The Underwriting (22 page)

Amanda handed Juan a beer and plopped down on the sofa beside him. She had an hour to kill before her first San Francisco date with a guy she'd met on Hook and she was in a great mood.

“Are you watching porn?” Amanda laughed at how glued he was to the TV, then bit her lip when she realized he was watching a story about Kelly Jacobson.

“No,” Juan said but didn't smile.

She liked Juan a lot. Last Friday, she'd come home from her first day of work to a surprise dinner party that he and Julie had prepared to welcome her to the city. He'd cooked empanadas that were better than she'd ever had at a Mexican restaurant, and he'd asked questions in a way that made her feel like he genuinely wanted to get to know her.

“What's the news?” she asked, noting the headline,
Breaking News: Jacobson Death Ruled Suspicious; Suspect in Custody
.

“They think it was murder,” Juan said. “They think her RA gave her drugs and made her overdose.”

“What made them—”

“Shhh,” he commanded, turning up the volume as the suspect came on the screen.

“Police today arrested Robby Goodman, a Stanford senior who was Kelly Jacobson's RA. An anonymous tip to a reporter at the
New York Times
led the university to open an investigation into the girl's death. The police have reason to believe the girl did not willingly take the drugs that killed her, as originally thought.

“We're still learning about Robby Goodman, but it appears he was actively involved in rugby, a sport that's been relegated to club status at most American universities owing to its extraordinary aggression. Here's Mr. Goodman's attorney.”

“There is absolutely no basis for this accusation. Police have no information to prove my client was with Kelly that night. This is a witch hunt, trying to vindicate a girl's purity by vilifying an innocent man.”

“Are you okay?” Amanda said softly. Juan's face was white.

“Yeah,” he said.

“You're a lawyer, right?” he asked after a pause.

“A paralegal,” she corrected. “I don't know whether I'm going to law school or not.”

“So can I ask you a legal question, hypothetically?”

“Shoot.”

“If someone had information that could help in a murder investigation, are they, like, legally, required to tell?”

“Legally, only if they're indicted. But ethically, they probably should.”

“What if they aren't supposed to have the information?”

“Doesn't change the fact they have it and it could help.”

“But what if they don't know if it could help?”

“What are you trying to get at?”

“I think Kelly was logged into Hook when she died and I think it might help the investigation if they knew,” he blurted, then brought his hand to his mouth in surprise he'd let it out.

“How do you know?” She sat forward. “Can you look up people's histories?”

He bit his lip. “I can't tell you.”

“Holy shit!” She punched him, excited. “Can you look up this guy I used to—”

“Please don't say anything.” He cut her off. “It's super confidential.”

“Well, yeah.”

“So you think I should tell someone? About Kelly?”

“Only if you want to be responsible for ruining your IPO.”

“What?”

“No one's going to invest in a company potentially wrapped up in a murder investigation.”

“But Hook had nothing to do with it. She just happened to be logged in.” He was getting defensive. “It's just a coincidence.”

“Doesn't matter. The only thing that matters to public markets is perception. The minute investors hear ‘Hook' in the same sentence as ‘Kelly Jacobson,' they'll run.”

Juan checked his watch. “Shit, I've got to go. Please, please, please don't say anything about this.”

She lifted her hands. “I consider this client-attorney confidentiality.”

“But you wouldn't say anything?” he asked. “If you were me?”

“Kelly was probably logged into Facebook, too,” she said. “And Twitter and Spotify and a hundred other apps. It doesn't have anything to do with anything.”

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” he said, but he didn't look like he believed her. “Can you run out and tell Josh I'll be right there?”

“Who's Josh?” she asked on the way to the door.

“Josh Hart.”

“Your CEO?”

“Yeah,” he called. “We're going to the symphony.”

Amanda opened the door and saw a bright blue Tesla roadster outside. “Sweet,” she said. Maybe if tonight's date didn't work out she could date the CEO of Hook.

