by Adam Leigh
Julian eventually looked at me with contempt and growled: “Can you settle up? I have to make a phone call.” He didn’t wait for an answer as he headed to the door.
***
A few days after my meeting with Moshe and Brooke, Sarah told me she was pregnant.
It was a lovely moment – what else could it be? We had always planned a third, and as Theo and Emily were now six and four, they were practically independent adults. My children were my finest accomplishment, way beyond a digital business now worth hundreds of millions. If I spent more time and energy at work, it was only because I wanted to build a good future for them. That’s what I told myself on long-haul plane trips on a Sunday night or weeks filled with sixteen-hour days and no contact with them whatsoever.
We celebrated our happy family news with some takeaway sushi. The kids were asleep and the house calm, cosy and suburban. I had not really been home too much that week, so I filled her in on my conversation about Julian. By then, the penny had dropped that my supposed indiscretion with Catherine may have fuelled the coup he was planning.
“I don’t want to tell you I told you so,” Sarah said while adeptly picking up some tuna sashimi with her chopsticks.
“Well then, don’t say anything,” I replied.
“Like that’s going to stop me. I mean, what did you want me to do? Get a ‘Julian will betray you’ tattoo? I really hope this next child doesn’t inherit your emotional intelligence.”
“Maybe they can check for that at the scan?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Well, I’ll love the child even if he or she turns out a worse judge of character than me.”
“That’s a relief. Answer the question, please.”
“I am going to strike first.”
“And what if it becomes truly horrible? Have you got the stomach for the fight?”
I instinctively patted my tubby gut. Exercise was an infrequent endeavour for me. “Yes, I have enough stomach for any battle. Look, I’m not giving up my control of the business until I’m ready. Don’t you think I knew this day would come? I’ve just always put it to the back of my mind and tried to concentrate on business, hoping he’d go away before the problem blew up. I got that wrong. I’m a bit sick of everyone thinking I haven’t got the balls for running a business this big.”
I got animated and was almost shouting by now. Sarah patted her stomach like I had just done and put a finger to her lips. “Shhh, you’ll wake the new baby.” What further was there to discuss? I was going to visit a lawyer to wage war on Julian. Unfortunately, there was an outstanding matter, which I knew she would bring up.
“How are we going to tell your parents? Perhaps this can be the cause of a truce with your father?” I may have omitted in this narrative the update that after my father’s assault on me in the press, we too had been at war. We hadn’t spoken.
Despite frequent entreaties from the women in my life – mother, wife, sister – I refused to see him. There had been little in the way of apology from either party. I met my mother for awkward lunches in which her palpable pain was not enough to prompt a reconciliation. My sister was sympathetic to my outrage at the article but would relentlessly implore me to be the bigger person and forgive him. Sarah was still a regular visitor to their house and made sure the children did not suffer as a consequence of the truculent pride of their father and grandfather.
I knew Dad was suffering, which perhaps gave me sadistic pleasure. So when Sarah brought up the subject of sharing the good news with my emotionally vulnerable parents, I chose to ignore the possibility of rapprochement, still angry with him for publicly invalidating my success. I was just not ready to concede his argument that I had sacrificed a bit of my soul for the ambition ride.
“Sarah. It’s going to have to wait. I’m on the eve of battle here. I can only focus on one upset at a time. You tell them for me.” With that, the evening’s celebrations brusquely ended and I started to clear the plates away.
21. Law and Peace
For a few days, Julian and I co-existed in a state of artificial cordiality. I cancelled a couple of scheduled European trips to fledgling offices and we fluttered around the office, nodding politely to one another, or sat in meetings with lots of other people, behaving impeccably. Outwardly, we co-parented our company like the happiest mum and dad in the world. Behind the scenes, I was preparing an underground stockpile of arms to blow things up spectacularly. The legal advice was clear: this was going to be a popularity vote in the boardroom. If I had support amounting to over 50 per cent of the share ownership, I could dismiss him. He could keep his shares, but he would no longer be a director. The corporate equivalent of a Mafia bullet through the head.
Winning control was basic maths. Julian and I owned the same amount of the business. I could count on Moshe and Brooke and he had George and Cole on his side. Honours even. iSeed, represented by Jane Thomas, had 4 per cent. Dimitri and Alice had a further 2.5 per cent. Samantha, our finance director, had 1 per cent, and 4 per cent was split among the senior leadership team globally. Some smaller investors introduced by Cole and Brooke had the remaining few per cent.
I was sure Dimitri, Alice and Samantha would side with me. I had hired them, and they understood my dedication to the business. I was not close to Jane and regretted not having cultivated a relationship, given she had lunched with Julian several times over the years. Surely this would not be problematic as she was always measured in her approach and had been incredibly complimentary when I’d secured the Clyde Pilestone deal. There was a slight snag in that George was our chairman. The idea had been to rotate the chair between George and Moshe, or at the very least give it a bit of a swivel. But when the time to swap had arisen after a couple of years, Moshe announced that he was relaxed about George carrying on in perpetuity. This meant that George could have a casting vote in the event of deadlock. Even so, I was confident that Julian would struggle to beat me in the likeability stakes.
