the mid-1990s. He adopted a ruthless persona and ascended to become Murdoch's heir apparent. But James's centrist politics and desire to make News Corp respected in elite circles rankled Murdoch. In 2012, James presided over News Corp's London tabloids when journalists working for Murdoch's News of the World were caught illegally hacking the phones of thousands of people to land scoops. James denied knowing about the hacking, but nevertheless Rupert used the biggest scandal in the company's history to demote him and promote Lachlan. In exile, James's resentments matured into a moral awakening. He and Kathryn, a climate activist, shared a conviction that Fox News was a threat to democracy. When Donald Trump supporters ransacked the Capitol on January 6, 2021, James declared publicly: "Those outlets that propagate lies to their audience have unleashed insidious and uncontrollable forces that will be with us for years." To understand his father, James turned to Roman history. He memorized passages from Marguerite Yourcenar's 1951 novel Memoirs of Hadrian about a dying legacy-obsessed ruler in search of an heir: "We were too different for him to find in me what most people who have wielded total authority seek desperately on their deathbeds, a docile successor pledged in advance to the same methods, and even to the same errors." James had come to Reno to ensure history didn't repeat itself. Then came a gap--twenty minutes that spoke volumes about the family's fractured dynamics. The arrivals had been carefully choreographed by advance teams to avoid a tense curbside encounter. A white Audi SUV stopped, and Rupert Murdoch stiffly climbed out with his fifth wife, Elena Zhukova, trailed by a phalanx of security guards. At ninety-three, Murdoch walked gingerly in a dark suit paired incongruously with running shoes. This diminished appearance belied the vast power he still wielded through ownership of Fox News, The Wall Street Journal , the Times of London, HarperCollins, and dozens of tabloids including The Sun and the New York Post. Murdoch built something beyond a conservative news empire: a fourth branch of government. His propaganda machine monetized outrage, spread conspiracy theories, and shaped the minds of millions across three continents. More than anyone, Murdoch's media created the presidency of Donald J. Trump. Behind Murdoch emerged Lachlan with his wife, Sarah, a former model and television host. At fifty-three, Lachlan was still boyishly handsome, though flecks of silver showed the passage of time. Commentators described the Murdoch family war as "Shakespearean." In this framework, Lachlan was Hamlet. In 2005, he quit the business after being abused by Murdoch's courtiers and returned to Australia to build his own media business. Only after a decade of his father's relentless courtship did Lachlan accept his chosen-son status. That morning, Lachlan walked into the courthouse fully committed to carrying forth the Murdoch legacy. When Liz made one final appeal to him last fall before the lawsuits flew, Lachlan's response had been resolute: Rewriting the trust was about "dad's wishes... It shouldn't be difficult or controversial." The courtroom doors shut and the Murdochs disappeared from view. This was how Murdoch wanted it. He had incorporated his trust in Nevada because the state offered the most generous privacy rules. No reporters or cameras would be allowed inside. Even the existence of the court battle was supposed to be secret. The Washoe County docket referred to the case simply as "In the Matter of Doe 1 Trust." Murdoch amassed his fortune shaping narratives and was determined to control his own. Once seated, the Murdochs waited for Washoe County Probate Commissioner Edmund Gorman to call the hearing to order. Family members exchanged furtive glances, noting the subtle passage of time on their faces. It had been two years since they gathered in one room. In that period, a family had disintegrated. But to understand how the most successful media mogul in history had engineered his own family's demise, the story begins almost a century earlier in Australia, when a lonely boy sought to win the affection of a domineering father in a place called Cruden Farm. Excerpted from Bonfire of the Murdochs: How the Epic Fight to Control the Last Great Media Dynasty Broke a Family -- and the World by Gabriel Sherman All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
