The Start-Up Page 7

  Amelia scrunched her nose in disapproval. She’d hated The Godfather, Part I, with all its violence and betrayal, and had hoped they could remove the sequel from their list of must-sees. But Adam couldn’t wait to see the next one. He was totally enthralled by the strength of loyalty and the strategy of the family.

  “I know, I know. I didn’t complain on Casablanca week, though,” he said as he punched his sister lovingly on the arm.

  Amelia rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine.”

  It didn’t matter anyway. Thirty minutes in, she was sound asleep, half a bite of chocolate pudding still left on her spoon.

  When he realized she was sleeping, Adam laughed, moved the tray from her lap, and gently placed a pillow behind her head. He was deeply engrossed in the movie when an e-mail notification popped up on Amelia’s screen. The mail icon bounced up and down in the corner, its cheerfulness the antithesis of the drama unfolding onscreen.

  Adam leaned forward to click the icon so it would stop bouncing, but when he saw the subject line and sender—“Nice Meeting You!” from Tom Fenway—his interest was piqued. He paused the movie and opened the e-mail.

  Dear Amelia,

  You’ll have to forgive my tactics, but I called a few friends at Stanford and got them to track down your e-mail address (luckily there are only two women named Amelia in your freshman class, and the other is from France), but I wanted to follow up with you about your awesome invention.

  As I mentioned, I’m launching an incubator for start-up companies and I’d love to have you join. I know you’re anti-business, and I total y get that. Trust me, I was completely anti-business when I started out.

  But I think together we could create something that allows you to do even more of what you love to do, and have a lot of fun doing it.

  I’m including my contact information just in case you scratched it out of your notebook. I’ve also attached a Word document that provides more detail about the incubator. Please give it some thought and let me know if you have any questions or want to talk more.

  All the best,

  Tom

  Tom Fenway

  Fenway Ventures, LLC

  2800 Sand Hill Rd

  Palo Alto, CA 94025

  (650) 326-9251

  tom@fenwayventures.com

  Adam’s jaw dropped. What was this e-mail, and why hadn’t Amelia told him about Tom Fenway? He quickly googled Fenway Ventures and got over sixty thousand articles mentioning “Tom Fenway,” the second of which was a Wikipedia entry.

  “Shit—this guy’s got a Wikipedia page?” Adam whispered to himself.

  He clicked it open.

  Tom Fenway (born June 12, 1958) is a Canadian-American entrepreneur and Angel Investor. In 1984, Tom founded Kadence, a technology that allowed musicians to create and aggregate music digitally; with the expansion of the Internet, Fenway took Kadence online and created the first online music aggregator. In 1994, he sold the company to Apple for an estimated $1.8 billion (at the time, a record amount for a technology sale), and it is today credited as the original iTunes.

  Today, Fenway lives in Woodside, California, and acts as an Angel Investor to small companies in Silicon Valley. Around Silicon Valley, Fenway is known for his laid-back aesthetic, notoriously wearing flip-flops to high profile meetings, and his obsession with the Grateful Dead. His wife, Margaret, passed away in 2009 from breast cancer; Tom Fenway is a major contributor and spokesperson for several breast cancer prevention organizations.

  Adam didn’t need to read more. Almost two billion dollars? In 1994?

  If you considered the time lag, that was, like, bigger than Gibly. And this guy was e-mailing Amelia? How had she not told him about this? Why was Tom implying that she’d turned him down?

  “Are you reading my e-mails?” Amelia’s voice sounded groggy, and she called out from the sofa without lifting her head or opening her eyes.

  “As a matter of fact, I am, Amelia,” Adam said sternly, “and I’d like to understand why you failed to mention your meeting with Tom Fenway.” Amelia popped one eye open and saw her brother, totally alert and looking cross, staring at her from her computer. She sat up, “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. Why are you bringing this up? How did you know about that?”

  “He e-mailed you, Amelia. Do you have any idea who this guy is? He has his own Wikipedia page.”

  “He does? What does it say?”

  “That he’s fucking loaded, Amelia. And super successful.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “Give me the computer.” She grabbed it and read the e-mail and the Wikipedia page. “So what? Like I told him, I’m not interested in starting a company.”

