Sophia of Silicon Valley

by Anna Yen

  Later, as I stepped into my room at the Hyatt Regency near LAX, I thought of that day more than three years ago when I opened the door to the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons Hotel. How silly and naïve was I to be excited about something like that? Now, staring at yet another empty hotel room, I questioned whether I was exactly where I was supposed to be. It certainly didn’t feel like that anymore.

  Chapter 24

  Rajesh, Andre, the bankers, and I spent the next two weeks getting ready to kick off the IPO. We were on a high after the successful rocket launch, a triumph for Stark Aerospace, for Ion, and most of all for Andre. After so much loss—the plane crash and the failed launches—we really needed a win. Stark Aerospace’s milestone lightened the mood, and Ion’s usual tense atmosphere changed to a nothing is impossible energy that made everyone feel proud. For me, the best part was finally having Andre’s undivided attention, which was sorely needed to kick off the roadshow. At long last, we were almost there.

  The sizzle reel, with the Ibiza background music, was finished. All the graphics, scripting, and messaging were approved. Thank God! The last thing we needed to do, at the bankers’ request, was to finish rehearsing the Q&A with Rajesh. The bankers and I had already completed three rehearsals with him, and he had not “shown” well.

  It was two o’clock in the morning on the day we were scheduled to leave for the roadshow. Six bankers, two lawyers, and I sat around a conference table at Ion and drilled Rajesh as though he were on trial. I felt a little sorry for him as he slumped in front of us looking exhausted and defeated.

  “Rajesh, maybe this will help,” I said. “Put yourself in an investor’s shoes. You’re trying to shoot holes through someone’s business plan. You’re just looking for some reason to not invest. The CFO’s job is not only to answer the questions, but also to put a positive spin on them.”

  Rajesh glared at me and I recognized his familiar shut up look. The room got quiet until Jack Wynn asked, “Would you mind giving him an example, Sophia?”

  Stunned that Jack actually asked me for my opinion, I stuttered slightly as I answered, “Well, uh, for example, if investors ask about why our employee turnover is so high, you can say that we take only the top one percent of the thousands of résumés we receive each day.”

  “That’s not actually answering the question,” Rajesh complained.

  “No, it’s not. But I guarantee the investor will think that’s an answer. And even if he doesn’t, he will be impressed and take note that we are hiring the best of the best in a very competitive hiring environment.”

  Rajesh pushed back. “I understand. But—”

  “No buts,” said Jack. “Sophia is right. She’s not telling you to lie to the investor, but don’t give them any cause to worry.” He shot me a look of approval and a crack of a smile.

  The man who was often wrong but never in doubt—the man who’d refused to listen to any of my opinions when I worked for him at Global Partners—finally said that I was right! I’ve gained his respect. It’s about time.

  Jack looked at his watch and said, “We can practice more on the airplane tomorrow. The plan is to meet at Andre’s jet at seven in the morning. Don’t forget that we’re going straight to the Global Partners offices for an afternoon sales force teach-in in New York.”

  We collected our things and I stood at the conference room door waiting for Rajesh.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re going to do great.”

  Rajesh scowled at me and I wasn’t sure why. I wondered if it was because I’d tried to give him advice. Had I embarrassed him in front of other people? But wasn’t I just doing my job? I turned my eyes toward the floor and walked silently away, too tired to care.

  My hair was still wet but there was no time to dry it. A ponytail had to do. The black sedan had arrived five minutes ago and was waiting outside on Greenwich Street.

  My phone rang as I closed the front door to my flat. I hesitated to answer the call, but when I saw that it was Rajesh, I picked up.

  “Hi, Rajesh. I’m on my way.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m just leaving the house. The car is here. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, good. You haven’t left. I asked Ji-yan to book you on a flight out of SFO, so you’ll just meet us all in New York.”

  “What? Why?” I asked.

  “Just meet us there. I think Ji-yan said she booked you on American. The details should be in your email.”

