8.
Justin
The soft clicking of Crystal’s keyboard is a soothing counterpoint to the sizzle and pop of ideas that fizz out just as fast as we conceive them. It’s been a month since she joined us, and she’s definitely been a positive addition to the team. She’s the voice that greets callers with a warmth we can’t muster, buried as we are in schematics and simulations.
“Can I grab anyone coffee?” Crystal’s voice cuts through the tension that’s settled over the workspace.
“Make mine a double,” Austin grumbles from his perch by the whiteboard, marker in hand, eyes bloodshot from too many nights chasing solutions.
“Same here,” Rhys chimes in without looking up, fingers flying over his laptop, while Theo just nods, lost in a sea of circuit boards.
I’m on the brink, teetering between gratitude and something akin to envy at how Crystal seems to be flourishing, her earlier job woes dissolved into a distant memory. It was hard to convince SHN to let her join us, but Theo and I did it. And the office is better for it, all those niggling tasks that used to loom over us now dispatched with a quiet efficiency that’s almost magical. And Crystal seems much better emotionally too.
“Hey, Justin, you too?” She catches my eye.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”
She smiles, and I let myself bask in the simple normalcy she’s brought to our startup’s madness. We have a consultation with Mason Sullivan and Dillon Healy coming up, and we’ve not made very much progress. The problem still eating us alive? Battery duration. The charge still refuses to hold reliably.
“Guys, we’re so close,” I say, trying to inject optimism into the room. “We’ve got the charge, and we’re able to convert electrical energy into mechanical energy. We just need to marry the two without the battery dying.”
“Seems like a shotgun wedding at this point,” Theo mutters, and there’s a collective sigh.
We’ve been at this for hours, days, weeks—long enough for any semblance of work-life balance to have become a punchline. It’s like we’re stuck in a loop, each breakthrough causing yet another thing we thought we’d fixed to not work.
“Let’s take five,” I suggest, rubbing the bridge of my nose, the onset of a headache blooming that has nothing to do with caffeine withdrawal.
“Five minutes or five hours?” Rhys asks.
“Let’s aim for minutes and see where we land.” I attempt a smile.
As the guys stretch and groan, standing up from their respective battle stations, I watch Crystal return, arms laden with cups emanating steam and the promise of productivity.
“Your lifesaver has arrived,” she announces, distributing the cups with a flourish that lifts the mood just a fraction.
“Thanks, you’re a star,” I tell her, accepting my cup and taking a tentative sip.
“Any progress?” she asks.
“Progress and regression seem to be in a dance-off right now,” I admit, forcing a chuckle.
“Keep at it. You’ll find the rhythm,” she says with a conviction I wish I could bottle and pour over our battery cells.
“Here’s hoping it’s not a tango,” Austin adds dryly.
We agree to a thirty-minute break. I want to see the sunshine, so I go for a walk around the block and get a Rice Krispies Treat for an afternoon pick-me-up. Now, I’m ready. I know we’re close to getting this right.
“Back to it,” I announce when I return. I roll my shoulders and settle in.
Later that evening, the sun dips below the horizon as I push through a set of swinging doors, the familiar clank and squeal mixing with the chatter of Vinny’s Restaurant. My shoulders are hunched from the day’s labor, muscles aching for reprieve.
Theo pats my back with a knowing smirk, “Groundhog Day, huh?”
I nod, too tired to conjure up a proper response.
The group of us claims our usual booth, the worn leather groaning under our weight. It’s become a routine, as predictable as the challenges we wrestle with all day.
“Be right back,” Crystal says, sliding out of the booth almost as soon as we’ve all slid in.
Her departure stirs something in Austin. He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “So, Justin, when do you suppose Crystal’s moving out?”
“What? Why would she move out?”
“Come on, man,” Rhys cuts in. “Theo’s paying a quarter of the rent and living on the couch.”
I set the fork down, the clatter louder than intended. “We’re paying her next to nothing, and she takes care of everything.” I hear myself. I sound defensive. But she brings order to our mayhem.
