The Dream: How I Learned the Risks and Rewards of Entrepreneurship and Made Millions (19 page)

To my great relief, my friend Krishna did very well for himself. As I mentioned, his parents had been very unhappy with me when he left medical school to join BlueLithium, but the day after the deal closed I got a call from his father. “When my son decided not to become a doctor, he broke my heart,” he said. “But now I see that going to work for you was one of the smartest moves of his life.”

The Ad Revolver team also made out pretty well. At one point, as you might remember, they had almost settled for $500,000, but they ended up walking away with a lot more—enough to retire, in fact—they didn’t retire, though. They are
still working as hard as ever and that’s the lesson here: Success comes to those who aren’t only in it for the money.

Everything about the deal felt great.

The day I sold BlueLithium, everyone in the San Jose office went downstairs to a bar to celebrate, and my father came as well. He took me aside and told me how proud he was, but he said he was also a little ashamed. “You became the true patriarch of this family,” he told me, and tears sprang to his eyes. “You did the job I was supposed to do.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “When I was sixteen, and I asked you to let me drop out of school to pursue my dream, you believed in me. It was your faith in me that gave me the courage to do this.”

I was almost in tears myself. My father was not an emotional man, and he’d never been generous with compliments. I never imagined that one day I would hear these words, and I was very proud. I finally realized how hard he had struggled to make it, and how vulnerable he felt. “You know why this wonderful thing has happened for our family?” I said. “Because of you. Because you taught me that one must never give up. Even when you were at your lowest, you picked yourself up and kept fighting.”

G with the pilot of a private jet celebrating the Yahoo! merger.

Later that week, I took my brother and several friends and colleagues to Las Vegas, to get crazy, to be a kid again, and over Thanksgiving, I went back, this time with my family. We stayed at the Wynn, in terrific suites, and one night I took my father clubbing. By this time I was a regular in Vegas, getting the VIP treatment, and I couldn’t tell whether people were staring because I had the best table in the house or because my father—with his turban and full beard—was a peculiar sight in this environment. Perhaps it was a combination of the two.

My father had never been in a club in his life, and watching him was half the fun. He didn’t know what to make of me on the dance floor, or of the gorgeous young women in their too-short skirts, and hours later, on our way back to the suite, he turned to me and said. “Well, you’re young, and you’re single, and I’m not sure what that was all about, but do me a favor: Don’t tell me.”

I thought that was pretty funny.

F
ollowing the sale of BlueLithium, it was business as usual for a few months. Per the agreement, I was there to make sure BlueLithium was integrated into the Yahoo! operation as seamlessly as possible, so I was in the office five days a week, making that happen. But it wasn’t all business. Another chapter in my life was about to come to a
close, and I was eager to explore new worlds. In fact, I had several ideas for television shows based on my experiences as an entrepreneur.

Meanwhile, as a result of all the publicity over the sale of BlueLithium, I agreed to do an interview with the Fox Business Network—my first live interview. As the day drew closer, I remembered how terrified I’d been when I faced the cameras during that audition for
The Apprentice,
and I began to worry. Still, I was flattered to have been asked, and I’d already given them my word, and when I make a commitment to something—anything—I don’t back down.

The night before the interview I had so much trouble falling asleep that I took an Ambien tablet, but it didn’t work. I was up till 4 A.M., dozed off for a couple of hours, and by 6:30 I was in the gym, working out and bracing myself for the worst.

When I arrived at the studio, I found out that I was going to be interviewed by David Asman and Liz Claman, two anchors whom I had watched religiously when I first became interested in the business world. Suddenly I was sweating bullets. I was in the green room, waiting, and I tried to calm myself down by calling family and friends, but it only made things worse.

“God, I hope I don’t embarrass myself,” I told Kamal.

G being interviewed by CNBC at BlueLithium headquarters (2008).

“Embarrass yourself? You’re not auditioning for anything.”

“Except the rest of my life!” I said.

A production assistant appeared, put a mike on me, and led me to the set. I exchanged brief hellos with the anchors, slipped into my chair, and before I knew it the cameras were rolling. The very first question was about the $300 million, and it really threw me: “Your cut of that was how much?”

I felt as if I were being deposed. There was no way to win. If I didn’t answer, I was hiding something; and if I did answer, I was revealing too much. I opted for the latter. “A little over a hundred,” I said.

The rest of the interview went more smoothly. I focused on their questions and answered them as clearly and succinctly as possible, and before long I forgot that the cameras were even there. Another lesson learned: If you find yourself being interviewed on live television, forget the cameras and focus on your hosts. The rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s easier than you might imagine.