  “Hang on. That doesn’t make any sense at all. Why wouldn’t I just fly with you guys on Andre’s jet?”

  “Just get on that flight.”

  I had no idea what was going on, but I had a suspicion it was because of our rehearsal the night before, or rather, earlier that morning.

  “Is this because of the prep session? Really, Rajesh, it wasn’t personal. I was just doing what you hired me to do—get you ready for the IPO. Investors are going to question everything you say. It’s their job to shoot holes through our business.”

  “No. That’s not it.”

  Bullshit.

  “Well, then what is it?” I asked.

  “I just don’t like you and I don’t want you to fly with us,” Rajesh responded quickly.

  There was a short silence. I could hear a blue jay squawking in the maple near the door. I took a breath and adjusted the phone against my ear.

  “Well, I can work on whatever it is you don’t like, but we’re about to kick off the IPO of the decade. I’m getting on that jet, Rajesh.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “What if I promise not to say a word during the entire flight?” I asked, shocked and disappointed at myself for even suggesting such a thing. What the fuck are you doing, Sophia? It was only then that I realized—I can’t work for this man.

  “Just get on the American flight. This isn’t a negotiation.”

  “We don’t operate on the caste system, Rajesh. I’m not taking a different flight than everyone else when there’s a perfectly good seat for me on the jet.”

  “Sophia.” His tone was cold and hateful, and I hated him for putting me in this position. But he’d backed me into a corner.

  My voice cracked when I said, “I will not get on the commercial flight. You are going to have to fire me.”

  “Okay, fine,” Rajesh said. “You’re fired.”

  “What?!”

  Shit. He actually did it!

  But there was no response; the line was dead.

  “Miss, we need to go if we’re going to stay on schedule.” I stared at the driver, who was now standing on the curb in front of my flat, his hand closed around the handle of my suitcase. With surprising speed I yanked it out of his grasp, wheeled around, and returned to my front door. I unlocked it with shaking hands.

  “Miss!”

  But I couldn’t speak; I just slammed the door in his face. Then I turned the dead bolt, slid to the floor, and tilted my head back against the door. I held my breath, waiting for tears, but they never came.

  You deserve better than that. Scott’s words. He’d said them to me a dozen times, and he’d say them again now. I knew that I had stuck up for myself and that I had done the right thing. But I felt awful. I took a deep breath, then another, and then lifted my head, confident that Andre would call. He’d better.

  Thirty minutes later, Andre’s name appeared on my caller ID.

  Andre shouted, “What the fuck are you doing? You’re ruining this whole thing!”

  “Talk to Rajesh!” I screamed back. “I didn’t do a damn thing.”

  “I don’t give a shit what he did or said. Get your ass to New York.”

  “Well, he fired me. Didn’t he tell you?”

  “Oh Jesus.” The phone crackled. I could practically see Andre rolling his eyes and pacing. “Why can’t you just make it work with him?”

  “It’s not me, Andre. The man has hated me since the day I started.” I ran a hand over my tightly pulled-back hair. I’ll handle this
better than I handled Rajesh. “Look, I’m not coming to New York. I don’t work for Ion anymore. If you want me back, I want to report to only you, not Rajesh.”

  Andre paused. “You know that’s impossible,” he said, his voice softening. “I can’t just pull the IR function away from my CFO. What will it take for you to come to New York and finish out this roadshow?” That’s when I realized. He doesn’t care about me at all. He only cares about the IPO right now.

  I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips. No more Ms. Nice Guy. It took me only seconds to decide what I wanted; I visualized it the way Scott would have wanted me to. His voice played in my head: “Ask for everything and more.”

  With my heart in my throat, I took a deep breath. And I asked. “I want six months’ severance, eighteen months’ paid health care, and all my stock options accelerated so they’re vested and exercisable.”