  “But Amelia—”

  “No. End of discussion.”

  Adam was getting annoyed, and he was not about to give up. He snatched the laptop from her and opened the attachment Tom had sent with the e-mail. Maybe there was something in there that could hook her.

  She glared at him as he read, her arms crossed against her chest. Her brother was irritatingly persistent, but he had never been any match for her stubbornness.

  “Listen to this, Amelia.” Adam read from the description: “As part of the Fenway incubator, participants will receive office space on Sand Hill Road, a living stipend, and mentorship from Tom Fenway and his staff.

  Should participants still be enrolled in college, Fenway Ventures will also pay for education expenses, including university tuition. Equity rights to the company will be negotiated at the time of incorporation on the basis of money invested in the venture itself.” Adam looked up from the computer.

  “Free tuition, Amelia! This is incredible!” Amelia rolled her eyes. “We’re on scholarship, Adam. We don’t pay tuition anyway.”

  “But we wouldn’t have to be on scholarship. We could be making it ourselves. Just you and me, not dependent on anyone.”

  “Except Tom Fenway! And some corporate ideology for what makes good software. I’m not doing it, Adam. Give it a rest.” Amelia grabbed her computer back and started to shut it down. “I’m tired. If you won’t be offended, I’d like to go home and go to bed.” Adam looked at his sister, whose eyes were pleading with him, and, with a sigh, saw for the first time how much she hated the idea. That didn’t mean he was going to give up, but he realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere by pushing tonight. He reached out and gave her a hug. “Of course. I still think you should give this some more thought, but I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

  Amelia felt tears start to well up in her eyes and was glad her head was resting on Adam’s shoulder so he couldn’t see them. The only thing that came close to her conviction about the purity of computer programming was her love for her brother. She’d never imagined that the two might come into conflict.

  Chapter 12

  The Art of the Deal

  T. J. knocked lightly and cracked open the door of his father’s home office enough to stick his head in. “Hey Dad, do you have a—” T. J.

  stopped short when he saw his father was on the phone.

  Ted motioned his son to come in and have a seat, signaling with his hand that the call would only take a minute.

  “Totally agree, John . . . The tax lawyers have been great . . . Mitch is sharp as hell . . . They’ve actually expedited the sale, should be closed in three weeks. Apparently it usually takes two months for the UK government to approve corporate transactions like this; I guess they’re a bit desperate for the tax revenue. Poor old England. Must be difficult to be dependent upon your former colonies . . . Yes, I’ll be in London the week after next to make sure everything’s running smoothly and do a few press appearances . . . I know I’m missing graduation, but T. J.’s being a real sport about it.” Ted winked at his son. “Yes, yes, give my love to Jenny and the kids. Talk soon.”

  “Whew!” Ted turned to T. J. as he set the phone back in its cradle. There were deep bags under Ted’s eyes, but they still sparkled with excitement and adrenaline. He radiated an energy that said, “I am Master of the Un
iverse.”

  “What can I do for you, son?”

  T. J. sat up in his chair, his hands folded carefully in his lap. “Well, Dad, I was hoping you could help me get a job with Tom Fenway’s incubator.”

  “Didn’t you meet with him last week? How did that go?”

  “It was fine. I mean, I presented my credentials well, but I don’t think he understands how useful I could be, in terms of adding business insight to the engineering geeks he brings in.”

  “Tom’s a smart guy, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.” T. J. ignored the sting of this rebuff. “Well, it would help me a lot if you’d call him.”

  Ted cocked his head and studied his son. T. J. stared back unflinchingly.

  Finally he said, “T. J., I’m not going to get you this job. I got you the meeting, which is more than most kids your age get, but that’s where it stops. You have to get things yourself. Not just because it’s fair and meritocratic, but also because it will be more satisfying to you in the end than if I get it for you. You’re twenty-two, T. J. It’s time for you to start taking responsibility for your own success.”

  T. J. had been expecting this. “I see it a little differently. I think I’m twenty-two now, and it’s time for us to be more of a team. You do something for me, I do something for you.”