“Sure, but I think it might help all of us to have some…space,” Austin suggests, tapping his fingers against the table. “Either we find a new place, or you two should.”
A chill races down my spine. They were surprised she came with us to begin with, but they’ve seemed happy with her work. It hasn’t been so bad living together, has it? I do feel bad that Theo’s on the couch, but I don’t think there’s any way Crystal and I could afford a place of our own.
“Look, you know I asked her to come with us in the moment,” I add hastily. “I didn’t expect her to quit school and join us, but it’s been working out. For everyone.”
Before they can counter, Crystal slides back into her spot, her presence instantly ending the conversation. After a moment, our server arrives with menus, and we resume our evening. But the aftertaste of confrontation lingers... What do they expect her to do? What do they want me to do?
The guys have been better with Crystal since Monday, even though we never really finished our conversation. Hopefully, I convinced them we just don’t have any other options right now. We’re all making sacrifices to get this to work. Anyway, right now, it’s Friday night, and the noise of the modern city fades behind me as the guys and I step into the Moscone Center, which SHN has transformed into a cathedral to nostalgia tonight. SHN is famous for their parties. Each year, they celebrate with the Silicon Valley elite, and this time, EnergiFusion was invited.
Tonight, the eighties are back with a vengeance, clawing their way out of memory’s vault with neon claws and synthesized beats. Crystal has been flitting around all week, her excitement ramping up as she assisted Emerson’s team at SHN with the setup.
“Look at this place,” I murmur, taking in the retro decorations that have made the hall a time machine. My gaze wanders, seeking Crystal, who should stand out as a beacon of eighties fashion. She spent an hour earlier wrestling her hair into gravity-defying shapes, the scent of AquaNet so pervasive that it lingered long after she left.
Now, as I crane my neck, scanning the sea of leg warmers and acid-wash jeans, I catch sight of her. The big hair, the dramatic makeup—she’s a walking tribute to the decade of excess. Her clothes scream confidence—bright colors and shoulder pads that rival any linebacker’s protection gear.
“Man, she nailed it,” Austin says with a chuckle.
I nod, feeling a twinge of pride. “She’s going to love tonight.”
The four of us are dressed Miami Vice style—pastel shades and rolled sleeves. It’s a costume, but isn’t that the point? I’ll slip into another skin for the evening and forget the relentless pursuit of solving EnergiFusion’s battery dilemma.
“Ready to party like it’s nineteen eighty-nine?” Rhys asks, quirking an eyebrow as he adjusts his faux Ray-Bans.
“Let’s just hope our dance moves haven’t aged as badly as some of these tunes,” Theo chimes in.
“Tonight, we’re undercover police trying to flip the bad drug dealers,” I declare. “We have no time for dancing.”
“Let’s make it legendary,” Austin agrees, clapping me on the back as we merge with the crowd.
Crystal waves us over, a clipboard in her hand. “You guys look totally rad,” she says.
“Wow, Crystal, you really nailed the look,” Theo tells her, seeming a bit mesmerized by her transformation from meticulous office manager to vibrant, shoulder-padded powerhouse.
“Thanks, Theo!” She beams. “Don’t miss Depeche Mode on the center stage at ten thirty. And if you’re feeling adventurous, there’s roller skating in the main room.” She glances down at her list. “And keep an eye out for the servers with hors d’oeuvres. They’ll be making the rounds all night.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I reply, already scheduling our evening around the promised performance. Depeche Mode is not to be missed.
As we venture deeper into the neon-lit room, all moving in different directions, Mason Sullivan strolls over to me, his attire screaming preppy louder than any John Hughes film. He takes a drink and grimaces at the brightly colored beverage in his hand. “Can you believe this?” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Nearly a million dollars sunk into this event, and not a drop of scotch or bourbon in sight. These frozen daiquiris are giving me a headache.”
“Here…” I offer my can of light beer with a chuckle. “It’s not top shelf, but at least, it won’t make your brain freeze.”
