Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
I ndia was hot.
No , thought Arjun, sitting on the tarmac of the Rajiv Gandhi International Airport, “hot” is an insufficient word . India was sweltering, baking, scorching. It was a heavy, suffocating heat, so dense with humidity that he could have stuck a straw into his mouth and sucked moisture right out of the air.
He dabbed at his forehead with a sodden handkerchief and stared out the window of his business-class seat. The plane had been taxiing for half an hour, but thirty minutes may as well have been a century. Arjun had stripped down to his undershirt—but, still, his face and body were sticky with sweat.
He glanced over to the seat beside him, wondering if Kevin McPherson was as miserable as he was. If so, he didn’t show it: Kevin was fast asleep, his head flopped over one side of his neck pillow. “Figures,” Arjun muttered under his breath. He leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes.
As his mind wandered, it found its way off that sweltering plane, off the subcontinent, across the ocean, and back to San Francisco. It meandered down Market Street, to the offices of PSI, and it descended a flight of stairs and crossed through a cramped hallway. The journey happened quickly, subconsciously; this was, after all, a path that he’d taken dozens (if not hundreds) of times over the past two weeks. And, as he arrived at the battered red door, he knew who would be there waiting for him: the same person who’d been there every single time.
Yes—he was still thinking of Nisha Nandan.
The day she’d moved in had been a tense one. Adam had sent Arjun hundreds of pages of documents in preparation for the pitch at Peacock, and he spent the afternoon hunched over his laptop, trying not to notice the beautiful woman sitting six inches away from his face.
Of course, Nisha didn’t make ignoring her easy. She typed furiously on her computer, each keystroke delivered like a champion boxer’s punch. The pattering sound reverberated through the tiny office, a rainstorm of clicks. “Can you stop that?” Arjun finally asked, peering around the boxy desktop that separated him from Nisha. “It’s really distracting.”
She stopped typing just long enough to smile sweetly at him. “Thank you for telling me that.”
She began to type even more loudly.
Arjun felt himself fuming. Two can play at that game, he thought. He began a new barrage on his own keyboard, the clacking of his keys growing louder than hers. Had enough yet? he wanted to ask.
But Nisha was not deterred in the slightest. She began hitting her keyboard even harder . This, of course, made Arjun do the same—and then, Nisha redoubled her assault on her laptop, the computer practically bouncing against the table with every thunderous keystroke. The tiny office began to sound just like a firing range.
The barrage continued for what seemed like hours. There were no windows in the room, and it was difficult to get a sense of the passage of time. Besides, the incessant keyboard sounds made it hard to concentrate on anything. Finally, Nisha stopped typing. She leaned over the computer. “What are you still doing here?” she asked.
“What does it look like?” Arjun replied irritably. “I’m working.”
“No shit,” she said. “What I meant was: why haven’t you left yet? It’s Valentine’s Day, you know. If you have a girlfriend, she’s going to be pissed .”
He shook his head and turned his attention back to his laptop. “Well, then, it’s a good thing that I’m single.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re single?”
“Yes. Why? Is that hard to believe?”
She thought it over for a second. “Nope.”
“What about you, hot stuff?” he shot back. “I might still be here without a valentine—but so are you.”
Nisha scoffed, but Arjun saw a hint of real sadness behind her bright-green eyes. He felt a pang of regret. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “That was uncalled for.”
“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just get back to work.”
And so it went, the two of them working wordlessly. Thankfully, the war of keyboards had reached a détente, and the office was mercifully quiet. In the silence, Arjun occasionally caught himself sneaking glances at Nisha over his laptop screen. The first time they’d met, he’d noticed her green eyes, as bright and intense as emeralds. Now, he couldn’t stop noticing them: the way they seemed to shine and shimmer even underneath the buzzing yellow lightbulb, their own luminescence making them impervious to the poor lighting.
Arjun wanted to dislike her, of course, and why shouldn’t he? She’d had no right to accost him over those scones, to ambush him with her boss and strong-arm him into sharing an already too-small office. But , he thought, enthralled by the way Nisha’s nose scrunched up in concentration, it’s hard to dislike someone so beautiful.
He opened his mouth, ready to speak. I think we got off on the wrong foot , he wanted to say. Perhaps he’d suggest going back to Ron’s coffee shop, where he could buy her a chocolate chip scone as a peace offering.
His eyes met hers, and, for a moment, Arjun felt a spark of electricity. It was a spark that he’d felt a few times before, bringing him back to one moment in particular: the moment he’d first laid eyes on Vicky Chang in econ section freshman year. Wouldn’t that be something? he wondered, his gaze lingering on the tiny gold ring sparkling inside the fold of Nisha’s left nostril.
He felt himself start to smile—but Nisha only narrowed her eyes venomously. “Can you stop staring at me?” she spat, giving him a look of such utter contempt that he actually felt a chill pass through him. “It’s creepy .”
And that was that. The two weeks after that exchange dragged by in silence, with Arjun completing his work as quickly as possible and refusing to acknowledge the presence of the woman sharing the former storage closet with him.
