The Sensory Deception

by Ransom Stephens

  Gloria and Farley came in, followed a few minutes later by Bupin’s partner, Joel McKay. Bupin didn’t look up from the proposal until everyone had settled in, Gloria and Farley to his left and McKay to his right.

  Bupin let his glasses slide to the end of his nose, smiled a toothy grin, and cocked his head. “One baker’s dozen months have passed since last we met. One baker’s year and it is time to see fruit from your oven.” Bupin’s mixed metaphors, head-wagging, barely appropriate smiles, and broken English gave an illusion of humility that Bupin used to gain a negotiating advantage. Like verbal judo, his weak veneer encouraged adversaries to underestimate him. He had spent decades as a partner at what he and Joel had built into Silicon Valley’s most powerful VC firm. Not only did his quirks give a mythical quality to his eccentric, approachable reputation, but they still worked.

  “We’ve got a lot to report,” Gloria said. She launched into PowerPoint slides listing milestone bullets.

  As Gloria gave her report, Bupin flipped through his copy of the original VirtExArts proposal, comparing the road map she’d presented thirteen months ago with what she was telling them now. Depending on how he thought of it, they were either a month or so behind the original schedule—twelve months to production plus two months to launch—or three months behind if it took another two to develop the killer app. In either case, as start-up road maps go, they were doing all right.

  Ten minutes into Gloria’s presentation, Bupin applied one of his favorite evaluation tools, watching instead of listening. Farley, sitting next to Gloria, made eye contact with everyone in the room. The way the others responded verified Bupin’s initial assessment of the tall man with the deep voice, infectious laugh, and sharp eyes. When Farley was in the room, even Bupin felt the urge to follow his lead. If Farley matured beyond his simple environmental goals, Bupin believed he could become as powerful as anyone in the valley.

  When Gloria finished, Bupin said, “Your product, it is incomplete. You have just the two games, the bird and the bear? Why not king of the beasts? And where is Moby-Dick?” Staring at Gloria, he watched it sink in and then added, “Why not one game with guns and cars?”

  “You don’t have the killer app,” McKay said. “You don’t have the sonar software spin-off. You’re off the road map.”

  “Maybe the bridge has sailed on this venture,” Bupin said. Farley remained relaxed, but Gloria’s eyes narrowed and a line formed across her forehead.

  As she was about to speak, McKay cut her off in a whining tone. “We told you over a year ago: too much National Geographic, not enough Disney.”

  “Joel, please.” She pulled a sheet from a small stack. “After thirteen months, the hardware is ready. The team has shown that they can turn around first-rate software in weeks. We’re ready to get the whale data; it’s the next action item. How many start-ups have you seen that stayed any closer to their schedules? We’re in good shape and you know it.”

  The thing Bupin liked most about Silicon Valley was that it allowed people to fulfill their potentials. That is, it allowed attractive people to become beautiful. He said, “With just two Animal Planet apps, you constrain your growth for zero reason. Cold-air balloons do not fly.”

  “The bottom line is, we’re ahead of any reasonable expectations,” Gloria said. “When was the last time a Sand Hill venture generated a profit in its first two years?” She kept her voice steady. “You’re holding us to an unfair standard.”

  “No, honey, there’s a difference,” McKay said. “VirtExArts is capable of generating a profit, and so it should. Didn’t they teach that at Stanford?”

  Gloria’s eyes got even larger at being addressed as “honey.” She took a deep breath and held it. Bupin waited for her to explode.

  “Let’s talk about Moby-Dick.” Farley spoke in a deep, calm, confident voice.

  Instead of exploding, Gloria remained silent, holding that breath.

  Farley continued, “There have been some complications in obtaining the experiential data of a bull sperm whale, but it’s solvable.”

  “Everything is solvable with enough money,” McKay said.

  Farley turned to Gloria. “Could you present the numbers?”

