Terminal Value (6 page)

“If you're right, you'll make a fortune.”

“How long have you known me?” Tony punched Dylan in the arm. “I'm talking about being a technology genius, and you're talking about a fortune.”

“What's the other thing?”

“I'm not ready to tell you. That's a surprise for later.” He took another sip of his beer and stared out the window.

Dylan shook his head and laughed. “Sounds good, but don't get yourself into the same fix as your friend from Microsoft. Remember the contract you signed with Mantric. They might own any ideas you have while you're employed with them.”

“Hah!”

Dylan sighed. He knew he had to refocus Tony. “Tony, what's going on? Does your visit to New Jersey have something to do with that cryptic little message you sent me last month?”

“Remember a few weeks ago when I asked you about who had access to our files?”

“Yeah, you had some concerns about Hyperfōn.” An alarm bell went off in Dylan's head as his mind revisited that conversation, word-for-word. “Has something else happened?”

“I've been doing some digging, and I'm getting close, but I always feel like I'm being watched, like someone else has gained access to the file. I know I sound like a conspiracy theorist, but I can't help it.”

Dylan looked across the table at his friend and then let out a long sigh. “Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Joe Ferrano's getting panicky. You know, you're one of his favorite people. I don't know how you won him over, but he trusts you. You
are
coming with me to meet him tomorrow, aren't you?”

“Of course! What time?”

“Ten o'clock at their offices in Waltham.”

“I'll be there with bells on!”

“Thanks,” Dylan said, relieved, as the waitress set down their sashimi platters. “And don't worry about the files. I think you're just as jittery as Joe about this campaign.”

* * *

April 6, 8:30 a.m. Boston

Hyperfōn was set to announce a breakthrough in mobile phone technology, and with the launch little more than two weeks away, Joe Ferrano wanted reassurances.

Dylan pulled into a parking space in the technology office park in Waltham. As he walked to the front door, he noticed Tony perched on the steps, wearing his usual sport coat and jeans for a client meeting. They took the elevator to a reception desk at the front end of a large, open room on the second floor.

A young woman greeted them and told them Joe would be with them shortly. Dylan went to examine the old “brick” cell telephone on display—the very one Michael Douglas so famously used in the movie
Wall Street
and recovered when leaving prison in the sequel. He smirked. How times had changed. He returned to Tony and sat down.

“You're making me nervous,” said Tony.

“Well, Hyperfōn is my division's biggest client.”

“Don't worry,” Tony said, reaching over and patting him on the shoulder. “We'll settle him down, no problem. Trust me. It'll be a piece of cake.”

Joe Ferrano came around the corner. The CEO of Hyperfōn carried his early fifties with dignity. He kept his dark hair cropped short; his steel blue eyes bore into every person he met with an intensity and interest that spoke volumes. At six feet four inches tall, he carried his taut body like a professional boxer, strong and determined. His entire appearance was a study in confidence, and yet his demeanor was warm and friendly.

“Hi, guys, good to see you,” he said, shaking their hands. “Come on in.”

Tony and Dylan followed Joe across the open space towards his office. They walked past the twenty employees, most of them glued to their computer screens. This was one aspect of Hyperfōn's distinct advantage. A small company with very little overhead was about to change the way people viewed smartphones forever. The inexpensive price tag assigned to the product would undercut their bigger competitors, with their massive buildings, elaborate distribution systems, exclusive contracts, and enormous executive salaries.

For the next hour, the three of them hovered around the conference table in Joe's austere office and reviewed every detail for Hyperfōn's impending launch. By ten o'clock, with all questions asked and answered, Joe cocked an astute eye at Dylan.

“So, how's life at Mantric treating you?”

“Great, Joe. It's as if nothing's changed.”

“Yeah,” added Tony, “except now we've got the technological resources to guarantee Hyperfōn will stay in front of the competition for years.”

“Well, boys, that's nice to hear,” said Joe, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Our advertising campaign starts at the end of the week, which means we're about to spend a hell of a lot of our venture capital money.”

“I know, Joe,” Dylan said, smiling. “And we're ready for the launch. You're going to blow the doors off this market. And then you're going to be seen as the greatest mobile genius since Steve Jobs. We can't wait to see it happen.”

Joe leaned forward and stared into Dylan's eyes. “Launching the marketing campaign is only the beginning, Dylan. What concerns me is how important I'm going to be to you once it is up and running. We're going to need a lot of help figuring out what's working and what isn't. Screwing that up could make or break us.”

“We know that, Joe,” said Tony. “And that's why I'm here. I wanted to personally reassure you I'm not going to take my eyes off the ball. Not for a minute.”

“So, does that mean I can count on you to stay personally involved in this project?”

“Absolutely!”

Dylan shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew Joe was especially fond of Tony, but Tony was walking a fine line. His new responsibilities at Mantric wouldn't allow him to spend the same kind of time he had on Hyperfōn in the past. His mind went back to the conversation the previous evening, when Tony talked about his two new projects. In order to succeed, Tony would have to drop some projects or delegate. On the other hand, if Tony could attend all the key meetings with Joe, that might be enough. After all, the critical work was really in the hands of the mobile application developers now. And they'd assigned their very best to Hyperfōn.

“What about you, Dylan?” Joe asked. “How do I know you're not going to be preoccupied with your own IPO? When I heard the IPO had been moved up to May, I figured you'd be taking off just about when we launch.”

So that was what had triggered Joe's anxiety. Dylan took a deep breath. “Joe, we may be owned by Mantric, but you're MobiCelus's flagship client. Without you, we wouldn't have become the success we did. I owe you this one.”

Joe got up and paced his office. “You know, that sounds great. That really does. But the fact is, I haven't seen much of you guys lately.”

