3.
Justin
Pounding on my bedroom door rips me from sleep, and I’m disoriented, the memory of last night at The Wicked Wolf still clouding my mind.
“We need to go,” Rhys yells through the door. The room spins slightly as I sit up. The girl—Crissy? Christa? Crystal?—is still snuggled against me, her breathing deep and even in the quiet of the morning light.
“Hey,” I mutter, nudging her gently. Her eyelashes flutter, but she doesn’t wake. “I’ve gotta go meet with some people this morning.” I watch her for a second longer, her features soft and unfamiliar in the daylight. “Stay as long as you want.”
Slipping from the warm tangle of sheets, I steady myself and make my way to the shower. The cold splash of water sharpens my senses, washing away the remnants of last night’s overindulgence. I dress quickly, pulling on khaki pants and a blue and white striped Polo button down, the fabric crisp against my skin. Ready—or as ready as I’ll ever be—I grab my phone and wallet, stepping out into the fresh promise of the day.
The spring sun is just beginning to climb higher in the sky. My friends are waiting for me downstairs, bleary-eyed and grinning despite their hangovers. Theo claps me on the back, his chuckle low and knowing as he looks over at Rhys, who has reappeared after his early departure last night. “Looks like someone had a good time.”
Rhys smirks. “She was a very happy woman. I lost count at five.” He elbows Austin, who rolls his eyes but can’t suppress a smile. It seems Austin got lucky with his friend at the bar last night. I wonder if he realizes the girl she was with is still upstairs in my bed. I’m not about to bring that up now. It’s all good.
“Guess we all have our talents,” Austin quips, and there’s a round of laughter that shakes off the last of our sleepiness.
We shuffle down the street to McDonald’s, the familiar smell of coffee and fast food the solution to our aching heads. I order an Egg McMuffin and the biggest coffee they have, and as we eat, the conversation turns to today’s agenda. Our shared anticipation crackles in the air.
“Six venture capital companies,” Rhys says, shaking his head. “Can you believe it?”
“Today could change everything,” Theo adds, his gaze meeting mine.
“Let’s show them what we’ve got,” I agree.
We finish our breakfast, and the caffeine is beginning to clear the fog in my brain. We toss our trash and head out, our strides syncing up as we walk toward the future, whatever it may hold.
“First thing I’m doing,” I announce, “is getting my mom something nice. Maybe a vacation. She’s never really traveled.” My mom raised my brother and sister and me with more love than resources.
“House for my mom.” Theo nods. “She deserves that much.”
“Man, I’m going straight for a Ferrari.” Rhys chuckles.
“I’ll take one of everything,” Austin declares, and laughter bubbles up among us.
We sober quickly, though, as the weight of the day presses down. When we arrive back at the convention center, we sit down on some benches outside to get our act together. The business plan sprawls across our laps, my copy riddled with annotations and dog-eared corners.
“Okay, let’s get our story straight on the charge issue,” I suggest, and we huddle closer, heads bowed over the diagrams and charts like generals over a battlefield map. “We’ve buried the inconsistent-charging detail here, so let’s try to leave it that way. I’m hoping it will go unnoticed until we have a more solid solution.” I look up to get their feeling on that, and they all nod.
“Makes sense, but temperature regulation has to be the crux.” Of course, Rhys can’t let this go. He taps a finger on the graph that shows overheating metrics.
“Right.” I nod. “But we’re going to have a solid workaround with the new cooling-system design. We’ll just need to communicate how it’s scalable—eventually. Not today.”
“Scalability’s fine, but what about charging speed?” Austin interjects, always the one to poke holes, ensuring we’re airtight.
“Working on that,” I say, undeterred. “If we can integrate the supercapacitor tech, we’re golden.”
“But let’s set that aside for now,” Theo adds, the strategist among us, looking at the bigger picture. “Today, we need to help them see the vision, feel the potential.”
“Exactly,” I affirm. “It’s not just about solving the problem. It’s about revolutionizing the game.”
We run through possible questions until the remaining challenges ahead seem smooth enough that our future funder may not even notice.
“All right, we’re ready,” I declare.
“Let’s do this,” Theo says as we rise from the bench and collect our things.