  She exhaled the breath, nodded to Farley, pasted a smile on her lips, and addressed Bupin as though McKay had left the room. She put up a PowerPoint slide with dollar figures. “Here are line items for leasing a ship and crew for up to three months.”

  McKay smirked. Bupin cocked his head back and to the right. He could feel his cowlick wave like a flag at the top of his skull. The numbers were trivial, barely six figures. His admin could sign off on that much, a perfectly reasonable request, but it wouldn’t be granted. To Bupin, this was an exercise in business skills. A test for both Gloria and Farley that would make them better, stronger, more valuable partners.

  Using maps on the overhead projector, Farley indicated the locations of the four known pods of sperm whales and how long the expedition would require, concluding, “We couldn’t anticipate having to crew our own ship.”

  Bupin said, “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition.”

  McKay said, “Greenpeace has three whale pods and they won’t play with you? I’m sorry, Farley, that was a big oversight. Obviously we can’t be involved with this enviro-terrorist guy in the Indian Ocean.” He shook his head as though consoling Farley. “But we can solve this problem.”

  “Of course,” Farley said. “I’d like to keep the solution in perspective, too. We’re asking for less than one percent of your initial investment, a tiny increment.”

  “Then you anticipate my requirement.”

  “I’d appreciate it if we could forgo a discussion on licensing.”

  “There is another way,” McKay said. Then he paused, as though expecting to catch Farley.

  “We can discuss mainstream gamelike apps,” Farley said. “If we have sufficient resources, we could have a few ready shortly after the VirtExReality Arcades are open and running nature apps, not before.”

  Bupin appreciated how Farley offered a concession while withdrawing it at the same time. The scientist had a long way to go, but he was making progress.

  “If you won’t negotiate,” McKay said, “neither will I.”

  Gloria said, “He just offered half of what you want.”

  McKay turned to Bupin and said, “I’m finished here.” He stood and gathered his things.

  “That’s it, then?” Gloria asked.

  McKay said, “Either develop profitable apps yourselves or give us permission to license others to do so.”

  Gloria said, “You’re giving us an ultimatum?”

  “Excuse me, Gloria.” McKay stepped toward her and looked straight down at her. “Have you forgotten who you work for?”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “I’m sorry,” Farley said. “What you call profitable apps will eliminate demand for nature apps, and as you know, the nature apps are the reason we’re doing this.”

  “No, no,” Bupin said. “You think upside down. Common mistake. You hold the starter’s pistol. Other developers begin your race many laps behind. Let your competition fund your work. You can’t win if you are not playing.”

  Farley didn’t respond. It made Bupin wonder what backup plans they had.

  At the door, McKay said, “Our goals are inconsistent, Farley. Good luck. Our employee, Gloria, will continue to be responsible for our forty-nine percent interest in VirtExArts, but unless you change your mind, I don’t think I’ll be personally involved. Good day.”

  Farley whispered something to Gloria, she nodded, and he assembled his things. He stood and leaned toward Bupin, his arm extended to shake hands.

  Bupin took his hand.

  “Bupin,” Farley said, “we’ll figure out a way to get past this hurdle, and we’ll be in touch.” Farley left the room. Gloria followed him, and the two whispered in the corridor. She came back in and disconnected her laptop from the projector.

  Bupin stood and said,
“Please visit my office when you finish here.”

  As he walked by, she handed him a stack of documents and said, “Would you help me with these?”

  “Of course. Contracts. I love me the good contract to read!”

  Back at his desk, he looked through Gloria’s documents. She had done good work. He believed and hoped that she would succeed. He also understood that in the forty thousand years that humans have been doing business, the fundamentals have neither changed nor become easier to learn. The next few months would be a turning point in her career. She was just shy of thirty years old, the perfect age to leap up the career ladder. The licensing issue would be a significant test. Would she surrender her clients’ values or find a way to use them to strengthen the company? Was she an investor with foresight and creativity, or not?

