Final Venture
Michael Ridpath
Copyright © 2000, Michael Ridpath
for Nicholas
Acknowledgements
Writing this novel involved talking to a great many people, most of whom were busy and yet were very generous with their time. I should like to thank in particular Toby Wyles, Anne Glover, Chris Murphy, Jonathan Cape, Paul Haycock, Hamish Hale and Lionel Wilson in London, and in Boston, Steve Willis, Chris Gabrieli, Christopher Spray, Sabin Willett and Rob and Pam Irwin.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
1
I should have told her the night before, when I came home very late smelling of wine. Or that Friday morning, early, as I fought a thick head to crawl out of bed and into work for eight o'clock.
But I hadn't. If I had, she might, she just might, have stayed.
It didn't seem a big deal, then. Not to me, not to her. I was cooking supper when she came home from the lab. Shepherd's pie and baked beans. You can't get shepherd's pie in America unless you make it yourself. I needed the English comfort food to absorb the remains of the previous night's alcohol. Lisa would understand. She would eat hers good-humouredly, and we would have an alfalfa salad tomorrow.
'Simon?' she shouted as the door slammed.
'Yeah!'
I heard her steps make their way through the living room of our small apartment, and felt her arms slide round my waist. I turned and kissed her. It was supposed to be a quick peck on the lips, but it became something more. I broke away and turned back to the beans, which were beginning to bubble.
'Shepherd's pie?' she asked.
'Yep.'
'I never will get used to this sophisticated European food. Was it a rough night last night?'
'You could say that.' I stirred the beans.
'I need a glass of wine. Want one?'
'No thanks.' I watched her pour one. 'Oh, all right, I'll have some.'
She poured mine and brought it over to me. She was wearing a black V-necked sweater and leggings. There was nothing under the sweater, I knew; no shirt, no bra. I knew her body so well, small, pert, lithe, yet I couldn't get enough of it. In the six months we had been married, we had been all over each other all the time. Things just didn't get done around the apartment.
'I spoke to Dad today,' she said, a wicked smile on her face.
'Oh yes?' Dad was Lisa's father, Frank Cook, a partner at Revere, the venture-capital firm I worked for. I had him to thank for my job there, and then for introducing me to his daughter.
'Yes. He says he bumped into you last night. You seemed to be having an enjoyable evening. And there was I thinking you were slaving away at cash-flow statements or whatever it is you tell me you do at your office.'
I felt a rush of panic. Lisa saw it, but the amused smile remained on her face. 'He saw me?' I gulped. 'I mean, I didn't see him.'
'He was at the far side of the restaurant, apparently. You must have been too wrapped up in your date. He said it looked like you were having a good time.'
'It wasn't a date. It was Diane Zarrilli. We were both working late on one of her deals, and then she suggested we go out for a drink. We passed a restaurant, they had a table, and so we got something to eat as well.'
'That's not what you told me.'
'Isn't it?'
'Uh uh. You said you went out for a drink with some people from work.'
It was true, I had mumbled that to Lisa's back as I had crawled into bed after midnight.
'You got me,' I said.
'Dad seems to think I should be careful of this Diane woman.'
'She's nice. She's good fun. You haven't met her properly yet. You'd like her.'
'She's very attractive.'
'I suppose so,' I murmured. It was undeniable. Diane was very attractive.
'You lied to me, Simon Ayot,' Lisa said.
'It wasn't exactly a lie.'
'Yes it was.' She moved closer to me, pushing me back towards the cooker. I could hear the beans bubbling away behind me. I raised my arms. 'It was exactly a lie.' Her hand shot out and grabbed my balls. She squeezed gently.
'Ow!' I squawked. It seemed the right thing to say in the circumstances.
She walked backwards, pulling me out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom. She giggled, her brown eyes flashing up at me. We tumbled on to the bed.
Ten minutes later, the smell of burning beans drifted into the bedroom over the mess of clothes, sweat and bare skin.
2
'No.'
Gil Appleby, Revere's Managing Partner, and my boss, folded his arms across his chest, daring me to protest.
No? It couldn't be no. I couldn't let it be no.
While I had worked on many deals in my two years at the firm, this was only the second that had my name on it. My first, a PC home-leasing company, had been a lucky success in a record time. My second, Net Cop, was going to be a failure just as quickly.
I had promised Craig the money only a few days before. When we had initially invested in Net Cop six months previously, we had committed to provide more funds when the company needed them. Craig needed them now. Without our cash, his company would go bust.
I had given my word.
It shouldn't have been an issue. A regular item on the agenda of the Monday morning meeting of the partnership. This was where new investment opportunities were discussed, and any problems in Revere's investment portfolio dealt with. Net Cop wasn't supposed to be a problem. It was supposed to be an opportunity.
The meeting had started in the usual way, with Art Altschule talking about BioOne. Art liked to talk about BioOne whenever he could. It was Revere's most successful investment, and Art's deal, and he didn't want any of us to forget it.
