by Chan Ho-Kei
“In that case …” Szeto Wai picked up his glass and sat looking lost in thought.
Chung-Nam sneaked a glance at his expression, trying to work out if his words had the desired effect. He’d told only the partial truth: Mr. Lee had indeed played no part in devising the proposal, but that was because he had no idea what “options” were, so he was happy to leave that to his subordinates while Chung-Nam and Ma-Chai focused on getting the video streaming and cell phone apps done. Mr. Lee and Joanne were very careful to be discreet in the office, and it was Mr. Lee’s incompetence that affected his work, not their affair.
“It’s disappointing,” Szeto Wai said.
Chung-Nam cheered to himself. It had worked. Then Szeto’s next words plunged him from paradise into hell.
“Chung-Nam, you’ve disappointed me.”
Chung-Nam stared blankly at Szeto, uncertain how to respond.
“I asked you to be my eyes and ears so you could tell me what was happening behind the scenes, not so you could tattle on your coworkers,” said Szeto Wai evenly. “Don’t you think it’s rash of you to tell me this before SIQ’s made our investment? What would you do if you were me? Would you shout at Kenneth for not showing strong leadership, or would you just drop the whole thing?”
Szeto’s tone was mild, but Chung-Nam could tell he was furious. He might have gone too far, but having led with this move, he had no choice but to put more chips on the table and keep on gambling.
“Please look at this before you say anything more.” Chung-Nam reached into his briefcase and pulled out six or seven sheets of paper, which he placed before Szeto Wai.
“What are these? Did you steal confidential documents from your own firm?” Szeto said icily. “This is getting worse and worse.”
“No. I wrote these in my spare time.” Chung-Nam kept a lid on his unease and pressed on. “Ever since I met you last week, I’ve spent some time going over SIQ’s investment records and anything related I could find online—official financial reports as well as blog rumors.”
Szeto Wai looked a little puzzled, but allowed Chung-Nam to continue.
“In the last year, SIQ has invested in only eight internet services. This is the one closest to GT.” He pointed at a line in one of the English-language documents. “A website called Chewover. It’s about the same as we are in terms of design and chat capability, but it can host images, clips, and audio independently. Scores are given out based on clicks and ratings, and highly ranked users have special privileges, or even cash rewards. Just like YouTubers get revenue from ads. I reckon SIQ wants to buy GT to merge us with this American site first.”
“First?”
“Of course.” He pointed at another part of the document. “At the same time SIQ was investing in Chewover, you also took up an unremarkable company called ZelebWatch, which operates a news site of the same name, mainly aggregating gossip on American celebrities and public figures. In the beginning it was just a content farm for showbiz magazines, but later it put together an editorial team who doubled as paparazzi and auctioned off photos and videos invading celebs’ privacy. That made it more like a tabloid paper.”
Chung-Nam looked up and stared at Szeto Wai. “SIQ is going to merge Chewover and ZelebWatch.”
“How did you come to that conclusion?”
“Because you’re letting SIQ’s investment in GT go forward. If these two websites combined, they’d more or less duplicate everything GT does.”
“And this document of yours explains that?”
“No. This is GT’s forecast and development analysis—a five-year projection for the hypothetical situation I just mentioned.”
Szeto Wai’s expression softened just for a second. “I believe that GT Net will become a new form of entertainment media and disrupt the current model as we know it,” Chung-Nam said. “The USP is volatile pricing of posts according to popularity. If we can make G-dollars exchangeable with real money, that effectively turns all our users into showbiz reporters. YouTube is a good example of what happens when you break a monopoly—anyone with a computer or even just a smartphone can be a YouTuber.”
Szeto Wai flipped through the document as he listened.