We’re silent, and my nerves crackle as we step into the lobby. Purpose propels us through the familiar space and back to the convention center. What was an open hall full of displays yesterday has now been sectioned into rooms, each one numbered and with a series of chairs outside the doors. Inside the rooms, sound machines whirr and fans buzz, a cacophony of white noise designed to keep prying ears at bay. The corridors are filled with classmates, who are all here to do the same thing—to make tomorrow brighter.
“Looks pretty serious,” Theo murmurs beside me, his gaze sweeping across the area.
“Like they’re guarding state secrets,” Rhys adds with a wry grin.
“Only their futures,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light.
Before we can speculate further, we reach the table with a giant banner that says Check In. “Gentlemen, welcome.” Dr. Allen greets us with a smile. “It’s good to see you. You have quite the busy day. Congratulations.”
My chest is bursting with pride.
“Your hostess today is Kimberly Davis,” he continues. “She’ll move you from one appointment to the next. Anything you need, she’s here to assist.”
A shapely brunette steps forward. “Nice to meet you.”
Austin stuffs his hands in his pockets, his shy charm turned up to full wattage. “Well, if all our needs are met with such grace, we’re in excellent hands,” he quips, earning a polite laugh from Kimberly and collective eye rolls from the rest of us.
“Ever the ladies’ man,” Theo teases under his breath.
Kimberly, seeming unfazed, leads us ahead and opens the door to our first meeting. “This is Indria Singh,” she says as we enter the makeshift room.
A woman in a sharp business suit rises to shake our hands. “Welcome,” she says, her voice firm yet inviting. “Let’s talk about your vision.”
I extend our business plan to her. “Thank you, Ms. Singh,” I say as she takes it.
She looks it over for just a few moments. “Your battery technology—” she begins.
“—is groundbreaking,” I finish, conviction bolstered by the nods of my partners. “And we have solutions for the challenges we face.”
“Excellent,” she responds, jotting a note. Then her questions begin in earnest, but our carefully rehearsed answers seem up to the task.
Our time with Indria Singh concludes with a firm handshake and a promise of consideration, with the caveat that it would require a move to India. That’s a big move. We exit, with only a moment to exchange hopeful glances before we meet the next venture capitalist. Kimberly has us hustling down the hall to our next designated room.
“Good job, guys,” Rhys whispers, a hint of excitement breaking through his usually nonchalant demeanor.
“Stay focused,” I remind them. “We’ve got more ground to cover.”
Then we’re filing into the next space and doing our song and dance all over again. Mostly with similar results. Our answers are ready for the questions we receive, and the potential investors seem largely convinced. And so, the day unfolds. One by one, Kimberly guides us to our appointments. We share our vision, distribute our plans, and field their questions. Some investors nod along, clearly seeing the potential; others probe deeper, challenging us to defend every aspect of our proposal. With each encounter, my confidence rises. I know we’re going to see success today.
“Five down, one to go,” Theo says as we exit the second-to-last compartment.
“Still standing,” I affirm, the image of my mother’s proud face spurring me onward. Her unwavering support steadies my resolve. This isn’t just for us. It’s for those who believed when there was nothing to see.
“Next one’s going to be even better,” Austin declares, already angling toward the next door, the next chance to make our mark.
Kimberly leads us into the final room for our last pitch of the day. “I’d like to introduce you to Mason Sullivan and Dillon Healy, two of the founders of SHN in San Francisco. They’ve successfully launched over five hundred startups, including Lancaster Holdings, Firefly, Honeycomb Games, and PayFriend.”
We settle around the table and face these men in their bespoke casual wear, the embodiment of venture-capital prestige.
“Mr. Sullivan, Mr. Healy,” I begin, extending my hand in greeting. They return the gesture, their handshakes firm.
Dillon, his gaze sharp, flips through our business plan with an analytical precision that sets my nerves on edge. “Tell me,” he says without looking up, “how do you plan to address the battery-charging issue?”
His question stops me cold. He’s the first to ask this. We’d done so well today with having it go unnoticed. My pulse quickens as I exchange a look with the team. We’ve rehearsed for everything—except this.
Mason leans back in his chair, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “We noticed the time of day changes quite drastically during your looped demo,” he adds, his tone casual yet loaded with implications.