On my way home, my cell phone didn’t stop ringing. Everyone was calling to tell me how well I’d done. I know they were exaggerating, but I didn’t mind. I knew I would do better the next time. I had faith.

I couldn’t have been that bad, though, because suddenly I was getting interview requests from other shows. I did a one-on-one with Fox’s Neil Cavuto. I appeared on NBC’s
Tech-Now.
And I was interviewed by CNBC’s
High Net Worth.
And with every time at bat, I began learning the art of the sound byte: “I’m just glad my parents supported me when I dropped out.” “Even if I failed with my first company, I knew that that would only teach me how to be successful.” “Failure is not an option. You need to pick yourself up, figure out what you did wrong, and move forward.” “If it’s the right decision, if you feel it in your gut, take the risk. I’m a big believer in risk.”

Prior to those appearances, I had been a guest speaker at a number of conferences—Red Herring, J.P. Morgan, Bear Stearns, Ad Tech, and so on—but nothing really prepares you for the adrenaline-pumping experience of live TV, or for the gut-churning bout of nerves that strikes just before the cameras begin to roll. But I don’t mean that in a bad way: I actually found myself enjoying it—so much so, in fact, that I decided to explore some possibilities in Hollywood. I was intrigued by reality television, and I’d been thinking about business-themed shows, so I scheduled meetings with three Los Angeles talent agencies. When I flew down for my back-to-back meetings, things didn’t go precisely as I’d hoped. The first group of agents didn’t respond to my first pitch, saying there had already been shows like it on the air, none of them successful, and they wondered if I might want to consider acting, which was not something that interested me. The second group
wanted to turn me into a soap opera star, but that didn’t interest me either. The third agency, however, the William Morris Agency, seemed receptive to my ideas, and we also clicked on a personal level. I filled them in on my history, and then we talked in some detail about the process of putting a show together. They discussed the concept of “packaging,” and about finding the right “elements” to make it happen.

I didn’t know anything about show business, but it all sounded very promising, and I was more intrigued than ever.

Just as the meeting was about to end, one of the agents said he would be remiss if he didn’t mention
The Secret Millionaire,
a British reality show that Fox intended to remake for American audiences. “Basically, they’re taking a handful of millionaires, guys like you, and putting them undercover in a wholly new environment,” he explained. “The idea is for the millionaire to find two or three people that he or she wants to help financially, and of course it all happens on camera. Is this something you might want to do?”

“I need to know more about it,” I said. “But I’m definitely interested.”

“Well, we’re in the business of
generating
money for our clients,” the agent said, and he was smiling apologetically. “So this is a little backward: We’d be putting you in a position where you have to give money away.”

“I’m not worried about that part of it,” I said. “Philanthropy is definitely in the cards.”

A week later, I was back in Los Angeles for a meeting with the producer of
The Secret Millionaire,
and he brought a casting director and a cameraman with him. They asked if they could film our conversation, and I didn’t object, but, again, the questions were strangely personal.

“What is the most romantic thing you’ve ever done?”

“I flew a girl to Paris, Vegas, on Valentine’s Day, because I couldn’t get away from work to go to the real Paris.”

“When was the last time you cried?”

“At my sister’s wedding.”

“What’s the best thing about being rich?”

“Freedom.”

An hour later, when the camera stopped rolling, they asked me if I would be willing to audition for their show.

“I thought I just did,” I said, smiling.

“You’re right—you did,” they said. “But we’re asking you to take it to the next step.”

When I got back to San Jose, I went to straight to my parents’ place and told them all about it. “It looks like I’m going to be on a TV show,” I said. “It’s not locked in, but if I make it though the next step of the audition process, it’s a ‘definite maybe.’” (This last phrase was something I’d picked up from one of the producers.)

Gurbaksh’s mother and father in 2008.

“Who’s going to interview you?” my father asked.

“No, no, no,” I replied. “It’s not like that. It’s not an interview. It’s an actual show, where I go to some neighborhood where nobody knows me, and nobody knows I’m a millionaire, and I get acquainted with some of the people, and I try to find one or two of them to help out.”

“You mean you’re going to give them money?” my mother asked.

“Yes.”

“You will help out complete strangers?”

“That’s the idea.”

“How will you know who to help?”

“That’s part of the challenge,” I said. “That’s what I like about the show.”

“But I don’t understand,” my father said. “Who are these people?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It might not even happen. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

“What channel is it on?” my mother asked.

On January 30, 2008, Microsoft made a bid to buy Yahoo! for $44 billion. This spoke to that whole issue of consolidation in the marketplace and to my musical chairs analogy. Microsoft later withdrew its offer, but if a deal had ever materialized, Yahoo! would have been taken out of the picture—and there would have been one less buyer in the game.