If Arjun had hoped that India would be a respite from his new office (and, most crucially, his new office mate), he had hoped wrong. The plane taxied for another half hour, by which point he was seriously contemplating pushing open the exit-row door and jumping down the emergency slide. Sure, I might get shot by airport security , he mused, staring longingly out the window, but it would be worth it just to get off of this damn airplane.
Finally, the intercom squawked overhead. “Sorry for the delay, everyone,” came the captain’s voice, which was made all the more grating by its pleasant Danish accent. “We’ll disembark shortly. Thank you for flying British Airways, and welcome to Hyderabad.”
After finally getting off the plane (and vowing never to fly British Airways again), Arjun walked to baggage claim with Kevin. They would only be in India for a week, so Arjun had packed light: all of his belongings fit into his carry-on bag. Kevin, on the other hand, had taken a more maximalist approach. He’d brought two large garishly red suitcases made of molded plastic that reminded Arjun of a grocery store toboggan. “You know we’re only here for a few days, right?” he asked, helping Kevin lug the second suitcase off of the carousel.
Kevin only shrugged. “I like to be prepared.”
There was a long line of taxis queued up outside the airport exit, and dozens of drivers jockeyed for fares. “Where you are going?” called one in English, jogging beside Arjun as he walked briskly by. “I will take you there most cheaply.”
“Taj Krishna,” Arjun replied, nonplussed.
“No problem at all, sir,” the driver said, nodding vigorously. “Two thousand rupees, it is nothing.”
That seemed reasonable to Arjun, but another driver interjected just before he could agree. “ Arre!” the second driver exclaimed. “Two thousand rupees for a few kilometers! That man is a crook. I will take you for one thousand.”
“ Sale, even one thousand is robbery!” shouted a third driver, a cigarette wagging between his fingers. “Trying to take advantage of Americans. Come, I will take you for five hundred.”
The sooner Arjun got out of the heat, the better. “Done,” he said to the five-hundred-rupee man, who led them to a waiting cab and loaded their luggage into the trunk with surprising alacrity. Arjun slid into the backseat with Kevin. “Do you have AC?” he asked.
The driver gave him a quizzical look through the rearview mirror, then shook his head. Of course not , Arjun thought miserably, turning the crank to lower the window.
As if the wait on the tarmac hadn’t been enough, the ride to the hotel took almost an hour. The workday was just beginning, and the city hummed to life as the cab crawled toward its destination. There were people everywhere: kids in blue school uniforms, complete with black neckties; women in saris faded with dust; men lugging vegetable carts along the road. Horns blared almost the entire way, and Arjun saw tiny rickshaws scooting alongside rusty Marutis and even some cars of German and Japanese origin.
“I’m starving,” Kevin said as the driver helped them unload their suitcases from the trunk. “You know, I could really go for a hamburger.”
“You’re probably in the wrong place, then,” Arjun replied testily, tipping the driver. Adam D’Antonio might have forced Arjun to bring Kevin along—but he wasn’t in the mood to play babysitter.
The hotel lobby was open and airy. Light poured in through large windows and bounced off the immaculate white marble floors, making the space appear much larger than it actually was. As Arjun stepped inside, he heard the low hum of the air conditioner, and he nearly burst into tears as he felt the slight breeze against his skin. Kevin walked off and reappeared with a carafe of ice water. Arjun could have kissed him. He drank one glass, then another. Kevin dipped a napkin into his glass and dabbed it all over his face and neck. “Good idea,” Arjun said, doing the same (and not caring how ridiculous he must have looked to the hotel staff).
He and Kevin retrieved their room keys from the front desk. “I’m off to get some sleep,” he said, rubbing his tired eyes with a knuckle. “We can meet up for dinner later, if you’d like.”
“Works for me,” Kevin replied. He glanced over Arjun’s shoulder. “Hey, do you know that lady? She’s waving at you.”
Arjun whipped around. Oh, no, he thought. Is that really her?
It was. Dhanya Agarwal sat on one of the leather couches in the lobby, her bangles jingling as she waved him over. “Arjun!” she called, her voice carrying across the space. “Come, beta! I’ve been waiting for you!”
“Is that the person we’re pitching to?” Kevin asked. “I thought it was supposed to be a guy.”
“It is,” Arjun said hastily. “She’s, uh…well, she’s my aunt. I forgot that I was supposed to meet her here. You go ahead, Kevin. I’ll see you tonight.”
Kevin shrugged and headed for the elevator bay, evidently satisfied by Arjun’s answer. Arjun made his way across the lobby. “Hello, Dhanya Auntie,” he said, allowing her to embrace him. “What a nice surprise.”
She beamed. “The pleasure is all mine, beta . It was such a treat to meet you in San Francisco. When your mother told me you’d be in Hyderabad for work, I just knew I had to come see you!”
Of course, my mom is involved in this , thought Arjun. “You didn’t have to come all this way,” he said. “I feel terrible, making you fly all the way across the world just to meet me.”
Dhanya shook her head. “It’s no trouble—I was here anyway! I have many clients in India, so I spend two months here and two months in the US. Back and forth, like a grandfather clock!”
