The Curious Rise of Alex Lazarus

by Adam Leigh

  More seriously, our tech swagger made us enemies. We found ourselves on the receiving end of politicians trying to make a name for themselves. In Oregon, State Senator Hamilton Jones Jnr moved to stop our digital downloads, claiming they infringed an arcane bookseller tax. The financial penalty was minimal, but spotting the opportunity for fame, he created a narrative that played well across large swathes of the country. We were positioned as killers of the physical book, destroyers of family life across the great nation.

  Initially, we thought it all a bit of a joke, but soon realised that there was considerable sympathy for his position infecting the conservative Midwest. We had to demonstrate in court that the law was out of date and irrelevant, as well as an excessively punitive restriction of our ability to trade. Our response was extensive. One day, I gave twenty interviews from a small booth in Central London to local TV stations across the country, from St Louis to Oregon. I spoke to Kendall, Jeff, Courtney, Madison, Kelly-Anne and Kelly-Kate, and a host of other perky presenters. They all asked if I slept comfortably, knowing that children across the US were having their childhoods destroyed by having to read popular books on a phone. Sweaty and tenacious Charles prevailed in this instance and we carried on, bruised and a little more vulnerable.

  Disputes kept arising like those little jumping plastic frogs you hit with a hammer in the fairground. Push one down and another one popped up. In Germany, we got into a bitter wrangle with a copycat site, firstparent.com, which basically cloned our original seller/experience marketplace. It turned out that a disgruntled German engineer who had worked for us was the culprit. Tired of being bullied by Dimitri, he returned to Berlin, secured backing from a tenacious partner, and downloaded all the information he had stolen while at PrimaParent to build a basic carbon copy of our business. The EU ‘passing off’ competition law was opaque and courts in Germany were hostile to a British tech business. Call it hubris, but we could do very little other than be confident that our publishing and entertainment strength made us a much more popular destination.

  Charles was an adept general, able to fight battles on simultaneous fronts. But lengthy conflict stretched our resources significantly, blurring our operational focus. We were by now noisily famous, having disrupted so many established sectors globally. Everyone wanted to pick a fight with us, and conflict was unavoidable. The real battle, though, was about to begin, and it was going to be much more personal.

  20. This Means War

  My phone pinged loudly next to my bed at 5 a.m. and I awoke from a deep sleep, disoriented. Sarah, mercifully, had her back to me and carried on slumbering, emitting the occasional tuneful lady-snore. I focused groggily on the screen and saw the message was from Moshe and extremely brief: Meet me at my suite. 7.45 a.m.

  I had no idea he was in town nor where he was staying, but assumed it would be his favourite white palace at the St Martins Lane Hotel. Slightly unnerved, I lay staring at the ceiling, wondering instinctively why I was in trouble. A couple of hours later, I said good morning to the security detail standing outside his suite and, to my surprise, the door was opened by a shoeless Brooke, who gave me an unenthusiastic kiss on each cheek as she fiddled with putting on an earring.

  Moshe was at the dining room table reading the FT and drinking black coffee, a modest bowl of fruit salad next to his cup. I went to shake his hand and was slightly overwhelmed once again by his pungent and liberally applied cologne, probably called something like ‘Eau de Succes’. Brooke joined him at the table and poured us both some coffee. There were no minders or flunkies – it was the oddest domestic set-up, and I wondered what was going on. If I looked in any way quizzical, they did not seem to notice or care. Moshe wiped his lips fastidiously on a napkin, stared at me for a nervous moment and then said simply: “You have to fire Julian.”

  The silence was punctuated sharply by the sound of Brooke’s knife cutting an apple in half with an executioner’s zeal.

  “Why?” I asked, not entirely surprised.

  “Why do you think?” This was one of those tests from Brooke I knew I had to pass. I just wasn’t sure of the answer. I had no intention of defending Julian and wondered if I now had the opportunity to precipitate his demise.