  Ted’s face folded into a mocking half-grin, and his right eyebrow raised.

  “Okay, T. J.,” he said with amused patience. “What, exactly, are you going to do for me?”

  T. J. smiled and said calmly, “I have some information that I think you’ll find valuable. About Gibly.”

  Still amused, as though he were playing Go Fish with a four year old, Ted humored his son. “And what information is that, T. J.?”

  “Did you know that someone hacked into Gibly last week?”

  “Not possible. The security is the best on the planet.” Ted didn’t flinch or show an ounce of concern.

  Neither did T. J. “They hacked into the user database. The one where Gibly stores the web activity and physical movements of each unique user.”

  “What are you talking about? Gibly doesn’t do that.”

  “Want to bet?”

  Ted’s amusement sank into annoyance. His son clearly didn’t have a clue what he was talking about and his presumptuousness was irritating.

  Ted rolled his eyes, punched a number on speed dial and put the phone on speaker.

  “Hello?” a man’s voice, thick with an Indian accent, answered.

  Still looking at his son, Ted said into the phone, “Amit, this is Ted.

  How are you doing today?”

  Amit, the lead programmer for Gibly, sounded distracted. “Mr. Bristol!

  I’m—I’m fine, sir,” he muttered. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Just have a quick question for you, Amit,” Ted said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did someone hack into Gibly last week?” Amit was silent on the other end. Ted and T. J. could hear commotion in the background, the voices of programmers yelling at each other in panicked voices. T. J. grinned. Ted blinked, listening intently for some reassurance to come out of the speaker, then looked down at the phone.

  “Amit? Amit, did you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir. I heard you. We’re working on it. We’ve been up for the past four nights and, well, we’re—we’ll figure out who it was, sir, and we’ll get it patched.”

  Ted stared at the phone, motionless, his eyes darting as his panic increased.

  “Sir?” This time Amit was unnerved by the silence. “Everything . . . everything will be okay, sir. The whole team is working on it.”

  “How could you not have told me this?” His disbelief had given way to anger. “What the fuck! Do you not realize that we’re about to close a deal?

  That this whole thing could fucking fall apart if . . . ” He trailed off; it was too much to process. “I’m coming down there. Right now.” Ted hung up the phone so hard it almost fell off the desk and stood up. He reached for his briefcase.

  T. J. remained seated, hands still neatly folded in his lap. “Would it help if I told you who did it?”

  Ted stopped and looked at his son. He’d almost forgotten he was sitting there. His voice was shaking. “Yes, T. J. That would be helpful.”

  “Will you get me the job at Fenway?”

  Ted swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice steady. “Yes, T. J. I’ll call Tom and get you a place at Fenway.”

  T. J. smiled. “Thank you. Her name is Amelia Dory. She’s a freshman at Stanford.”

  “How the hell could a freshman at Stanford hack into the most sophisticated . . . ” Ted started to speak but the smug look on his son’s face stopped him. He knew his son was telling the truth.

  Ted pulled out a notebook and said her name as he wrote it down.

  “Amelia Dory. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  Chapter 13

  Lady and the Tramp

  By the grace of God, Adam had been able to convince his RA to let him borrow her car for the evening. It was a 1999 Toyota Camry, which wasn’t exactly a match to Lisa’s Lexus SUV, but at least he didn’t have to show up for his date on a bike.

  Adam had sent Lisa a Facebook message asking if she wanted to have dinner at Salamanca Tapas Bar downtown. He’d never been on a real date or, for that matter, to a real restaurant in Palo Alto, but he’d gotten a Groupon for sixty percent off weekday dining at Salamanca, and hoped that, even if it wasn’t quite as fancy as she was used to, it might be acceptable to Lisa. To his relief, she had agreed.

  He’d pulled out his nicest pair of khakis and the button-down shirt he’d bought for his Stanford interview. The shirt was light blue and he wasn’t sure it totally matched the pants, but he thought the color accentuated his eyes and he figured his legs would be under the table during dinner anyway. He showered and shaved, stole hair gel from one of the cubbies in the hall bathroom, and looked at himself, satisfied, in the mirror. Until he realized he didn’t have proper shoes. What shoes do you wear with khakis?