I wasn't listening. My eyes were on a plane lowering itself gingerly through the sky towards an unseen runway at Boston's Logan Airport, two miles behind Art Altschule's closely cropped head. My mind was on what I was going to say about Net Cop.
Eventually, I became aware Art had stopped talking. I was on next.
Gil glanced down at the papers in front of him. 'OK. Net Cop. A three million dollar follow-on. Tell us about it, Simon.'
I cleared my throat. I tried to be concise, low-key, objective.
As you no doubt remember, Net Cop plans to make the switches that direct the billions of information packets that fly around the Internet every day,' I began. 'They've completed the design of the switch, and they need a further three million dollars from us to go on to the next stage of their development, building something that they can show to potential customers.
'Frank and I made the initial investment six months ago. At that time we agreed to put in further funds provided Net Cop met various milestones. As you can see from my memo, they've met these milestones.
'Internet traffic is growing expone
ntially, and Net Cop has tremendous potential. In my opinion, Craig Docherty has done an excellent job, and we should continue to support him.'
In the six months I had worked with Craig, I had become more and more impressed with his abilities. I had also grown to like him. At thirty-two he was three years older than me, a wise old man in his business. He had vision, drive, energy, and an absolute determination to see Net Cop succeed.
The facts spoke for themselves. And the facts said 'Invest more money.' Or at least I thought they did.
There was a brief pause as I finished. My eyes flicked round the room. Everyone was watching me. The five partners: Gil, Frank, Art, Diane and Ravi Gupta, the firm's biotech expert. And the other two associates, Daniel and John, my friends and colleagues who I knew would support me, but who I also knew didn't have a vote.
No matter how many presentations I made, the board room didn't get any less intimidating. It was where all the important decisions in the life of Revere Partners were taken. Soft lighting reflected off cream walls with abstract sunsets. One set of windows overlooked Boston Harbor to the airport, the other the great canyon that was Franklin Street, with the colossus of the Bank of Boston building guarding one wall. Looking thoughtfully over Gil's shoulder, as if weighing the pros and cons of the discussion round the table, was a bust of Paul Revere himself. Silversmith, patriot, energetic horseman and finally wealthy entrepreneur, he mocked the computer geeks and disgruntled middle-managers who came before him. He didn't seem too impressed by my arguments either.
My eyes rested on Gil. He sat stiffly in his usual place at the middle of the table, leafing through the briefing papers I had prepared. I knew he would have studied them thoroughly over the weekend.
'The original plan called for a follow-on investment to be made after one year. We are only six months into the deal. Why so soon?'
His accent was clipped, almost English, what I had come to recognize as the hallmark of the Boston 'brahmins' who had run the city for three centuries.
He looked up and peered at me through his thick glasses. The lenses made his eyes look unnaturally small and hard. I had seen him use this effect many times before to unsettle hopeful entrepreneurs. It was working with me.
'As I mentioned, the market is hotting up,' I replied. 'There are more competitors springing up all over the place. Craig wants to make sure Net Cop is the first to ship product.' I cursed myself as I said this. I was beginning to sound defensive, always a bad position to find yourself in.
Gil's face, wrinkled and weather-beaten from countless days spent under sail in Massachusetts Bay or out in the North Atlantic, watched me, thinking.
There was silence round the table. No more questions. I began to relax. I was going to make it.
'Frank. You helped Simon with the deal, I believe. What do you think?'
I glanced over to the elegant figure of my father-in-law. Despite his fifty-seven years his hair was still light brown, his body athletic, and his face handsome. He was wearing one of his dozens of suits, this one with a subtle check. But his eyes, which usually twinkled kindly, were agitated, worried.
'I don't know, Gil. I've got some problems with this one.'
What? This was not supposed to happen. Frank was supposed to be on my side.
The silence intensified. Everyone looked from Frank to me.
'Yes?' said Gil.
'Simon has laid out the information here well enough,' Frank said, gesturing to the paper in front of him, 'but I think he's drawn the wrong conclusions. There's much more competition out there now than there was six months ago. Maybe we should think about that.'
'But Craig has thought about it,' I said. 'That's why he's sped up the development process! His team is better than any of the small companies, and the big boys are just too slow.'
Frank shifted in his chair. His deep voice commanded attention. 'I'm not sure about Craig Docherty, either.'
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gil flinch. Venture capitalists are proud of backing people, not businesses. Once you begin to doubt the person, then it is very hard not to doubt the business.
'You liked him six months ago, Frank,' Art said. 'What's changed?' Art was always quick to spot an opportunity to criticize Frank's judgement. He and Frank jostled in a most subtle way for the position of Gil's right-hand man.
'That's true. We all did.' And indeed Craig had made a presentation to the assembled partnership that had gone very well. His energy, dedication and total grip of his business had come through with great force. 'But from what I've seen of him since then, I think he's unreliable. He believes so much in the success of his company that he loses track of what's going on around him. The original plan was for twelve months to the development of a prototype, and that was tight. You can't do it in six without cutting corners. And you can't cut corners in this business without screwing up the product.'