  “Hasn’t he paid back his loan? Are his expenses completely out of hand? Is he more concerned with his own PR agenda? Or has he finally admitted that he actually doesn’t like children? You tell me.”

  Moshe looked stern, his default expression. “These are side issues you should have been on top of anyway. Alex, please remind me of the share ownership of this business.”

  “Julian and I have just under 19 per cent each. The team and staff a further 10 per cent. You both have 15 per cent, as does George. The rest is in the hands of the other investors, like iSeed. But you know all this, Moshe, it’s not exactly a secret. Where is this going?”

  “We are moving in a direction that requires you to pay close attention, or you’ll find yourself with much more time at home with the kids.”

  Moshe hardly looked up as Brooke went to the desk in the corner of the room and returned with a single sheet of paper. “You had better see this. Read it carefully and think before you reply.”

  I grabbed the paper a little too forcefully and saw that it was an email from Julian, addressed to George and Cole. Headed ‘Alex’, it was less than twenty-four hours old.

  Gentlemen. We need to talk immediately.

  I am convinced that we need to change the leadership of the organisation. Alex has lost the respect of the entire team. He is unfocused, indecisive and incapable of making strategic or difficult decisions. There is a real danger he will jeopardise our future ability to drive new publishing arrangements for Clyde Pilestone content. I would like to discuss removing him from the business and restructuring it around my leadership with the support of the current team, who will no doubt be relieved by such an outcome. Please can we convene immediately to discuss a plan that I can quickly execute.

  My heart began its traditional panicky rumba, but I was also overcome by quiet fury. How dare he lie so blatantly to oust me from my business. It was my idea and the product of my relentless determination. Most certainly not his.

  “Why is this note only to George and Cole?”

  “Alex, you are very naive. He is canvassing support. When he gets those two on board, he expects that Cole will be able to persuade me. Then Moshe will be less of a problem.”

  Moshe, who had been conducting this conversation while pretending to scan the newspaper, now looked up. Honestly, it was like he was following a set of stage directions to enhance his macho persona or auditioning to be the next James Bond villain.

  “But I am a problem. You see, I have never liked Julian. I know who has the drive and integrity. You do. I am troubled, however, by one nagging thought.”

  “And that is?”

  “Are you really good enough? Is it worth the effort to support you? There are lots of very talented CEOs out there, aren’t there, Brooke.”

  “So many great CEOs, Moshe. Not enough companies worthy of their talents.”

  “Founders come up with great ideas and make them happen. They just might not be the best people to run with them,” Moshe added, in case I hadn’t realised that my future was being questioned through a series of business clichés. I was properly irritated by now and their posturing was not going to intimidate me.

  “What is going on here? You’re telling me I’m under threat and threatening me at the same time. Strange motivational tactic. You have presented me with a very clear set of options. Attack or be attacked by Mr Smooth, my so-called partner. Well, if it’s a war he wants, fine. I am not going to lose everything to an amoral chancer.” I glanced at Moshe and, to emphasise the point, added, “Besides, if you go into battle, you always want the Israelis on your side.”

  “Very amusing,” said Brooke, without smiling. Moshe poured himself another coffee and stared out of the window.

  “What worries me much more,” I continue
d, “is the sniping and lack of faith you have in me. I think I’ve done enough to earn your respect. If you want me out, do your worst, because I am going nowhere.” I was shouting and gesticulating furiously by now, as if directing traffic at rush hour.

  “Calm down, Alex. You will have a seizure and you are much better to us alive and well. We need a strong CEO more than ever.” Moshe seemed to have softened and Brooke leant forward and touched my arm in an unexpectedly maternal fashion. In fact, she gave it a little squeeze.

  “We back you, Alex. We just needed to see that you are brave enough for the ensuing unpleasantness.”

  “Unpleasant is my middle name. Well, it’s Leon actually.” The nervous joke fell out unnecessarily, but Moshe carried on, oblivious to my ill-judged attempts at humour.