Austin clears his throat. “Our current plan involves—” But before he can outline our strategy, Mason raises a hand, stopping him.
“We’re not sure your current plan will work,” Mason says, his voice calm but authoritative. “It’s likely been tried before. What else could you come up with?” There’s no malice in his smile, just the confidence of a man who has seen many come and go in this industry.
A momentary silence falls over the room as the weight of his statement sinks in. It’s a blow, but not a knockout. I’m working to regroup mentally when Mason continues, redirecting the conversation.
“However,” he says, making eye contact with each of us, “if we choose to invest and reach a mutual agreement, our involvement would extend beyond funding.” He then lays out a future in which SHN would put our project in their incubator, paying us small salaries as we work toward finalizing our battery. They would shoulder the administrative burdens—recruiting, handling accounts receivable and payables—freeing us to focus solely on perfecting our product.
It’s very different from what I know we envisioned, yet it echoes the collaborative spirit we’ve fostered within our own team. But at the same time, they’re not giving us money outright. I’m not sure what to think.
“We want innovators like you to do what they do best—innovate,” Mason concludes.
We exchange looks, and I can see a silent consensus forming between us. The guys are open to this, just as I think I am. This is an opportunity, and SHN seems truly invested in our success.
“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan, Mr. Healy,” I say with a nod. “Your feedback is invaluable, and we hope to have the chance to work together.”
We shake hands once more, and I can feel excitement and anticipation brewing within me. When the door closes behind us, Professor Allen is waiting. “Well?”
I shrug. “It’s hard to say. We think we did well, and I think there’s some real potential, but no one has fully committed yet. It will all come down to whether someone actually wants to invest.”
He nods. “My team will collect the offers and go through each of them with your IP attorney. Let’s meet tomorrow morning and see where things lie. Then we can figure out your plan.”
“Thanks, Professor,” Rhys says.
The heavy door of the convention center swings shut behind us, and a wave of relief washes over me as we step into the bright Atlanta sunlight.
“Who’s hungry?” Austin asks.
“Those box lunches were not enough,” I declare. “Beer and burgers on me.” I lead the way back across the street to The Wicked Wolf, where the scent of hops and grilled meat greets us like an old friend, promising a brief respite before tomorrow’s verdict.
We slide into a booth after a quick stop at the bar and look at each other with wondering eyes, finally able to speak freely. “Cheers to hopefully not having our dreams crushed,” Rhys quips, raising his glass with a wry smile. We all touch glasses, the clink resonating.
“I think we did well,” I assure them. “Something is bound to work out, right?”
“Staying in Atlanta would be perfect,” Theo muses, taking a swig of his beer. And we did meet with a locally based funder. “But Austin, Texas, showed a lot of interest.”
“True, and that might be workable, but India feels too far out there,” I add, shaking my head. I’m not sure it’s even on the table for us. Our roots are here, our lives, our vision.
A little while later, as we tear into our burgers, the conversation pivots to SHN. “They zeroed in on the battery issue like they knew it before we opened our mouths,” I say, still impressed by Mason Sullivan and Dillon Healy’s acumen.
“Working with them would be next level. They’ve navigated these waters before,” Theo agrees, ketchup smearing at the corner of his mouth.
Austin, usually the most buoyant among us, wears a frown that starts unease brewing in my gut. “I’m just worried,” he confesses, pushing fries around with his fork. “Like they said, what if my plan’s already been done? What if I’m out of ideas?”
“Hey,” I interject. “You’re the ideas guy. You’ll think of something new. You always do. That’s what they’ll be paying us for. We’ll work together.” But despite my encouraging words, he doesn’t seem convinced.
And maybe the others aren’t either. “SHN seemed like they’d be willing to problem solve,” Rhys says, leaning back with a sigh. “But let’s face it, guys, they might not bite. They’ve seen it all before.”
We nod, and the table falls silent. There’s nothing we can say to that.
Once our bellies are full, the exhaustion of the day creeps in, and soon, we’re all a little brain dead. We call it an early night and walk back to our house, though I wonder how well any of us will sleep as we anticipate the news of tomorrow.
I shuffle up to the house and open the front door. The others trail in behind me, but I’m drawn to my bed. Last night was what I needed, but after the adrenaline rush of today, I’m worn out.