  “I don’t think we can accelerate all your options, but we could certainly get you one year’s worth,” Andre said. “Consider it done. Call Jacob and tell him what’s going on. And I’ll send the jet back for you after we land, but you’re going to miss the bankers’ sales force teach-in and I’m very unhappy about that.”

  “Wait! And I want Rajesh to walk behind me at all times while we’re on the road. I don’t want him anywhere near me.”

  “Sophia . . .”

  “I’m not kidding, Andre. I despise that man. It’s nothing different than what he just asked me to do. He’s a complete pig—a misogynist!”

  Andre didn’t disagree. He knew the man he’d hired was a lawsuit waiting to happen, so he simply said, “Fine. Just get over here.”

  I hung up the phone, my entire body shaking. I leaned against the wall, slid to the floor, and began to cry.

  Chapter 25

  “Here we go,” I said, offering Andre a bottle of water. He grabbed it from my hand, took a sip, then gave it back. We were just steps from the side door of the Grand Ballroom in the Pierre New York. Nearly two hundred potential investors were inside, gathered to hear Andre tell them why they should buy Ion stock. As Andre had promised, Rajesh walked several feet behind me, and there were three bankers between us. It was the last day of our road show and I was physically and mentally exhausted.

  I swung open the gold-painted door and Andre strode through. Round tables of ten were spread throughout the ballroom with neatly plated breakfasts placed in front of each attendee.

  I followed Andre up the three steps leading to the stage, then hung back at the edge as he took his place behind the dark wood podium. Touchdown. I glared at Rajesh as he walked past me and took a seat behind the podium, knowing that that was as far as he would ever get: sitting behind someone, waiting for his turn.

  With the spotlight shining brightly on him, Andre took a moment to absorb the sight of the crowd. He held his hands up and said, “Good morning! Before we get into the presentation, I’m going to show you a video featuring some of our executive team . . . and real footage of Ion’s brand-new Model A. It is a true technology velociraptor!”

  What the hell is a velociraptor? Shit, he’s veering away from the script!

  The room erupted into cheers and I heard the audio-visual technician behind me whisper into his walkie-talkie, “Cue sizzle reel.” As the Ibiza music began to play, I looked to the three large white screens projecting the video that was my vision—the beautiful cars and the carefully scripted words that I wrote. Although the room was dim, I could see the well-dressed audience; they were sitting forward in their chairs just as I’d hoped. I smiled at the investors’ blissed-out expressions. I took a slow, deep breath and looked down to the floor. We did it, Sophia. We did it.

  After breakfast, Andre and I sat in a stretch limousine facing forward; Rajesh sat alone on the seat that ran sideways. I’d traveled nine days with these two. From time to time Andre looked from Rajesh to me, then back; he knew we didn’t speak to each other, but it didn’t seem to bother him whatsoever. As we drove to our next meeting—our last—I looked out the window at the joggers in Central Park. The rain that had just begun to fall didn’t appear to bother them, and I wondered what those people did for a living, thinking how nice it was that they had the luxury of exercising in the middle of the day. The sound of the windshield wipers brushing against the glass woke me from my daze. I glanced around the limo; Rajesh and Andre were checking their phones. I pulled mine out, too. Voicemails. Two of them.

  Message 1: “Sophia, I was hoping to catch you in person. It’s Eric McCabe from Chaussure.com. I’m funding a new company called Lasso and I want you to be one of the founders. Give me a ring, or better yet, get on a plane to Seattle. I need you here the day after tomorrow.” Then, before Eric hung up, he laughed and said, “Working there is going to be like working at the Champs-Élysées.”

  Message 2: “Hi, baby. It’s me, Peter. Listen, I know it’s been a long time—more than I had intended—but I needed the time for self-reflection and to understand how I fit into ‘us.’ The truth is—and we both know it—that you truly don’t need me. I had to figure out if I could be happy with that. But I know you want me in your life, and I am one hundred percent certain that I want you in mine. I miss you and would really like for us to talk. Please call me back. I love you.”

