Terminal Value Part 4

"Have a seat," said Christine, pointing to a hard-backed chair on the far side of her desk.

Dylan settled into his chair as a winter-like chill washed over him. "You've made some interesting changes to your office," he said, attempting to start a conversation.

Christine neither nodded nor shook her head, an ingrained habit of hers. "I hope you're not planning on starting all of your conversations today like that."

Dylan smiled. He found Christine's abrasiveness odd but refused to let it bother him. Through his acquaintance with her over the past few months, he realized she used that technique with everyone, to get them on the defensive and off balance. She was the polar opposite of the affable Art, and together they formed a corporate good cop/bad cop team. The trick was not to accept her terms.

"I had a meeting with your people here this morning in preparation for the road show."

Dylan sat back and wrinkled his brow. While it wasn't his company anymore, being kept out of the loop just didn't sit right. It was still his division. "Well, Christine, I'd appreciate it if next time you want to communicate with my division about any issue, you'd work through me." He silently wondered if she was still angry about the incident with Rich several months ago.

"You were out of your office."

"I'm often out of my office, Christine. It's part of my job." Christine raised her eyes, but not her head. Dylan felt the room closing in on him. "What can I help you with?" he asked, changing the subject.

"We've decided to limit the road show to only Art, myself, and Sandeep-with our support staff, of course."

"What?" Dylan responded, shocked. Even though they had never discussed the road show except in the abstract, he had always a.s.sumed he'd be part of it. "Are you serious?"

"I'm sure you were hoping to go with us, but we don't want you distracted from running our mobile computing division. The last thing we can afford is to stumble while we're out selling ourselves to investors." She continued to watch the scrolling information on the screen.

"But, Christine," Dylan protested, "a huge piece of what makes us attractive to investors is our mobile computing business. And the MobiCelus reputation is an important a.s.set for our offering. I really need to be there."

"Our success isn't going to be determined by just our IPO. We need you and your team to make sure our numbers continue to improve so our stock value will go up over the long run." She did not raise her eyes toward him but kept her famous mult.i.tasking activities moving.

Dylan struggled to maintain his composure while his anger seethed just under the surface. His numbers were fine, and taking ten days to go on the road wouldn't be a problem. Christine was wrong. Showcasing their phenomenal mobile computing expertise and clients was absolutely critical to the stock offering. "Christine, you can't do this. You know how important our expertise will be seen on the street. Given the acquisition of MobiCelus, I think people will be really surprised not to see me there. Besides, who the h.e.l.l else is going to describe our work?"

"Art will handle that," Christine said. "And he'll need you to help get him prepared." She stared at him for just a moment, then her eyes returned to the charts flicking along the bottom of the screen.

Dylan felt the blood rising above his collar, and his anger surged. "Art knows nothing about mobile computing-absolutely nothing. As one of the world's foremost experts in this field, I have proven myself many times over. This is an incredibly stupid decision." For the first time since selling his firm, Dylan knew he didn't like having a boss. "Art will get slaughtered if he can't answer a tough question."

"You don't think Art can handle it?" Christine stopped mult.i.tasking and looked up at him, a glimmer of a smile curling her lips.

The moment she asked it, Dylan knew it was a loaded question. He refused to answer it. "I guarantee you my going on the road show won't impact my division at all. And it'll do great things for our IPO."

"I'm sorry." Christine returned her attention to her computer monitor and tapped at the keyboard. "Art and I talked it over. The decision is final."

Dylan stared at her and then turned his attention toward the window. He took a deep breath. "I'm asking you to think about it for a couple of days. Let me talk to Art-"

"There's no point," she countered, her deadly nails continuing to tap on the keyboard. "He wants you to help him get prepared, and he wants you to continue to focus on your division. The road show is at the end of this month, so you'll need to have some intense meetings with Art. I'll take care of the rest."

Dylan was being cut out of the game, and he didn't like it. "Jesus, Christine. This is just stupid."

Christine didn't say anything. She sat across from him. Staring. Silent. Smiling.

Dylan stared back. "You're making a mistake. A big mistake." He shook his head. "But Art's the boss. I'll pull together some material for him. But don't blame me if he gets blindsided by a technical question he can't answer."

"That's just it, Dylan. I will blame you," Christine said, standing up. "Thank you, Dylan." She held out a hand.

Dylan did not take it. "I'm returning to New York." He felt her stare burning into his back as he turned to leave the office.

"Have a safe trip," Christine said, and returned her attention to the computer.

Dylan walked out of the office in a daze.