Yet when I reach my room, I find my companion from last evening still there. My eyes widen, even as I do my best to hide my shock. “Hey,” I whisper, and she stirs, a sleepy smile curving her lips.
“You said I was free to go when I was ready, but I thought maybe we could enjoy another night.”
My heart beats faster as my mind whirs. I can’t make sense of this, but I also can’t resist it. “I’m cool with that,” I say as I join her in bed.
Morning light creeps in, too soon, too bright. A phone is ringing relentlessly. My phone, I realize as my brain comes back online. Reluctantly, I disentangle from my Wicked Wolf friend’s embrace and grab the insistent device. “Hello?”
“Justin, it’s Professor Allen.” His voice is a crackle of energy over the line.
“Let me get the guys.”
I pull on my boxers and walk out to the living room. They guys are all there, in various states of dress and eating breakfast. “We’re all here.” I stretch the sleep from my limbs and place my phone on the coffee table, hitting the speaker button.
“You boys better sit down for this,” our professor says.
Heart hammering, I look around at each of them. They’ve all come to attention.
“Four of the six companies have come forward with offers,” Professor Allen says, and the room erupts. “That’s more than anyone else received.”
Fists pump the air, and we’re a tangle of back-slapping euphoria. But even as we revel, I know the real work is just beginning. Soon, we’ll be poring over details with Professor Allen and the IP lawyer he insisted we hire—our futures distilled into legalese and percentages.
“I’ll be here in my office when you can get here,” our professor says when we’ve quieted enough to hear him. “We have a lot to go over.”
Rhys jumps up. “We’re on our way.”
“We’ll get dressed and be right over,” Theo says.
Austin turns and points at Theo. “Yes. I’ll get dressed first,” he says.
Seems like we were loud enough that my bed companion should be awake, but her eyes remained closed when I slip back into my room. I change quickly and leave a note for her, letting her know I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I really need to get her name. Does she not have any other place to go?
I can’t think about that now, though, and I return to the living room to meet the guys. We race over to campus and the engineering department.
Professor Allen is in his office when we arrive, and he leads us down the hall to a conference room. There, I shift in my chair, the leather creaking. Professor Allen stands at the head of the table, papers fanned out like a hand of cards he’s about to reveal. His eyes meet mine, and then he lays it all out.
“Three million for forty-percent equity from the VC in Austin, Texas,” he begins, his voice even, betraying none of his opinions on the matter. “And they’d be potentially open to more later.”
My stomach tightens. That’s a hefty slice of the company pie—far heftier than we were aiming to give away. The “open to more later” dangles in the air like a double-edged promise.
Beside me, I can sense Theo’s uneasiness, his foot tapping a silent but frantic rhythm against the floor. Rhys runs a hand through his hair, a telltale sign of his stress, while Austin sits stone-faced, analysis flickering behind his eyes.
Our lawyer, a woman with sharp features and sharper intellect, leans forward. “Keep in mind that more implies further dilution of your ownership. They’ll want an even bigger piece of the pie if they inject additional capital.”
My fingers drum on the tabletop, reality settling around us like a cold fog. This offer is a gamble, one that could pay off or leave us choked out of our own vision. We’ve dreamed big, but here we are, facing the stark numbers that could tether us.
“Let’s move on,” Allen suggests, flipping to the next page. “Eight million for thirty percent from the local VC.”
A collective breath is sucked in by four sets of lungs. This is more money, less equity. On paper, it shines brighter, but the gleam doesn’t reach our guts.
The lawyer stands. “However, you need to be wary of the poison-pill clause embedded in their contract. It’s been making headlines—and none of them good. There was a case in San Francisco not long ago where the founders of Quick Reels were pushed out under false pretenses. It took them a decade to get justice, and they never got the money. You’d be wise to consider this path only as a last resort.”
I can feel myself nodding. Poison pill. The term alone sends a shiver down my spine. We’re not just playing with numbers; we’re dancing with control, with the future of what we’ve built. I know the case. She doesn’t have to push me hard to look past this one. “Let’s weigh our options carefully,” I tell my friends. “We knew it wouldn’t be easy to let go of part of what we’ve created, but we need these investments to grow. We can do this. We just have to be smart.”