“Matt Smith has been managing the launch,” Dylan said cautiously, “and we meet with him constantly. And Rob has remained involved as well.”

“Matt's good. In fact, he's very good. But I've been around the block a few times, guys. I know what happens in business when companies get bought. I know about Art Williams and his reputation. Promises get broken because the people who made them have new bosses. Personal integrity goes out the window when big money comes in the door. I've got a lot of good people out there who have been working their asses off for me for practically nothing. They get paid peanuts, and hell, even the secretary owns a bunch of stock. They're like family to me. I owe them everything, and I want to be damn sure they get the riches they deserve.” Joe stopped his pacing and looked directly from Dylan to Tony. “So tell me. Do I have your personal guarantee to help me make that happen?”

Dylan composed himself, stood up, and tried not to think of the fact that he was already pretty stretched. The important thing was that the Hyperfōn work would be done—and done by the best. He could put the IPO aside; he would figure out how to make it all work. “You have my word, Joe. We're gonna help you rock the world and nuke your competition.”

Joe paused for a moment and then laughed. “I'm a pacifist, Dylan, so I'll just stick with rocking the world. What about you, Tony?”

Tony stood up as well. “Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss this revolution for anything!”

“All right then. Just keep your heads firmly attached to your shoulders—all right?”

“We will,” Tony and Dylan said in unison.

“Well, thanks for coming by, boys,” he said shaking their hands. “And I look forward to seeing you both again real soon.”

Tony and Dylan left Joe's office and walked back across the open space. As the elevator doors closed, Tony turned to Dylan and grinned.

“See what I mean? Piece of cake.”

But something in his tone raised a concern in Dylan's mind. He mulled over Joe's cryptic comment about Art Williams. A sideways glance told him Tony apparently thought nothing of it. Dylan realized this was a situation to keep a close eye on.

* * *

April 6, 11:45 a.m. Boston

Dylan and Tony drove separately to MobiCelus's former headquarters. Dylan headed across the Fort Point Channel towards the converted warehouse, not far from what was now the booming seaport area of the city. He pulled into his parking space in the garage, entered the old freight elevator, and hit the button for the fourth floor. The elevator jumped and then slowly creaked its way up. Dylan marveled at the difference between this elevator and the one at Mantric's office in Manhattan, and yet he felt a comfortable closeness with this old one. He knew that once the lease was up, Mantric would dump this property. He already missed the slow churning of the elevator.

The smell of fresh paint lingered in the building, a reminder of the cosmetic revamping that had occurred in the weeks following the acquisition. More vivid reminders were the new faces that ignored him as he crossed the floor.

Dylan walked past Tony's workspace—a jumble of computers, mobile devices, and assorted electronic toys scattered everywhere. That at least was the same, but only because Tony had no interest in redecorating it.

Dylan turned the corner. “Hey, Dylan,” Sarah Forrester called from her new desk outside his office. “Christine wants to see you. Pronto.” Before the acquisition, Sarah had been receptionist, office manager, and support person for all four MobiCelus partners. Now she was Dylan and Rob's personal assistant in the Boston office. Even though Rob had technically moved over to Mantric and had a New York office, he retained an office in Boston.

“Thanks.” Dylan sat at his desk and turned on his computer. As he waited for it to boot up, he checked his voice-mail on the speakerphone.

“Good morning, Mr. Johnson,” said a chipper female voice. “This is Arlene calling for Ms. Rohnmann. She would like to see you at your earliest convenience.”

“Hello, Mr. Johnson. This is Arlene again. Ms. Rohnmann asked me to give you another call.”

“Hi again, Mr. Johnson—”

“I told her you were at a meeting,” said Sarah, leaning on the office door and smiling.

Dylan returned a wry smile. “Have we received the itinerary for the road show yet?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. Why don't you call Arlene and tell her to tell Christine I'm in and will be over shortly.” Christine Rohnmann also kept an office in Boston—another part of the transition.

“Have you been a bad boy?” Sarah asked with a grin. “She seems mighty impatient.”

“She just wants to talk about the road show.”

Sarah sighed and shook her Gibson-girl head. “You really need to get a life, Dylan.”

* * *

April 6, 2:00 p.m. Boston

Christine Rohnmann's home page, always set on CNBC, flickered as charts neatly tracked the daily fluctuations of the NASDAQ and the performance of Mantric's competitors. Christine multitasked in a myriad of ways, primarily by keeping watch on the incoming messages during meetings in her office while asking detailed questions of those in attendance. And she was infamous for keeping a close eye on the firm's employees' personal as well as professional lives.

Christine thrived in her role as CFO. She had dived into the furor of the past three months with relish. She led the effort to register Mantric with the Securities and Exchange Commission, and after submitting it to the SEC, she had responded to a large number of questions and requests for revisions. This action had chewed up valuable time, as their technology sector of the stock market was the one hot spot. She enjoyed being in the spotlight, and she let everyone know that complications such as being required to spend valuable time in Boston, working with the menial Rich Linderman on the acquisition, did not please her.

As Dylan walked across the open space, he had a good view of Christine through the new glass wall of her office—glass walls designed to represent fiscal transparency and unity with the employees on the floor, yet maintaining a distinct separation. As Dylan watched her expressionless face staring at the huge LCD display in front of her, tapping the lethal fake nails of her left hand on her desk, he could not help but think transparency was not the picture. Dylan rapped on the glass door and entered as she looked up and waved him in.

He was uncomfortable with this new office style, which was so out of character for MobiCelus. Christine had done the room over in steel and glass, giving it a sense of ice. She then covered every available surface with stacks of papers, spreadsheets, and notes. The shelves on the side walls overflowed with binders, and more stacks of papers were piled high on top.

“Morning, Christine,” said Dylan, mustering up civility.

“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.