  “Get control of the board immediately. If you control the votes, you can get rid of Julian. Have a plan and execute it quickly. You seem to like a bit of Israeli military history. Remember the Six Day War?” I nodded obediently. It was one of my favourite wars. “We pre-empted a long campaign by destroying the Egyptian air force before any fighting had begun. One morning we attacked, because they weren’t ready. All their planes and runways in one go. You need to do the same. Early one morning, attack first and attack unexpectedly.”

  “I get the point, General. I’ll get some legal advice and I’m sure that soliciting support from the other shareholders won’t be a problem.”

  “You need to think carefully, Alex, and work out how to put the knife in and twist quickly.” Brooke was expressionless, although suddenly she had apparently turned into Lady Macbeth. The conversation oscillated between the language of military strategy and how to plan a murder. They were a curious team, Brooke and Moshe. Charismatic individuals with a capacity for warmth, but driven by a resolve and commercial determination that excised the need for unnecessary emotional distraction. They expected the same from me. I was beginning to uncoil, feeling excited that it was time to part company with Julian. I really didn’t like him much and he was making my life unnecessarily miserable.

  “May I ask you both a question?”

  “What now?” said Moshe, clearly impatient that I was prolonging the conversation instead of popping out to get my axe sharpened.

  “Why are you two plotting together? What’s happened to Cole in all of this?”

  Moshe tutted dismissively. “All you need to understand for now is that Brooke and I are a team, together in a way that she is not with Cole.”

  That, of course, didn’t explain anything. My encounters with Moshe were not always so tetchy, though his dislike of being challenged was consistent, as well as his perpetual need to maintain enigmatic control. He didn’t want you ever to understand his motivations fully. Brooke jumped in with an equally unconvincing explanation.

  “We are simply protecting our investment, which means we are protecting you. Cole and I see things rather differently at the moment.” I wondered if a shoeless Cole was breakfasting in a hotel with George Dobson as we spoke. Somehow unlikely.

  Moshe got up, walked to the window and did a series of stretches for the exertions of the day ahead. “I don’t trust Julian with my money. I do not trust his godfather, George Dobson. And I most certainly don’t trust her husband.”

  “And you trust me? That’s the nicest thing you’ve said in ages.” Moshe actually smiled, although I wasn’t sure if it was at my assumption that maybe he actually liked me.

  “I trust you to have the support of the staff, not Julian. That’s the main reason we are here. Now if you don’t mind, can we change the subject and start doing some work.”

  The pleasantries were over, although nothing had felt that pleasant.

  ***

  I don’t know why I missed so many signs. Perhaps I was too busy or afraid of confrontation. Or maybe just a bit naive, believing that, however fractious the relationship, human decency would prevail.

  About ten days previously, Julian and I had gone out for a rare lunch. A cancelled appointment had left me with unexpected free time and Julian was mooching round the office chatting to people indiscriminately. I would often watch him adopt the role of a minor royal visiting the factory floor. He would approach random individuals, hands clasped behind his back, bend down benevolently and engage them in conversation. They would always dissolve into bouts of infectious laughter. I’m sure all he’d said to them was ‘who are you and what do you do?’ but it seemed to work. He was far more absent in the office these days but seemingly took corporate morale very seriously.

  I don’t know what made me want to catch up with him – probably fear that I didn’t really know what he was thinking any more. He seemed genuinely delighted at my invitation, which I found unsettling as he rarely sought my company.

  We adjourned to one of the many new restaurants of King’s Cross. Bustling and energetic, it reflected the ambition of the working people it fed. No longer just a place for lunch, there were start-up meetings going on everywhere – tables laden with laptops, coffee cups, and very little food. Most challengingly, if you did eat, you needed a glossary of obscure pulses, seeds and vegetables to tackle the menu with confidence. I was starving and the choice between ‘mung choi’, ‘chermoula’, ‘mung bean’ and ‘scamorza’ was not making things any easier.