April 6, 4:00 p.m. Boston Dylan's mind replayed the meeting with Christine over and over. His anger continued to rise. He paced back and forth in the elevator as it climbed up two floors to the nerd herd, where he sought out Tony. There was no mistaking this was where the technologists liked to hang out. The open s.p.a.ce found on the other floors wasn't open here at all. Clutter defined the area, with boxes piled against walls and chairs, bookshelves in a state of disarray, small mechanical devices in various states of creation spread everywhere-a h.o.a.rder's paradise. Most boxes were unopened and contained computers, a.s.sorted cell phones, smartphone components, plasma screens, routers, printers, and other equipment. The rest were empty pizza boxes. By the elevator, a poster showed a man dressed in a suit in a circle with a slash painted over it.

Dylan walked towards Tony's office. As he turned the corner, a small, silver robotic dog bounced off his right foot.

"Ah, sorry dude," said a young man with a pierced nose and orange hair holding the remote control. Dylan didn't know his name, but he'd seen him before. Enormously talented, the young man had a reputation for playing during the day and working all night. He also changed his hair color every week. Last week was his purple period.

Dylan said nothing as he stepped over the metallic dog. He heard it skitter across the hardwood floor and down the hallway behind him. Dylan walked to Tony's office and glanced inside. Empty.

"Dylan!"

Dylan looked up and saw Rich walking towards him with a stack of papers in his hand. Since the acquisition, Rich was now working under Christine.

"You okay?" asked Rich. When he got no answer, he caught Dylan by the elbow and steered him into Tony's works.p.a.ce. "What's up?"

"Nothing." Dylan pulled himself together. Unsure of the working relations.h.i.+p between Rich and Christine, Dylan decided this wasn't something to talk about with Rich. "Where the h.e.l.l is Tony?"

"That's what I was wondering. I came up here to find him. He hasn't submitted his time and expenses for two months."

"Jesus," muttered Dylan. He looked around the mess that was Tony's works.p.a.ce. It was just as well he was not there. It was a mistake to come running to him when something went wrong with his job. Things were different now. Better to tough it out.

"How's it going, working under Christine?" asked Dylan.

Rich shrugged. "She's a first-cla.s.s s...o...b.. Or would that be D.O.B.? But she gets it done. I wouldn't f.u.c.k with her, though, if I were you."

"Perish the thought." Dylan headed back to his office.

Chapter 7.

April 18, 5:00 p.m. New York Art walked into Christine's office and closed the door. Her head remained down; only her eyes moved as her glance followed him from the door to her desk.

"How have your 'cla.s.ses' been going with our quasi-resident teacher, Dylan?" she asked, a smirk creeping across her face.

"His knowledge really is amazing. It would be an advantage to have him on the road show."

Christine shook her head; an errant tress of hair swirled across her face from one side to the other. "No. We agreed we did not want him on this trip."

"I know, I know, I'm just commenting on his knowledge. Did you know he has perfect recall? His mind compartmentalizes everything, and he can remember even the smallest details. Amazing." Art pursed his lips as he thought about the two weeks he had spent with Dylan, learning all he could about mobile computing.

"Yes, I do know about his memory. That's one of the reasons we decided not to include him. Perhaps you should hone your own memory."

Art took a deep breath as he considered her snide comment. "My comments are rhetorical and don't require a response." His annoyance with Christine showed, thinly veiled, throughout the conversation.

"What is it you want, Art? I'm busy with my own preparations."

"I got a call today about Hyperfn. We need to make a decision about that proposal."

Christine stopped tapping the keyboard and sat back in her chair. She raised her head and stared beyond Art at the back wall of her office. "I was surprised the proposal came to us from that source."

Art nodded his head. He too had been surprised, but recognized the lucrative end of the proposal was too much to reject. "So? Yes or no?" he asked.

Christine did not take more than a moment to reflect on the "lucrative" side of the proposal Art mentioned. Her answer was short and terse: "Yes." She returned her attention to the keyboard and the numbers that scrolled across the monitor screen.

Art smiled. "I'll pa.s.s that along."

The sound of a cough at the door caught their attention, and they turned to see Tony standing in the doorway, fidgeting with a handful of papers.

"Sorry to bother you, Christine, but Rich asked me to bring these to you. He would have sent them interoffice package, but he knew I would be returning to Boston on the shuttle this evening and asked me to bring them back with me." He shuffled his feet and held the papers out toward her.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed them from him, signed them, and shoved them back in his hand.

"Thanks." Tony turned and left the office with no further discussion.

"Close the door on your way out!" Christine demanded.