The air in the room is static, charged with anticipation as we wait for the next offer. This one has an AV component, and a Silicon Valley investor appears on the screen. “We’re prepared to offer two million for five percent of your business,” he says. “Angel funding,” he adds, with a hint of pride. “But there will be more if you hit the steep deliverables we set.” The possibility dangles before us like a carrot—more money, more growth, a brighter future.
Our lawyer, ever the voice of reason, pauses the video and interjects with a note of caution. “If you walk away from the work, they hold the right to take it elsewhere. You could end up with nothing.” Her words land like a punch to the gut. I look around at my friends, seeing my fear reflected in their eyes.
We thought we knew the stakes, but this… This is a whole new level of risk. Yet isn’t that what we signed up for? We’re in the business of innovation, betting on the edge of tomorrow.
Then comes the final offer, and with it, a surge of relief so strong I feel it in my bones. SHN. San Francisco. Incubator. These words spell out an entirely different kind of future, one where we’re not just scrappy entrepreneurs but part of something bigger.
“SHN will start you off with minimal paychecks for three-percent equity,” our lawyer reads from the contract. “They’ll support your work as you resolve your battery’s charge-retention issue, and they will fund your payroll and costs at the office. It’s like a line of credit. And as your company grows, so will your expenses and their equity. Right now, they’re offering up to $120 million for forty-nine percent.” Her eyes meet mine, serious and unflinching. “But hopefully you won’t need them that much.”
When we nod, she continues. “Also, this deal demands exclusivity. Accept their money, and you’re shutting the door on any other venture capital.”
I absorb her words, their weight settling in my chest. This isn’t just another step; it’s a leap into a vast unknown. We’ll have to relocate across the country.
San Francisco. A city of dreamers, of innovators, where our idea might just find the legs to run. SHN is offering us not just a chance to succeed, but to soar. The risks are monumental, but so are the rewards.
“Thank you,” I say to the lawyer, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. I look around at my partners, at these brilliant minds who’ve become my family. Now, it’s time to choose our next horizon.
She packs up her things, and we thank Professor Allen. He urges us to think about how we plan to divide the company among ourselves and to consider any other stakeholders who might be entitled to a portion as well as what a funder might want. I nod, but at this point, it all just feels overwhelming. I can’t absorb any more information. The guys and I need to discuss our options privately. It seems obvious to me what we should do, but I’m not sure everyone feels the same way.
We walk single file out of the room, agreeing that we’ll let Professor Allen and the intellectual property attorney know our decision as soon as possible.
We walk outside into the late-morning sunshine.
“SHN’s offer is massive,” Austin says, his voice tinged with awe, “but they’re going to be all up in our tech, man.”
Theo’s brow is furrowed. “And what if they play us off each other? Divide and conquer?”
Rhys joins in, and their words spiral toward fever pitch. The group teeters on the edge of despair, ready to tumble into the pit of fear that entrepreneurship often disguises as caution.
“Guys, hold up,” I interject, halting mid-stride. They turn to me, their faces mirroring my internal conflict. “We’re spinning out. Let’s just…look at something.”
I fish out my phone, fingers tapping with purpose until SHN’s website gleams from the screen. We huddle close as I navigate to a page boldly titled Success Stories. A list of companies unfolds before us, names synonymous with achievement and innovation, legends of Silicon Valley that once stood where we are now. Today, they’re some of the largest companies in the Bay Area.
“Look at this,” I breathe. They fall silent as they take in the logos, the testimonials, the undeniable proof of SHN’s influence.
“Damn,” Rhys murmurs.
The lawyer’s words echo in my mind. Her approval of SHN is a solid anchor amidst the storm of options. It’s more than just money. It’s mentorship. It’s networking. It’s a fast-track to becoming a name that others will one day read on this very page.
“Right?” I say, locking eyes with each of the guys in turn. “They know what they’re doing. They’ve built empires.”
Our initial rush of panic gradually subsides, replaced by a dawning realization that with SHN, our vision has it’s best chance of becoming a reality. It’s a leap of faith, but isn’t that what brought us together in the first place?
“San Francisco,” Theo says, almost dreamily, putting his hands in his pockets and turning toward the horizon. “That could be us.”