  Gloria came into his office a few minutes later and sat on the opposite side of his cluttered desk. Bupin’s office looked out on a peaceful courtyard from the corner of the building. Shelves along the walls were decorated with a mix of Silicon Valley memorabilia—a primitive mouse, an old oscilloscope, one of the first HP pattern generators—and colorful Hindu art.

  She said, “I’ve got everything ready—why cut us off now?”

  “Them,” Bupin said. “Cut them off. You work here.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Your career, maybe you cut off your nose in spite of your face?”

  “They won’t accept a licensing model.”

  “Gloria, you knew from the start we would land here.”

  Bupin made a single nodding motion that stopped with his head bent forward. “You have one problem which can be solved many ways. Your job is to assemble this puzzle.”

  “There shouldn’t be a problem,” she said, now with an ironic grin. “We’re less than two months behind an ambitious schedule. All we need—”

  “You talk too much. Think instead. Think of how to assemble pieces to make what you want.”

  “We’re out of money. Farley’s house is mortgaged, everyone’s credit cards are maxed out—even mine.”

  “Your own money in play?” Bupin cocked his head to the side and unveiled a toothy grin. “I like that you are all-in. It tells me that you will solve this. Inside you, maybe not in your consciousness, you know that you will solve this. Yes, I like that.”

  “Without Series B funding, there is no solution.”

  “Reconsider the problem. Just one issue sits between you and product. Let me query you. This killer app, you think it can disrupt the game?”

  “Yes, I really do. You should come down and experience the demo.”

  “Gloria, if I sing your solo, then what do you sing?”

  “I’m sorry, Bupin—what do you mean?”

  “I hired you for passion and intelligence, your potential. My interest is you. Not VirtExArts. It is Farley Rutherford, not his company. Two young people in face of a challenge. Not my challenge.”

  “You have the solution?”

  “No, Gloria. You have the solution. It is right in front of you. Right on one of your slides.”

  She furrowed her brow and stared at her hands. He could sense her neurons firing. He counted the seconds, guessing that she’d see the solution in less than ten.

  She did it in seven.

  “I can put Farley and Chopper on that whale-wars ship off the coast of East Africa for less than five thousand dollars.”

  “Business is simple problem, two-dimensional optimization, risk and reward are the only parameters.”

  “What if Farley won’t do it?”

  “He can be persuaded.”

  “What if?”

  “Aah, I see. You want to know the stakes.”

  “I guess.”

  “If you are unsuccessful, I will fire you and Sand Hill will sue VirtExArts and get licensing rights. Since they have no money we will win the suit quickly, and they will lose everything.”

  Gloria rubbed her eyes.

  “Further,” Bupin said, “should Sand Hill Ventures discover that VirtExArts is associated with eco-terrorists, we will have to sever our relationship, sue for licensing rights, and fire you.”

  Bupin tilted his head to the other side, lower and lower. “You have many options. You can give up this project. A few years from now, you will have overcome the obstacle of losing ten million of my dollars. Do you want to see other proposals? Maybe you want to scout an accounting database company?”

  She pulled her hands away from her face and Bupin was thrilled to see that she was smiling.

  “Gloria, how have you not convinced Farley to fund his fishing expedition by selling licenses to other developers?”

  She shook her head. “Okay, Bupin. I understand.” She stood, still smiling, still shaking her head.

  “As you appreciate your position, do you feel excited?”

  “Something like that.”

  “It is just business.” He jerked his head upright. It had the desired effect of catching her attention. “Do you believe in your system, your product, and your people?”

  She looked away for a few seconds and then nodded. “I’ve never known three smarter, more dedicated people in my life. The product is mind-boggling. My system? I’m not so sure.”

  “Do what you must to catch your big fish.”