  Julian was contemplative. His divorce from Catherine was imminent but there was very little remorse or sentimentality, nor concern for his children growing up in two homes. He was blissfully happy with Lucy and his embryonic celebrity status as her partner. Profiles of this talented power couple, bright and brilliant, were everywhere. He confided that their engagement was inevitable but needed to be built around her busy movie schedule and a planned Broadway run as Hedda Gabler the following year. What was causing him untold frustration, however, was the financial settlement he was being forced to agree. Catherine’s hurt and anger manifested in an unflinching determination for adequate compensation for her pain. Sarah and I had bumped into her one Sunday a few months previously in a local restaurant and I found her warm and friendly, quite a different person to the sad and angry victim of Julian’s solipsism.

  She was genuinely excited for the success of PrimaParent and had recently moved consultancy firms, loving her new role. It felt a little strange discussing Julian’s business with her, and she did ask me some quite specific questions about the rate of our growth, which I answered, I thought, innocently. Her last words before she returned to her table were enigmatic. She had given me a hug, which she held on to for a second longer than I had expected. Lowering her voice, she said cheerfully, ‘Keep up the hard work, Alex. Your success is my success.’

  At lunch, Julian went into enormous detail about the fractious negotiations that had taken place between their respective lawyers. The issue of maintenance and property had been relatively uncontested. More problematic was the division of the potential value of PrimaParent. Catherine wanted her share. There were two issues: the amount she was due and the valuation of the company. Julian talked openly with me about the legal arguments being used by both sides. I felt the need to show him solidarity for no other reason than we seemed to be getting on so well. I thought he’d be interested in my recent encounter with Catherine.

  “Did I tell you, Sarah and I bumped into her recently?”

  Julian put his cutlery down and stared at me with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “What did you talk about?”

  “Oh, you know, kids, the weather, the ideal Spurs formation. Nothing too serious.”

  “Did she ask about the business?” This was feeling uncomfortable. I had wondered why she was fixating on the number of new offices we were opening.

  “She might have done in passing, I can’t really remember.”

  Unconvinced by my evasiveness, Julian pressed for an answer. “Yes or no?”

  “She did.” I felt I was in court now myself and nearly called him ‘Your Honour’.

  “What did she ask specifically?”

  “Just how we
were doing.” I couldn’t have sounded that convincing by now, and inscrutability is a facial expression I have yet to master.

  “Catherine has one of the cleverest business minds I know. She doesn’t ask vague questions. Did she want to know how we were growing globally?”

  “Yes, it was something like that. Julian, it was weeks ago, and it was a short conversation. I can’t really vouch for what I specifically said.”

  “All right, let me ask the question slightly differently. Is it feasible you mentioned that we were about to open in five more countries, including Japan?”

  “Look, it wasn’t like I gave a formal presentation of our business plan. Maybe I said something like ‘things are good, we’re really busy conquering the world’. I can’t be sure.” By now I had a rather scary recollection of my surprise when she asked directly if we were going to open in Tokyo. Wanting always to sound impressive, I had proudly told her of my imminent trip to do just that. The game was up, and stuttering half-truths to assuage Julian’s rising frustration seemed pointless.

  “I think I did tell her I was off to Japan. What could have possibly been wrong with that? It was hardly a secret in the business.”

  “Oh, Alex, what have you done?” He leant back in his chair, shaking his head.

  “What is going on here? I just had a casual chat with her. These are not state secrets.”

  “Maybe not, but the picture I’d painted to her lawyers was slightly different. I needed them to think that progress was slowing down a bit and we were holding off significant new markets. It’s pretty obvious that Japan is going to be very important to us and I couldn’t understand how they managed to change their line of attack. It felt like they had an inside track but it never occurred to me that your bumbling big mouth would cost me so much money. The valuation went up significantly after you blabbed.”

  “That can’t be true. Honestly, you’re reading too much into a casual encounter.” I refused to believe that I had unwittingly been embroiled in their divorce. Julian, however, did not want to discuss anything further, nor contemplate an alternative to the views he had formed. We sat in a portentous and extremely unsettling silence as the plates were cleared by the waitress.