  I gripped my phone tightly, as though daring it to tell me that this was all a joke. Eric McCabe wanting moi? A man who was willing to love and support me just as I’d do for him? Before I could ask myself what had caused Peter’s change of heart, or what had inspired Eric to think of me as his next business partner, I stopped the questions dead in their tracks. I knew the answers. Finally.

  It’s me. Unfiltered me.

  Andre and Rajesh were still pecking at their phones when the car stopped at the next red light. I knew it was crazy, but there was some force building inside me, some wild energy that wouldn’t let me sit there on these fancy leather seats one second longer. I’d had enough.

  I grabbed my purse and opened the car door.

  “Hey!” Andre exclaimed, his head whipping up from his new Q-phone. “Where are you going?”

  “You don’t need me anymore,” I said as I climbed out of my seat. “The company is going to do great. I promise.” I slammed the car door just as the light turned green.

  The window rolled down, and Rajesh leaned past Andre to shout something at me, but his voice was drowned out by the honking yellow cab behind the limo. I caught one last glimpse of Andre as I stepped back and let the limo pass. He didn’t look too angry; he looked perhaps even understanding.

  Thank you, I mouthed.

  I hailed the next taxi, slid into the back seat, and said, “Take me to the closest airport, please.”

  There was no time to think twice. No time to second-guess myself. As Jonathan said, “Fortune favors the bold,” and that’s exactly how I liked it. I was living my life my way from here on out—not Audrey’s, my parents’, my doctors’, Peter’s, or any other way. There’s no “supposed to” anymore. I rolled down the taxi’s window and stuck my head out so the rain and wind pelleted my face. For the first time in way too long, I smiled. I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  Epilogue

  San Francisco’s Second Street looks uncharacteristically clean. Gone are the clouds that brought rain pouring down on the city last night; in their place are clear skies that suggest spring has finally arrived. On this early April morning, the pedestrians I pass seem to be walking slower than usual. Their faces are turned up toward the bright shining sun, soaking in the warming rays and replenishing winter-depleted vitamin D reserves. On a different day, I might be doing the same. Instead, I am racing toward the entrance of a nondescript five-story building that is easily dwarfed by taller ones on either side of it.

  Inside a small, empty lobby, the elevator’s Up button is already lit. I press it again anyway—urgently and repeatedly—believing that doing so will get me to the fourth floor faster. When I finally reach our office’s closed front door, I push it with such force
that it flies open and breaks through the drywall behind it. A dozen or so heads turn to see me storm through our doorway. I’ve arrived.

  “What the fuck happened?” I ask, my face flushed with anger.

  A sturdy, Eastern European–looking man wearing a thick red-and-black flannel shirt tilts his head and shrugs his shoulders. His name is Adam Kalezic—my Lasso cofounder—and I’d hoped he would have more information by now.

  “We were robbed,” Adam says.

  Doing my best to maintain a neutral tone of voice, I take a deep breath and respond, “Yes, you told me that this morning. Did you call the police like I asked you to?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Why not?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. Adam’s technical genius might be unmatched, but he’s always left everything else up to me.

  “I forgot.”

  Bygones, Sophia. Bygones. Everyone has their own talents.

  I dig my Q-phone out of my purse and dial 911. After providing the details to the dispatcher, I hang up and face the dozen or so employees who are scurrying about.

  “Who was the last person out last night?” I ask.

  “I was,” says Viktoria, an engineer and a significant contributor to our company’s product—software that automatically backs up data. “Not sexy, but definitely in demand” is how Eric McCabe described it to me just over a year ago as I sat at JFK waiting for a flight home. So much has happened since then; this isn’t something I would have ever imagined.

  “Did you lock the doors when you left?” I ask, completely prepared to fire her because I’m certain our predicament could have been avoided.

  “I did. I didn’t leave until about two a.m. and I’m sure I locked both the front door and the one off the kitchen that leads to the stairwell.”