  Gloria didn’t sleep that night. She sat on the couch in her Silicon Valley condo sipping hot chocolate and trying to relax. With the contracts piled on the coffee table in front of her and Bupin’s comments bouncing around in her head, sleep was pointless. She wrapped a blanket around her legs and tucked them beneath her. Her mother had made this blanket when Gloria was a little girl, before she, her mother, and father moved to the United States. Gloria talked to her mother every week and had dinner with her mother and stepfather every month plus Jewish holidays. She didn’t see her father more than two or three times a year. She owed him so much, but spending time with him taxed her.

  Gloria’s father, Tahir Baradaran, was both a warm and a ruthless man. Who knows what he would have been like if circumstances had been different. Gloria was born in the Ayatollah’s Iran just a year after the revolution. Her parents named her Golie, but from their first day in America, everyone but her father called her Gloria.

  Tahir hadn’t had the wealth or connections required to take refuge in the United States. God had called on him to protect his wife and daughter from the horrors and discrimination of the ghetto, and he had answered. They escaped the ghetto and lived a better life, but under Islamic Sharia law her mother had to dress in a hijab and Tahir had to roll out a Muslim prayer rug five times a day. Gloria understood Tahir, knew what drove him. Containing his rage had taught him discipline, and the false assimilation to Sharia law taught him how to deceive an entire culture.

  By the time the Iranian Army conscripted Tahir to fight the invading forces of Iraq, his senses were keyed to the slightest opening of opportunity’s door. From the Ayatollah’s Iran, Saddam Hussein looked more like a progressive savior than the Butcher of Baghdad, so Tahir smuggled his wife and four-year-old daughter across the front and through the desert, all the way to Baghdad. By forging papers to portray himself as Saddam’s distant cousin, Tahir obtained a position in Saddam’s elite Republican Guard, and his family lived a charade in relative prosperity and safety.

  Several years later, when Gloria was ten and Saddam invaded Kuwait, her father took another chance. He smuggled his family in an Iraq Army personnel carrier—that is, a cargo van—across another front, this time into the not-so-waiting arms of the US Army. Gloria and her mother were held in a Kuwait hotel while Tahir provided the army with Iraqi battle plans. He crossed the front, back and forth, a dozen times to update that information until his family was finally granted asylum.

  A month after the last Desert Storm skirmish, Gloria was attending school in San Jose, California. She fit in immediately. Her mother adapted to the easy life, too, getting a job at the community college teaching Hebrew, Arabic, and Farsi. But Tahir
didn’t fit in. The skills of a spy and a mercenary, a survivor, didn’t translate to the technology-driven economy of Silicon Valley.

  Less than a year later, Gloria’s parents divorced, and a few months after that, her mother introduced the man who would become her stepfather. He was a good man, a better dad than her father was capable of being, and a high-tech titan. Even in her rebellious adolescence, Gloria had understood her mother’s choice and believed it was the right thing for them. Her mother, on the other hand, couldn’t forgive herself for betraying the man who had saved their lives.

  Gloria loved and respected her stepfather. It was his suggestion that she legally change her name from Golie to Gloria—the last step in her conversion to red, white, and blue-blooded American girl. She followed his advice and even called him Daddy. Tahir she called Father. And while she loved her daddy, she worshiped her father; she just couldn’t find a day-to-day role in her life for him.

  The sound of the furnace clicking on brought her back to the present. She sipped her hot chocolate and stared at the contracts. Bupin had advised that if she believed in the people, the product, and her system, then the decision should be easy. The problem was what Bupin had called her system. The business plan that she and Farley had devised more than a year earlier was seriously out-of-date. Everything she’d done had either conformed to that plan or been a reaction to conditions. All reactive, nothing proactive. If the professors in her MBA program at Stanford found out, they might want to foreclose on her degree.

  She leaned forward, set down her mug, and picked up her laptop. She needed a system she could believe in. She opened a Microsoft Project document and marked out a road map.

  She understood that Farley had to go to the Indian Ocean, get the data, and get out of there. Sometimes business decisions make for strange bedfellows. But in her mind, awkward alliances were not an indictment of business but rather the ingredients of capitalism that bring peace to trading partners with large cultural differences.