The word ‘covert’ has rarely been used to describe someone as innately indiscreet as me. In this case, my compulsion to overshare had to be resisted. I had to recruit my allies without evincing suspicion from Julian and, according to my lawyers, convene the board meeting within a week.
My strategy was therefore to have a conversation with the other shareholders, trust them to back me and then ambush Julian. Starting with Jane, I left a message and awaited a reply, which did not come in the first twenty-four hours of manoeuvres. I adjourned to a coffee shop at the other end of King’s Cross and, secreted between a pot plant and a coat stand, phoned Alice, Dimitri and Samantha, asking them to meet me in turn and not tell anyone.
The first conversation with Alice was heart-warming. I was on sure footing because as soon as I had outlined the unfolding scenario, she gave me a bear-like hug for an inordinate amount of time. After a while, I felt the rise and fall of her shoulders and the tears on her face, pressed inappropriately close to mine.
“Please let go, Alice. I said we needed to be subtle. Everyone will think I’ve just proposed and will start congratulating us.”
“Oh Alex, let me enjoy the moment. This is really good news.”
“Fine, but I have to speak to Dimitri and Samantha, so I’d rather not draw attention to myself.”
“It’s just that I’m extremely relieved. We’ll all be so much better off without Julian.”
“He hasn’t gone anywhere yet. Let’s not pre-empt our success.”
“You can’t lose a popularity contest with Julian. It would be as likely as Sarah leaving you for a serial killer.”
“Lovely thought. I hope you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. We’ve built a great business and you should be very proud. Julian of course has made a significant contribution, but only when it’s suited him.”
“It’s nice of you to say so.”
“What else did you think I’d say? You had me at ‘hello’.”
We talked a bit about how to a
pproach Nigel and Kate, our most important partners. I knew they had no loyalty to Julian but, equally, I needed to take them into my confidence to avoid them worrying about committing further to a business with an unresolved civil war.
After she had left, I waited forty-five minutes before calling Dimitri. I knew he was going to be unemotional and unpredictable. He was by now a malevolent influence in the business – hard, harsh and hurtful. He had many nicknames among his team, miraculously kept from him. ‘The Evil Czar’ was my personal favourite. Dimitri eventually arrived, emanating a froideur that was positively Siberian.
“Alex, why are you calling me out at such an inconvenient time? Do you have a terminal illness? I can’t think of another reason for such urgency.”
“No, I’m well, thank you, and I hope that’s not a disappointment.”
“Well, what then? Have you sold the company without telling us?”
“I need to discuss Julian with you.” I sensed him tense a little, which surprised me. He performed an elaborate bottom-shuffle on the leather sofa.
“What about him?”
“Dimitri, you know how much I trust you and respect you.”
He did not respond directly, but gave a diffident shrug, impervious to such brazen compliments. I pushed on.
“You are going to need to choose between us.”
“Choose what?”
“Who you want to run the company. Julian wants me out. I don’t know why, but I’m not going to let this happen.”
He remained silent, biting his lower lip with his eyes focused elsewhere.
“This company was my idea. I brought in the content that has created its true value. And I care about its people. That’s why I have to stay.”
“I understand, but I have to tell you, Julian is stronger and braver. You worry about upsetting people. He doesn’t worry about anything or anyone.”
“Well, in a few days’ time I have every intention of upsetting him significantly and I need your complete support. Given I brought you into this adventure, I assumed this would not be an issue.”
“So, you are asking me to make an interesting choice between loyalty to you or the company? It is not necessarily the same thing.”
I was trying to stay calm, but this was proving more taxing than I had expected. Since he had arrived as an awkward twenty-year-old in London, I had looked out for him and tried to give him guidance in the basic rules of social interaction. I may have benefited from his brilliance, but I stood up for him when his coldness alienated the people around him. Was it too much to expect that he could stand up for me when required? Clearly it was, because the stubborn bastard was refusing to make this easy.
I found myself spelling out the case for my defence like I was in a courtroom drama. I summarised achievements and cited my positive character traits. Dimitri nodded a lot and occasionally made the odd laconic comment like ‘that’s your opinion’ or ‘there is evidence that disproves this’. As ever, when cornered, my voice grew squeaky and less assertive.
Eventually, I knew it was time to sum up and await the verdict of this most emotionless judge. Nothing was forthcoming. Instead, after pressing him for the last time for a decision in my favour, he simply said: “Alex. I will take everything you say into consideration and when the time comes, my decision will be the right one. I will say no more to anyone and now I think I should leave.”
He got up and strode to the door without looking back, leaving me feeling angry and extremely nervous. I had expected this conversation to be a formality. But he had made it clear his voting intentions lay elsewhere, thereby cancelling out Alice’s previous enthusiastic backing.
I was still confident that fairness and decency would prevail, reinforced by my brief conversation with Samantha, our smallest shareholder. She didn’t go for the big hug like Alice, but high-fived me and simply said, “What took you so long?” We didn’t need a lengthy discussion, but she agreed to help me with anything required in terms of ammunition or paper trails that could discredit Julian further, particularly his expenses, which, she informed me, were now ‘truly astonishing at times in their inappropriateness’.