“If we think of computer terminals as entertainment centers, the future of GT Net is easy to imagine,” Chung-Nam went on rapidly, aware this might be his only chance to perform. “YouTube succeeded by turning everyone into directors. We have to turn them into paparazzi, editors, copy editors, printers, delivery people, and newspaper vendors. With technology, all those jobs can be done by regular people. The phones we carry around are just as good as old-school professional cameras. Online posts don’t need to be laid out or printed. And with online payment, readers can pay content providers directly. GT Net will allow amateurs to be reporters, photographers, and editors. Gossip magazines will decline and vanish. That’s step one.”
“Is there a step two?”
“Yes.” Chung-Nam nodded. “Step two involves new methods of collaboration. Some YouTube channels work together, making guest appearances in each other’s videos, or even shooting coproductions. GT Net can do the same. Well-known users—maybe we should call them editors in chief—will attract people who want to work with them. Like ZelebWatch, we’ll make it possible to provide regular users with news, pictures, and video. All we’ll have to do is make it easy for them to communicate and disseminate their content, and we’re sure to dominate the market, which should make our website very profitable.”
“That’s an interesting point of view,” said Szeto, his eyes still on the document. “But what does any of this have to do with Kenneth?”
Chung-Nam swallowed, gathered his courage, and spoke the words he’d held in for the last two weeks.
“I believe I’d make a more suitable CEO of GT Net than Kenneth Lee.”
Szeto Wai looked up, shock written across his face. He studied Chung-Nam carefully, as if they were meeting for the first time.
Chung-Nam worked hard not to let any fear show on his face. Even at university he’d already had dreams of running a successful business. As a shortcut, he’d taken a job at a small company, hoping the day would come when he’d find an investor with enough foresight to take a risk on him. The first time he met Szeto Wai, though, Wai said something that inspired Chung-Nam to change his goal.
Szeto Wai had happened to mention that the Hong Kong Philharmonic’s conductor was Dutch, the principal guest conductor was from Shanghai, and the principal violinist was Chinese Canadian.
Why find investors to help set up my own business when I can just steal one instead? was the thought that flashed through his mind.
Much easier to snatch an existing firm than set one up from scratch. It didn’t matter who’d set up the orchestra, van Zweden was in charge now. He decided how it was run and what its future was. The Hong Kong Philharmonic was the manifestation of this man’s spirit.
If Chung-Nam could just get rid of Kenneth Lee, GT Net would be his for the taking.
Having had this idea, Chung-Nam put everything he had into realizing this goal. Knowing that Szeto Wai would be in Hong Kong for only a month, he’d made sure to bump into him at the Cultural Centre, badgering him into conversation, all to ensure his future position.
“Once SIQ invests in GT and becomes the majority shareholder, you’ll hold all the power.” Chung-Nam’s heart was racing, but he spoke confidently. “Including the power to change the leadership.”
Szeto Wai was silent, his arms folded in front of him and his brow furrowed. Chung-Nam could tell he wasn’t upset, but struggling to choose between two alternatives.
“You’re much bolder than I’d expected, Chung-Nam,” he said after a long while. “That’s not a bad thing. I’ve always believed that one only achieves great things by being sufficiently ruthless. Playing it safe means missing opportunities. But you know, Brutus died a terrible death in the end, and it was Octavius who took power.”
“Kenneth Lee is no Caesar. At the very most, he�
�s a provincial governor somewhere in the Roman Empire.”
Szeto Wai chuckled at that, thawing the atmosphere a little.
“There have been changes of leadership in previous SIQ investments, but very few, and only many years after we first put money in,” said Szeto Wai. “And actually, most venture capitalists won’t use this power. We’d rather cut our losses and pull out than get involved in HR matters. If an investor were seen to be abusing his power, not only would that damage the company, it would hurt the VC’s reputation too. After all, there’s no way to guarantee that the person we choose will improve performance. True, after SIQ gets involved, Kenneth will gain a considerable sum of money from the sale of his shares. Still, he’d feel betrayed if we removed him right away, and that would affect your coworkers too. If he set up another firm and poached some of his former staff, that would hurt us even more. A VC isn’t investing in the business itself, but in the talent and creativity within each business.”