'But he's been working eighteen-hour days, seven days a week!' I protested. 'The guy barely sleeps. And his staff are all working just as hard.'
'So he's driving them too hard,' said Frank. 'He'll make even more screw-ups.'
'Are you saying we should drop Net Cop?' asked Gil.
Frank paused. He leaned forward and rubbed his chin in the way I had seen him do a hundred times before turning down some hapless entrepreneur who had come into our offices looking for us to finance a dream. My eyes sought his, but he avoided them. 'We took a risk with the first two million. That's what we're supposed to do as venture capitalists. But the market's moving away from us, and the entrepreneur's losing perspective. The deal looks different. It would be a big mistake to drop another three million now.'
The bastard! I began to panic. Unless I did something immediately Net Cop would be dead. It was a good deal, I knew it. I just knew it. And more importantly I had given my word. Net Cop was Craig's life, and I had promised to support him. I wasn't prepared to go back on that.
'I disagree,' I said. I felt as much as heard a quick intake of breath from Daniel Hall, the associate sitting next to me. Associates didn't disagree with partners at Revere. 'I'm sorry Frank, but Craig seems to me to have done exactly the right thing. The market thinks that his switches are better than everyone else's. He has easily the most advanced security and encryption features, and that's exactly what the big telcos and ISPs want these days. He's got a winner here.'
Gil listened. When I had finished, he glanced across to Frank.
'He's got a higher spec than the competition,' said Frank. 'But we don't know whether he can deliver it – '
'That's why he needs the money for the prototype!' I interrupted. 'So that he can prove it works!'
Frank was silent. Then, for the first time that morning, he smiled. 'I admire Simon's enthusiasm. I've got to admit this looked like a good deal when we invested. But not any more. Sorry, Simon.'
The deal was dying, dying. 'But we can't back out now!' I protested. 'We told Craig we'd invest the next tranche when he met his technical milestones. He's met them. It was in the investment agreement.'
'There's always a way out of an investment agreement, Simon,' said Frank. 'I can think of a couple of clauses in there that could give us an out.'
I paused. I was floundering badly. I felt a nudge under the table. 'Give up,' whispered Daniel, very quietly out of the corner of his mouth. But I couldn't.
'Frank,' I began. 'We made an agreement. We have to stick to the spirit as well as the letter of it. We both know that Craig thought we were committing the second three million dollars. I thought that too.'
Frank didn't answer. He glanced at Gil.
Gil took a deep breath. 'OK, do we go ahead with the extra three million? Frank, I take it you say no?'
Frank nodded.
'Art?'
'No.'
'Ravi?'
Ravi glanced down at my memo through his half-moon reading spectacles. With curly grey hair, a bow-tie, and a large fleshy brown face, he looked more like a professor than a venture capitalist. He thought fo
r a moment, but he could tell the mood of his partners. He shook his head.
'Diane?'
Diane had been listening closely to the exchange. Now all eyes were turned to her. She sat there with perfect poise, her thick dark hair framing her high cheekbones, her small delicate lips puckered in thought.
'I think we should go with it,' she said at length. 'I take Frank's points, but I remember when we did this deal. We knew then we were in for five million. It's an exciting market, and maybe we have got a winner here.'
I gave her a quick smile. The support was too little too late, but I appreciated it.
Gil listened to her with respect and nodded. 'Thank you, Diane.'
The room was silent as Gil studied the papers in front of him. We let him think. Then he sat back, folded his arms and delivered his verdict.
'No.'
All eyes were on me. It felt like a physical slap in the face. I had lost a deal. Somewhere I had gone wrong, and I had a feeling that it had little to do with Net Cop and more with Revere. I should have taken the time to prepare the political ground more carefully, to square Gil. I shouldn't have allowed myself to be ambushed by Frank.
Gil took some pity on me. 'I'm sorry, Simon. I go with Frank on this one. When a deal turns sour, you should take your losses. We've learned that lesson over the years the hard way. I'd like you to get hold of the lawyers and work out how best to present this to Net Cop. But I don't want to lose our two million if we can avoid it.'
'Without the extra three, Net Cop's finished,' I muttered, pursing my lips.
'Well, salvage what you can,' said Gil.
My first bad deal! That was a blow to my ego, but I could live with it. In fact it was probably an essential part of my education as a venture capitalist. What I couldn't live with was going back on my word.
'I can't do it,' I said.
Gil looked at me sharply. 'I don't think you understand, Simon. You've made your points. We've listened. We've decided to pull out. Now it's your job to do just that.'
'We made a moral commitment to give Net Cop the funds. I made a moral commitment. I can't go back on that.'
Art, who had been quiet throughout this, suddenly burst in. 'Hey, quit playing the English gentleman with us. This is business. We back winners, and when they stop being winners, we drop them. It's tough, but that's how we make money for our investors – '
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