Out of the Shadows 004

A machine-augmented MIDNIGHT'S WAR novel

CHAPTER TWO: Where All Roads Lead

All through the following day, Elliott found himself to be somewhat distracted. He zoned out during a conference call with Bank of America, and twice had to be pulled out of his reveries during a meeting with the Human Resources team by his executive assistant, Natalie.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what this mysterious meeting might entail, and what “very profitable,” might mean. It couldn’t be Blackrock behind this, could it? Even if they wanted to keep their interest on the down low in order to hide their intentions from their lesser competitors who trailed them as closely as remoras sticking to a great white shark, Elliott was pretty sure that sending a single executive to the target in question wasn’t their modus operandi. To paraphrase the Muslims, Mohammed would have to go to the Rock, as the Rock certainly wasn’t in the habit of coming to anyone.

For a vague reason that he couldn’t quite rationalize, he had the impression there might be a European element lurking somewhere underneath it all, perhaps even a very old European element. Being a second-generation son of Silicon Valley, Elliott knew very little about the money markets of the Old World, the London oligarchs, the Swiss private banks, and the ancient Italian investment firms that seemed to own everything from Greek shipping firms to Vietnamese wineries without anyone ever even knowing their names.

So what would the play be, he wondered. That old generational money never seemed to be very interested in the public markets, let alone in splashy initial offerings and the media attention they tended to attract. But how would an outright buyout make any sense at this point in time? Making money was all about the multiple, but what potential buyer, no matter how well-endowed, could match the buying power of an entire market pumped up on hype and the hypothetical promise of longer life?

“Will you need me to stay late too, E?”

Elliott smiled at Natalie. She was an elegantly pretty young woman with long, straight brown hair, a degree from Vassar, and a predilection for pencil skirts that showed off her slender legs in a tastefully subtle manner.

“No, no need tonight, Natty. You deserve an evening away from the coal mines.”

“I really do,” she concurred. “But if you need anything, just call. I’m just having dinner with some friends, so it’s nothing I can’t abandon if need be.”

“I appreciate that. But I’m just having an old friend stop by so I can show him around the shop before we go out and get a drink or three.”

“Oh, is it one of your friends from Stanford?”

“No, just a guy I know from the circuit,” he quickly ad-libbed. “Met him years ago in Kyoto, at a Red Herring conference. He said he knows a few people who might be helpful to us as we’re moving into the next stage.”

She flashed her professional smile. “Well, that should be nice. See you tomorrow!”

“Have a good time.” He waved perfunctorily and resisted the temptation to watch her walk away, by turning his chair back to his screen. While he was well aware of the manifold attractions of an office romance with an attractive and willing young woman, he had no desire to entertain any distractions at such a critical moment for the company.

At eight o’clock, he gave in to the demands of his body and fired off a text to Uber Eats for an order of sesame chicken, which he washed down with the help of one of the small bottles of Three Palms that he kept in his closet for precisely such occasions. He managed to divert himself for a while by catching up on his emails and checking on the status of his investments - his call options on silver were doing well, while his puts on the Nikkei were not - but by 9:30, he was starting to feel a little agitated.

Should he go down to the lobby and meet the man there? No, that would make him look too eager, even if he was really just trying to be helpful. Besides, he’d already given instructions to the night security team to let in anyone who asked for him after 9, but before 10:30 PM, and to accompany them to his office.

He paced back and forth across his office, then, just to change things up a little, walked down the halls and into the boardroom. It wasn’t particularly impressive by well-funded third-stage standards, but it was tasteful, it featured an expensive mahogany table imported from London, and he was proud of the way he’d somehow managed to maintain traditional corporate standards in the face of the ping-pong tables, beanbags, and general silliness that pervaded most Silicon Valley startups.

He walked further along the corridor, past the elevators, and into the executive washroom. After splashing some water on his face, drying his hands, and straightening his tie, he stared at himself in the mirror, ran his hands through his hair, and nodded.

You can do this, he told himself. You are in control. You have the goods. All they’ve got is money.

He glanced at his watch, a limited edition Swiss tourbillion, and was startled to see that it was already two minutes after ten. He walked swiftly back to his office, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw a tall, dark-haired man with a well-groomed beard, standing silently next to his open door.

OOS 001

OOS 002

OOS 003