“What if I can hold on to all our staff?”
“Really? Even the secretary?”
“Joanne is only Kenneth’s assistant. She doesn’t bring any value to running the company—any college graduate could replace her,” said Chung-Nam earnestly. “The people who really keep GT running are myself, Ma-Chai, Hao, and Thomas. If I were steering the ship, most of the problems you brought up earlier would be easily resolved. It’s not like I’m parachuting in—by promoting someone from within the existing staff, you’ll show that you reward talent, which should increase everyone’s sense of belonging to the company. So how about it, Mr. Szeto? If I can promise you that the other three will stay put, will you consider my proposal?”
Szeto Wai didn’t answer, he just picked up the document and started reading attentively, stroking his chin from time to time as if seriously considering it. Chung-Nam waited on pins and needles for the decision of the future chairman of the board. The two of them sat in complete silence for fifteen minutes. Chung-Nam was so worked up that a quarter of an hour seemed to last more than a day. Without realizing it, he’d finished his drink, but didn’t feel he could order another.
Finally Szeto Wai nudged his glasses up his nose and put down the document.
“You said you and your coworkers are preparing the report for next week?”
Chung-Nam nodded.
“What’s it about?”
Chung-Nam went through the plans and ideas he’d shoved into the report, including transferable access and pay-to-read options, as well as the “repeat bonus” that even he found ridiculous. Szeto Wai listened with a grin, as if Chung-Nam were telling a big joke.
“All right,” said Szeto Wai, cutting him off. “That’s enough. It’s unbelievable that Kenneth didn’t object to any of this—I can’t imagine how he even came up with the idea of GT Net in the first place. Fine, I’ll accept your proposal …”
It was like getting his exam results and seeing that he’d come in first. Chung-Nam’s heart exploded with joy, and it was all he could do not to stand up and cheer. He sensed that Szeto Wai still had more to say, so he stayed quiet and let him finish.
“… provided you submit to a test.”
“A test?”
“Your analysis of the situation isn’t bad, but this is just a first draft.” He jabbed a finger at the document. “I need you to write me a full report, not just about GT Net’s technology and prospects, but also a financial statement, breakdown of its holdings, market intelligence, business plans, and so on. I’ll forward it to SIQ’s finance department for them to look through. I also want a formal statement explaining the contents of the report.”
Chung-Nam didn’t have access to the financial information, but he was pretty sure that if he told Mr. Lee he needed it for the report on “G-Dollars as Financial Instruments,” it would be handed over with no questions asked.
“No problem. And could I ask when my proposal will be put into action?”
“Next week, when I visit your office.”
Chung-Nam gaped. “You—you want me to confront Mr. Lee with it?”
“No.” Szeto Wai took a sip of his drink. “I want you to take advantage of the moment to show off your abilities. As you said, Kenneth doesn’t have the first idea about these G-dollar options you pulled out of thin air, so he’ll almost certainly let you handle the presentation. Seize the moment and give me the new report. Though I should warn you, I’m not going to go easy on you. If I’m not happy with what you say, I’ll let you know right away. On the other hand, if I approve, I’ll make it clear that it was your revised report that secured my investment. After that, you’ll be able to use that as an excuse to take Kenneth down, and that should make the takeover go more smoothly.”
Chung-Nam hadn’t got as far as this in his plan, but now that he thought about it, this probably was the most effective tactic to damage Mr. Lee’s authority and win the support of his coworkers. After all, if Mr. Lee kept saying “Do whatever it takes to make SIQ invest,” and Chung-Nam did just that with a report he’d secretly prepared on his own time, it would highlight his boss’s incompetence.
That said, Chung-Nam had no way of knowing whether his report would convince Mr. Szeto. If it went badly, he might find himself in a tricky position: losing the support of his peers without gaining Mr. Szeto’s recognition. Mr. Lee might even realize what he’d been plotting, in which case he might find himself at the receiving end of a termination letter.