Josh rolled down the window. He was pasty white and his eyes were beady, like a reptile's, but he wasn't terrible looking. “Where's Juan?”

She stuck out her hand. “I'm Amanda, his roommate.” She smiled and batted her lashes. He didn't respond. “He's on his way out, asked me to tell you.”

Josh glared at Amanda in suggestion she leave.

“Have a good time,” she said to Juan as he walked out the door.

Amanda went back inside, Josh's rebuff already forgotten by the time she got to the door. She turned on the radio and killed time putting on makeup while she waited for her date, Ben Loftis, to arrive.

San Francisco had been a great move. Her roommates were great, the weather was great, the profiles of men on Hook were great. Work still sucked, but her hours were better, and when she came home she had free booze, courtesy of Hook. It felt cool being in such close proximity to an app everyone used.

And to top it all off, Ben Loftis, who was now on his way to pick her up, was legitimately perfect. Not only had he messaged her, he'd asked her to dinner. When would that
ever
happen in New York? Guys there just used the app for easy sex, she now realized. Why had she ever wasted her time thinking she could fix Todd Kent? Guys here didn't need to be fixed, and they appreciated a woman like Amanda when they saw her.

As she curled her hair, Amanda thought through Ben Loftis's stats. He'd gone to Duke undergrad, then worked at Citigroup in investment banking in New York, then gone to Wharton for business school, and now he was starting the first-ever all-organic, locally sourced, sustainably manufactured craft beer hall in the country.
Plus
he'd run a marathon, visited
twenty
countries, was a certified scuba instructor, and had spent a summer teaching English to kids in China.
And
he had super-attractive photos.

The doorbell rang and Amanda took a deep breath, one last look in the mirror, and skipped down the stairs.

“Hi.” Ben Loftis smiled, handing her a bouquet of flowers.

Oh my god
, she thought,
should we just go up and sleep together right now?!

“Hi,” she said, containing herself. “This is so sweet of you.”

“Here's the flower food.” He handed her a small sachet. “It makes them last longer.”

She opened her arms and gave him a hug, overcome. “Thank you so much. This is seriously so nice.” His arms were stiff as he returned the hug and she blushed: maybe she'd been too effusive?

She put the flowers down on the table by the door. “Should we get going?”

He looked at the flowers, then smiled, closed-lipped, back at her. “Sure.”

JUAN

F
RIDAY
, A
PRIL
11; S
AN
F
RANCISCO
, C
ALIFORNIA

Juan tried not to be nervous but he couldn't help it: everything was making him nervous since he'd discovered that Kelly was with another Hook user the night she died. Would it really derail the IPO if people found out?

“Who was that?” Josh asked as Juan plopped into the passenger seat of the sports car.

“My new roommate, Amanda,” Juan said, trying to shake thoughts of Kelly. “She just moved here from New York.”

“Why do you have a girl roommate?” Josh asked.

“I've got two, actually,” Juan said. “I like living with girls.”

“You should get your own place after the IPO.”

“Nah—rent around here is crazy high,” Juan said. “Didn't they only make like a thousand of these cars?”

“I don't know. Rachel suggested I get it,” Josh said, apparently uninterested in the car everyone else was talking about.

“Can I ask you a question?” Juan asked.

“You just did.”

“Do you use Hook?”

“Of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Dealers should never use their own drug.”

“Do you think it's safe?”

“In what sense?”

“Like, do you think people could get hurt using it. Like, a murderer could use it to kill people?”

“I think a murderer would be better off with a gun.”

“But do you think Hook might”—Juan paused carefully—“facilitate it?”

“If a murderer drives to kill his victim, is the car guilty?”

Josh parked his Tesla around the corner from Davies Symphony Hall and Juan let the question go. Maybe he was right.

“Are you glad we're going public?” Juan asked, changing the subject as they got out of the car.

“I'm glad to get the VCs off my ass,” Josh said. “You've got someone helping with your taxes, right?”