When the door closed, Art turned to Christine. "How long do you think he was standing there?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure even if he heard anything, our conversation was too general for him to suspect anything."

"Right." Art walked to the door and turned back to face her. "I'll take care of that matter today." But he had already lost her attention.

April 19, 4:00 p.m. Boston The road show fast approaching, Dylan sat in his office waiting for his three ex-partners to join him. After many long and harrowing hours, they found themselves in Boston with enough time between appointments to be together. While Dylan waited, he thought back over the past two weeks.

Dylan had shuttled back and forth between Boston and New York, spending long hours briefing Art on MobiCelus's clients and on the state of the current, and emerging, mobile computing market.

He found Art to be a quick study, with an almost uncanny ability to pick out the latest buzzwords and use them to his advantage in a casual, conversational manner. But Dylan recognized one flaw-that Art's knowledge of technology was mired in smoke and mirrors. Dylan wondered if Art would be able to answer detailed questions about the technology and stay apprised of the ever-changing new developments. He seemed more like a brilliant manipulator-a con artist who focused his abilities on making a great deal of money.

Aware he was still angry at being left behind, Dylan was jarred out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. Heather walked into the office. "These two puppy dogs followed me home. Can I keep them?"

Tony and Rob trotted in behind her, giving their most mournful look. Dylan laughed for the first time in two weeks. "Hey, c'mon in. It's been a long time since we had a chance to talk. How's everybody doing?"

Heather jumped right into the discussion with an exciting report. "We've got some beautiful new intuitive interfaces in development at the L.A. office." She filled them in on the rapid growth of the experience design group-the folks who concentrated on making sure any mobile device was intuitive, easy to navigate, and attractive. "Our clients will be blown away by what they see. We designed a new mobile interface for a smartphone screen, and our testing showed the client would likely see an increase in revenues of over thirty percent." Her enthusiasm blew through the room, infecting Tony and Rob, while Dylan remained quiet, observing his friends.

"That's incredible. Have you got a demo?" asked Tony.

"Not with me," she replied. "I could send the application via e-mail, but then I'd have to convince Ivan it's not a breach of company security." She rolled her eyes. "That man is a menace."

"It's the quiet period," said Rob. "He's trying to be extra careful."

"Is there really any danger?" Heather asked.

Rob turned on her. "Heather, you know d.a.m.n well the SEC takes this stuff very seriously. The 'quiet period' is a restriction. It's meant to keep companies from improperly hyping the stock before it goes public."

"Right," Heather said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thanks for the reminder."

Dylan noticed the tension between them but remained quiet.

Rob turned to Dylan. "What's the news on the road show?"

Dylan took a deep breath. All the members of the team had duties that kept them busy, and he had kept the news of his lack of partic.i.p.ation to himself. Now he was glad of that decision because he knew he'd only have to tell it once.

"I'm not going on the road show," he announced.

"What?" they all said in unison. Tony and Heather crowded around the desk; Rob remained seated across from Dylan and leaned forward.

"Christine gave me the news earlier this month. Of course, it was Art's decision, but he had Christine tell me. I'm guessing he doesn't like to give bad news."

"Is he friggin' insane?" Tony demanded. "Doesn't he know that our mobile computing capability is what's going to drive our valuation?"

"I tried to explain that."

"And?" said Rob.

"She made it crystal clear Art is going to handle it."

"You're f.u.c.king kidding me!" said Tony. "Art can't talk knowledgeably about the mobile computing world. That's not his strong point. Has he lost his mind?"

"Tony, I pushed as hard as I could. I told both of them it was a huge mistake, but neither of them would budge."

"Jesus," said Heather. "That decision could really hurt us." She knew they all had visions of their IPO being like Google's, not some old tired dog. When Google went public, the company's market value had skyrocketed to over twenty-three billion dollars, making many employees instant paper millionaires.

"I know. It's unbelievably stupid," Dylan said.

"So why won't they let you go?" Rob asked.

"She said they don't want me to be distracted from running my division."

"What a load of c.r.a.p," said Tony, slamming his hands on the desk.

A moment of silence draped over the group. Rob finally said, "Dylan, I know you're not going to like my saying this, but this isn't our firm anymore. It's a stupid decision, but Art's in charge now."

Dylan stared at Rob. He felt his anger rising again. "I'm well aware of that fact, Rob. I've spent the last two weeks educating Art, beating this stuff into his head, and, frankly, it's difficult to educate someone in that timeframe about stuff that's taken me years to learn. I just don't want to see him f.u.c.k this up." His last sentence trailed off into oblivion.