“I’m not forcing you,” said Szeto Wai, smiling. “And you don’t have to give me an answer. I’ll just turn up at your office next week and see which version of the report I hear.”
“Okay—” Chung-Nam’s stomach was churning. Success was within his reach, but in order to get what he wanted, he’d have to take an enormous risk. If he abandoned his plan and obediently presented the nonsense about “G-dollar futures,” the company would get a huge cash infusion, and his own salary and job description would surely rise too. No downside there. Yet he understood that if he wanted to eliminate Mr. Lee, this would be the most direct, most effective method. If he believed in his plan, he’d have to seize the moment and do everything he could to improve his odds.
“You haven’t said what you think of my first draft, Mr. Szeto, nor whether I was right about Chewover and ZelebWatch. You could at least tell me whether I’m on the right track. That’s only fair.”
“So now you’re bargaining with me?” Szeto Wai scolded, though his expression stayed friendly. “Obviously I can’t say anything about Chewover or ZelebWatch, because of the NDAs, but the first two steps you named do indeed fit with my future plans for GT Net. In fact, there’s also a step three.”
“Step three?”
“Remember the Boston Marathon bombing a couple of years ago? You know which media organization had the fastest response, with the most information?”
“CNN?”
“No. It was BuzzFeed.”
This was a surprise. “BuzzFeed isn’t a mainstream news source, is it?”
“Certainly not back then.” Szeto Wai shrugged. “But the fact is, they won this round. While traditional outlets like the New York Post were still wrongly reporting that twelve were dead, BuzzFeed had the right number on its website, plus photos from the scene and quotes from the Boston PD. Regular newspapers send reporters out to gather information, but BuzzFeed used the internet: Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, and so on were its sources. They verified each picture and piece of information as it came into their New York office until they’d pieced together the truth. A New York Times reporter tweeted that he actually got his updates from BuzzFeed.”
Chung-Nam hadn’t known any of this, but then he wasn’t American and didn’t pay much attention to foreign news.
“After this, BuzzFeed was no longer seen as a frivolous website, but a new media outfit that shouldn’t be underestimated. Even the president’s chief of staff understood this point. Since March, BuzzFeed has been allocated a space at White House briefings, at the same level as Reuters, AFP, CBS,
and so on.” Szeto Wai paused for a moment. “There’s another website behind BuzzFeed’s success.”
“What’s that?”
“Reddit.”
Chung-Nam gaped. As GT’s director of technology, he’d heard of Reddit, of course, but hadn’t done much more than surfing through a few posts.
“Less than fifteen minutes after the bombing, the ‘News’ subreddit already had a thread,” said Szeto Wai. “People at the scene posted reports and pictures, and even people who weren’t there reposted news from other sources. Someone linked to the marathoners’ finishing times, so others could check if their friends and relatives were safe. Some of the photographs were disturbing—survivors with severed limbs being carried away, and so forth—but that was the reality, much more than the sanitized images we see on TV. There’s no way to prove this, but plenty of people suspect that the BuzzFeed editors must have used this thread to get hold of firsthand accounts.”
“So step three is …” Chung-Nam was starting to guess what he was getting at.
“Yes. I believe this is the next wave in the news revolution.” Szeto Wai smiled crookedly. “GT Net won’t just be an aggregator of gossip or entertainment news, but of all news. Long ago, in order to satisfy the public demand for information, papers would put out an evening edition or a special issue if something big blew up. With the arrival of TV, people had a more direct source of news, and the papers evolved to be more a vehicle for deeper analysis and commentary. Evening editions and special issues disappeared. The internet disrupted this model once again. Like you said, regular people have replaced professionals, and we’re entering an era when the entire population are reporters. The public can now get unfiltered, unsorted data and see for themselves what’s really going on, diminishing the authority of the press and the media. Do you know who the Boston Marathon bombers were?”
“Wasn’t it a pair of brothers who’d immigrated to the States?”