“No,” Juan said. “Do I need to?”

“Yeah,” Josh said, as if it were obvious, “if you don't want half of it going to the government, paying for unemployment for this guy the second you cash in.” He lifted his chin to indicate a homeless man passed out at a bus stop.

“What do you mean?”

“Our tax bracket is like fifty-three percent. But a good accountant can help you reduce it by at least half, maybe more.”

“Is that legal?”

“All tax loopholes are legal.”

Juan shrugged. “I don't know that I've got enough to worry about it.”

“What are you talking about?” Josh said.

“You know what I make,” Juan said. He'd just gotten a raise to a hundred twenty thousand dollars a year, which was hardly rich in San Francisco.

Josh stopped and turned to look at him. “You do realize you own one and a half percent of the company?”

Juan felt his face cool when he saw the seriousness in Josh's eyes. “Is that a lot?” he asked carefully.

“If we get a fourteen-billion-dollar valuation, your shares are worth two hundred million,” Josh said, then turned and kept walking. “But the government's going to take half if you don't get it sorted soon.”

Juan stood, paralyzed. Had Josh just said two hundred million? As in two hundred million
dollars
?

Josh showed the ticket collector their passes and Juan followed him in a daze to their seats.

Juan was grateful when the lights went down and he could settle into his thoughts.

Two hundred
million dollars? That was . . . that was actually more than Juan's brain could comprehend.

AMANDA

F
RIDAY
, A
PRIL
11; S
AN
F
RANCISCO
, C
ALIFORNIA

Amanda and Ben walked from her house down Union Street to Terzo, where the host greeted Ben. “The usual table, Mr. Loftis?”

“Please.”

“So you come here often?” she asked.

“Yes.” He smiled curtly. “It's the best restaurant in your neighborhood, although their beer selection is subpar. I've got a meeting with the owner next week to discuss a partnership for our craft beers.”

“Oh, that's awesome,” Amanda said. “I have so many questions about your business. It must be so cool having a start-up.”

“It is. Not everyone's cut out for it—it's a lot of work, but I'm used to it from my years in investment banking.” His brown eyes blinked rapidly when he talked. He wasn't as attractive as in the photos: he was fatter, for one thing. But Amanda gave him a pass. Starting a business must make it hard to keep up with his usual marathon routine.

“Oh, I've heard investment banking is brutal,” she agreed. “I mean, I thought paralegal hours were long, but—”

“They're nothing in comparison,” Ben interrupted. “Nothing is, except starting a company. Or at least starting a successful company, like mine.”

“So it's going well?”

He lifted an eyebrow as if he didn't believe she was asking the question. “Did you not see
Forbes
this year? I was on the Thirty Under Thirty list.”

“Seriously?” Amanda's jaw dropped. Was she really having dinner with a guy who was in
Forbes
magazine? “I don't read it, but that's amazing.”

“You need to,” he counseled. “If you're going to participate in the Valley you've got to stay on top of the
Forbes
Thirty Under Thirty list. It's pretty much what separates the good companies from the ones that are BS. What do you want to drink?”

“Wine?” she suggested.

“What do you like?”

“White, I guess?”

He studied her. “Dry or fruity?”

“Oh, I'm not picky.”

“Interesting,” he said, looking at the menu. “We'll have a bottle of the Napa chardonnay,” he instructed the waiter, “and my usual order for food.” He turned back to Amanda. “I'll order for both of us, just to get this going.”

“Oh, sure,” she said. “Do you know a lot about wine?”

“Yes. I'm certified.”

“As a sommelier? Doesn't that take years?”

“I did a compressed course while I was in business school. It was thirty hours, but it's basically the same training.”

The waiter came back with the wine and Ben tasted it before pouring her a glass. “Very good,” he said.

“Delicious,” she agreed, taking a sip.

He didn't say anything, so she asked another question. “So, did you like Wharton? I loved Penn as an undergrad.”