Rather than returning to the office, I went for a walk to clear my head and evaluate how my campaign was going. I desperately needed to speak to Jane at iSeed, who had not replied to two phone calls. Unsettled, I decided to change strategy and go see her in person. Her assistant told me that she was in her Soho office with a gap in her schedule, so I walked there briskly, sifting my thoughts as I marched. Jane could now potentially be kingmaker. It was time to be particularly charming.
I hadn’t been there for some time and was struck that reception was a shrine to PrimaParent. The large digital screens displayed our home page and there was enough ‘Last Martian’ merchandise to fill a teenage fan’s bedroom. Evidence of their other investments was scant. We were clearly their greatest success story and I was confident therefore that I must be something of a hero to her.
Jane greeted me with an airy kiss on each cheek. She looked surprised and we sat down in a meeting room with very little attempt from either of us at small talk.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? We don’t see you here that often.” After four years of working with her on our board, there wasn’t much of a friendship. I actually knew very little about her. She wore a wedding ring and often talked about her son, but he could have been a toddler or graduating university and her husband a vicar or a fireman for all I knew. It was too late to find out.
“I need to talk to you about a sensitive subject, I’m afraid.”
“Has your rash come back?” she replied unexpectedly. I had no recollection of her having a sense of humour.
“No, all good, the cream has worked a treat. It’s Julian. There’s going to be some unpleasantness.”
That was a bit of an understatement, but Jane did not seem surprised.
“It’s been clear to us all for some time that you’ve become the Charles and Diana of the digital world.”
“Who’s who?”
“What does it matter? But something needs to be done. Why are you here today?”
I am, as you will have realised, too honest about my emotions for my own good. Entrepreneurial success is surely not defined by a need to confess. Well, not for most normal leaders. If you ask me an innocuous question, I’ll answer with excessive detail, and when given this chance to describe recent events, I got disproportionately passionate in describing my outrage. Looking back at that meeting, I may have acted like he’d run off with my wife and burnt my house down. I talked breathlessly, waving my hands like a manic orchestra conductor. After several minutes, I remembered I was not alone and perhaps it would be wise to let Jane join in the conversation.
“Sorry, I got a bit carried away. You can see what this means to me. Just as long as I’ve done enough to ensure that Julian gets a bullet in the head.”
“What a nice analogy.”
“We could use poison if you feel more comfortable.”
Jane was impassive, and I knew that the more I pushed her, the more likely it would make her do the opposite. She was smiling, which I took to be a good sign. “Alex, I can’t give you an answer now, you know that.”
“Of course. I just wanted to furnish you with the facts objectively, to help you make the correct fiduciary decision.”
“Extremely magnanimous of you.” She was proving more adept at sarcasm than me. “Rest assured that when you do call a board meeting, we will protect the interests of the shareholders, don’t you worry.”
She clearly did not want further discussion and got up to go to another meeting. Her last words, tossed aimlessly over her shoulder as she left, encouraged me that the vote was mine. “I really appreciate you coming today. We will always put the business above the needs of any one individual. We really are very good judges of character.”
She smiled, although I wasn’t sure if she actually winked at me or simply had a squint. Either way, I returned to the
office convinced that my morning of canvassing had resulted in a controlling share of the business backing me.
I now needed to prepare for the meeting and draft my victory speech.
***
I phoned Nigel later that day. Any bad PR might be detrimental to his reputation and his mercurial and provocative personality could create havoc at such a sensitive time. Nevertheless, we had developed a strong relationship. Sarah and I also socialised often with him and Kate, to whom he had been married for over a year. She was six months pregnant; Nigel had softened in anticipation of fatherhood and his cavalier swagger was less overt. I was fairly comfortable that this call would not take too long.
He insisted on making it a FaceTime call as he was staying at his Mallorcan villa and wanted me to feel jealous of the enormous sea-facing balcony in the newly built palace. The sky and sea were so bright blue, I needed sunglasses. In London, the constant drizzle painted everything slate grey.
“One day, you know, I may even invite you here, Alex, although we will probably have to wait for a cancellation from one of our celebrity friends.”
“Fantastic. A holiday with you. What’s the second prize? Anyway, Nigel, lovely as it is to be abused by you some more, I have something I need to share.”
“Well, make it pithy. I am actually trying to write at the moment. It is in your interests that I am not disturbed.” There was a vintage Remington typewriter, a coffee cup and an overflowing ashtray on the table beside him. It was as if he had art-directed the call to accentuate his old-school approach to the writer’s craft.
I explained the situation quickly. Julian wanted me out. I wanted Julian out and would prevail in the ensuing boardroom battle. There was an external risk of Clyde Pilestone’s empire being caught in the crossfire, which he needed to know. Nigel was a little surprised and stared silently out to sea. Something about his surroundings gave him the power, especially as I was positioned uncomfortably in the corner of an anonymous coffee shop, trying not to shout too loudly over the collective din of other people’s conversations. The reply, when it eventually came, was not quite what I had expected.