Mason waves it off. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m going to be a team player. I just can’t complain to my wife. You’ve met her, right? She planned the drinks, so you get my complaints instead.”
Before he can continue his rant, his wife, Caroline, glides over, looking every inch the epitome of eighties glamour—tall, statuesque, and absolutely dazzling. She slips her arm through Mason’s, her gaze soft but firm.
“Come on,” she urges with a smile that could melt hearts—or at least defrost Mason’s icy demeanor. “Let’s not spend the night picking apart the menu. Let’s enjoy the party.”
With a sigh that borders on melodramatic, Mason nods for me to follow as he makes his way into the throng of partygoers. Rhys materializes by my side and shrugs. Where our funder goes, so shall we.
Mason navigates us through clusters of Silicon Valley elites until he sees something he likes. “Justin and Rhys, you’ve got to meet Nate Lancaster,” he says.
A tall man turns as we approach, his presence commanding even without the eighties-tailored, high-waisted trousers and oversized jacket over an attention-grabbing, frilly shirt. He extends a hand, his grip firm, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “Good to meet you both,” he says with a nod.
Mason doesn’t waste a moment. “Nate, this is half of the brain behind EnergiFusion. They’re on the cusp of revolutionizing EV batteries.”
I swallow hard, the weight of expectation heavy on my chest. But before I can articulate our vision, Nate produces a bottle of Woodford Reserve, seemingly from thin air, a feat more magical at this moment than any tech innovation.
“Let’s talk over something decent,” he suggests, pouring the amber liquid into glasses he’s pilfered from a nearby bar.
We toast and sip, the warmth of the bourbon cutting through my nerves. Nate listens intently as I outline our hurdles and breakthroughs. He’s unnervingly focused. I’ve read about this guy. He built an empire from nothing after getting out of the military, and he’s weathered personal tragedy and still persevered.
“Sounds promising,” he murmurs when I pause to catch my breath.
Before I can delve deeper, the crowd parts like the Red Sea, and Grayson Blackstone steps through, his charisma filling the space around us. This is the head of Firefly, the behemoth shopping service that has reshaped retail. Rhys shifts closer, bumping my shoulder with his. I don’t dare look his way for fear I’ll lose it.
“Caught wind there was real liquor floating around,” Grayson quips with a smile.
“Join us,” Mason urges, refilling glasses with a flourish. “This is Justin Capriotti and Rhys Smalls from EnergiFusion. Here come Austin Sands and Theo Reed.”
Austin slides up beside me, and we exchange pleasantries with these men who have scaled heights we’ve only dreamed of. Through the buzz of alcohol and conversation, one thought anchors me. Tonight, we are not just dreamers. We are contenders.
We talk a short while longer, until someone calls Mason and Nate away.
Crystal joins us and laces her fingers with mine. Everything is coming together, better than I ever dreamed of.
“Can you believe this?” Austin murmurs as they go.
“Never in my wildest dreams,” I reply, turning toward Theo and Rhys, who are propped against a sleek, faux arcade cabinet, their expressions mirroring our own awe.
“Look at them all,” I say, gesturing subtly to the sea of wealth and power around us. The titans of tech mingle effortlessly here, their conversations likely shaping the future even in their leisure. I catch snippets of dialogue about market trends and mergers.
“Feels surreal, doesn’t it?” Theo chuckles. Rhys nods, his gaze tracking a particularly influential CEO I can’t name as he passes by. There’s respect there, and a quiet yearning.
“We’re standing on the precipice,” Austin says, clinking his glass against mine. “One foot in our old world, one in theirs.”
“Here’s to chasing what’s next,” Rhys declares, raising his glass.
“To building the future,” Theo adds.
“Together,” Crystal says as she gives my hand a squeeze.
Their words resonate, anchoring the moment. We toast to ambition, to the pioneers around us, to EnergiFusion, and to the unknown adventures waiting beyond the horizon. Tonight, we have arrived.