  He slipped on his Converse sneakers. They didn’t look too bad, and maybe she would think he was edgy?

  He arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early. When Lisa came through the door, looking like an angel in white jeans, heels, and a light-blue silk halter top, Adam smiled and stood up to greet his date. Lisa smiled back and gave him an unexpected hug. “We match!” she said, noticing their shirt colors, and he blushed.

  The hostess sat them at a small candlelit table. Adam panicked when he opened the menu; he didn’t see a single thing that he could pronounce.

  Why hadn’t he looked beforehand to figure out what to order? At the bottom of the menu, there were a few “traditional Spanish rice dishes” listed. Okay, that sounded safe. Done. He closed the menu. “Look okay?” He smiled at Lisa.

  “Yes! I love this place. I did a summer program in Madrid last year and absolutely fell in love with Spanish food.” Adam smiled widely. Phew!

  The waiter approached and Lisa spoke with him in flawless Spanish, giggling lightly at something he said. Adam smiled, allowing the glory of being out with such a beautiful, intelligent girl make him feel like the luckiest guy alive.

  The waiter turned to Adam. “And for you, sir?”

  “I’ll have the pay-ella,” Adam said.

  The waiter gave a knowing glance at Lisa and corrected Adam’s pronunciation. “The pi-yay-yah?”

  Adam’s face turned beet red. “Uh, yes. Yes, the pi-yay-yah.” The waiter smiled at his improvement. Lisa reassured him. “Don’t worry; the Spaniards love making complicated words so they can mock us for mispronouncing them.”

  Adam was grateful for her humility.

  The dinner passed quickly, conversation never ceasing as Adam and Lisa talked about Stanford and Palo Alto and her favorite trips around the world. They talked about favorite TV shows and ice cream flavors and laughed at one another’s favorite jokes. The paella, it turned out, was delicious, and Lisa i
nsisted they order the house-made flan so Adam could try. But when it came time to pay the bill, Adam confronted a new dilemma: how to slip the waiter the Groupon without Lisa seeing. To his relief, she excused herself to use the restroom and Adam hurriedly beckoned the waiter over.

  “I have to get the manager to approve it,” he explained. “I’ll be right back.” He walked away just as Lisa returned to the table. Just in time, he thought.

  But then the manager came over to their table, holding the Groupon in his hand. Adam felt his hands sweat. “Sir, this coupon—” The manager stopped when he noticed Lisa, “Lisa! Lisa, my dear, how are you?”

  “Sergio! It’s so lovely to see you!” Lisa responded with a smile.

  “How was everything tonight?”

  Lisa grinned. “Oh, it was all wonderful, Sergio. This is Adam.” She gestured to Adam who reached out his hand to shake Sergio’s and started to stand up.

  “No, no, don’t stand up. A friend of Lisa’s is a friend of mine. Marco, don’t worry about that bill; the meal is on me.” Adam couldn’t hide his surprise. “Oh, thank you so much,” he stammered.

  Lisa smiled. “Thanks, Sergio. I can’t wait to tell Dad how wonderful everything was.”

  “Yes, please do! I’ll leave you two to it. Have a lovely evening.” When he’d left the table, Lisa turned back to Adam. “Sorry about that. My dad owns the property and loaned Sergio the money to open the restaurant.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I bet you’ve been here a thousand times. I didn’t mean to bring you somewhere your father invested in!”

  “Honestly, Adam, it’s hard to find a place in this town that Dad isn’t somehow involved with. And I love this place. I would eat here every single night—if it meant hanging out with you.” She blushed. That came out a little too quickly and she worried it sounded too aggressive.

  But Adam just smiled, his heart pounding, at a loss for words.

  Chapter 14

  Blank Check

  Ted’s head was spinning as he walked into University Café. He’d had hundreds—maybe thousands—of meetings here, but never one like this. He’d used T. J.’s student account to find Amelia Dory’s phone number and had called her on the way to meet Amit, asking her to meet him at University Café as soon as possible to discuss what she’d found out about Gibly. To his surprise, she’d happily obliged and agreed to meet that evening.