Dhanya must have been in her sixties; Arjun had to admire her vigor. “Well, it’s lovely to see you, Auntie,” he said, stifling a yawn. “I’m very jet-lagged, so I’ll probably sleep now. But I’ll see you in San Francisco soon enough, won’t I?”
“Perhaps that won’t be necessary,” she said with an artful smile. She reached for her large black purse and produced a manila envelope. She handed it to Arjun as discreetly as a government official slipping mission documents to a spy.
He peered inside the folder. “Are these…biodatas?”
“Good eye. I took the liberty of passing your information along to some of my clients. These are a few girls who have already agreed to meet with you. Now, the decision of whom to meet is up to you. Well, you and your mother, of course. You’ll call her to review the girls’ profiles, won’t you?”
Arjun looked over the enclosed biodatas, complete with headshots the size of postage stamps. He’d completed his own biodata, of course—but this was the first time he was seeing them from the other side. These are so brief, he thought, scanning the pages. He knew it was impossible to capture a whole personality in such a basic format (in fact, this was the very reason that he tended to stay away from dating apps). What if I miss out on someone great just because her biodata is lacking? he wondered.
There was another thing that caught his notice, too. “Dhanya Auntie, all of these girls live here, in Hyderabad.”
She nodded. “That’s right. The girl you’ll marry will most likely be from India, anyway, so it made perfect sense to conduct these meetings while you were here!”
That was news to Arjun. “Dhanya Auntie, I never said anything about marrying a girl from India.”
“And you didn’t have to! Trust me, beta —I’ve selected each of these girls myself. They are all of a sweet disposition, with good educations and respectable family backgrounds. I know you’ll hit it off with at least one of them!”
Dhanya’s phone pinged before Arjun could respond. “ Hai , Ram ,” she groaned. “I must run to another client’s home. It was so lovely to see you, Arjun.”
He sighed. “You, too, Dhanya Auntie,” he said, stowing the biodatas back into the folder and tucking it under his arm. He hugged Dhanya again, and with that, the matchmaker swept across the lobby. There was a sleek black car waiting for her by the entrance, and it whisked her off in a cloud of yellow dust.
Hyderabad was almost eleven hours ahead of Des Moines, so Arjun waited around his hotel room until it became an acceptable time to FaceTime his mother. Luckily, she was already up when he called. “How was your flight?” she asked him, sounding incredibly chipper for six in the morning.
“It was fine, Mom,” he said, deciding not to mention the wait on the tarmac (which would have led to a lecture about not flying on western airlines, he was sure).
“Good, good,” she replied. “I’m assuming you’re calling to go over the biodatas? Dhanya faxed me copies this morning.”
So that’s why she’s so happy , Arjun thought. “Yes, I have them right here. I thought I’d wait for you to open them.”
Sarita smiled. “That was smart of you. After all, it’s my job to guide you in finding a suitable partner.”
That sentence felt like a centipede crawling over Arjun’s spine. “Whatever you say, Mom,” he said, sliding the sheaf of papers out of the folder and onto the desk. “All right: first girl, Kavya Jayaram.”
Sarita nodded. “Nice-looking girl. Good teeth.”
Arjun couldn’t help but laugh. “Really, Mom? ‘Good teeth’?”
“What? I notice what I notice. So, what do you think of this Kavya?”
He scanned over the biodata. “She seems nice,” he said finally. “And she’s an accountant.”
“Parents are good, as well,” said Sarita. “Both doctors. Shall we go ahead and set up the meeting?”
Arjun sighed and pushed the paper aside. “I don’t know,” he said. “Doesn’t this feel…I don’t know, a bit superficial to you? I mean, we’re literally evaluating women based on a photo and a few lines of text. This process really doesn’t offend your feminist side?”
Sarita scoffed. “And the alternative is, what? Tinder? The Bachelor ? People are superficial—and so is this process. But that doesn’t mean that Kavya isn’t a very nice girl who could make a very nice wife. So, I ask again: would you like to meet her?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “Let’s see if there’s someone I like better in this pile.”
It went on like that for the next several hours, with Arjun and Sarita discussing each woman’s biodata and trying to cross-reference the names on Facebook and Google to learn more about them. This tactic did them no good: there were a billion people in India, after all, and there were always at least a dozen people with any given name.
Finally, Arjun had his name: Malini Arora, a twenty-six-year-old software engineer with large brown eyes and a slightly upturned nose. She seemed to satisfy Sarita, too. “You picked well,” she said. “I can call Dhanya and tell her, if you’d like.”
Arjun assented and hung up the phone. He flopped onto his mattress and glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was nearly ten, and he’d totally forgotten about dinner with Kevin. But, before he could feel bad about blowing Kevin off, he was asleep.
Kevin was waiting for Arjun in the lobby the following morning. At Arjun’s insistence, he’d swapped out his Birkenstocks and Hawaiian shirt for a smart linen ensemble. Still, his style hadn’t gone totally conventional: he had a swamp-green briefcase tucked under his arm, the leather stamped with a crocodile pattern. “What’s in there?” Arjun asked.
“Snacks, mostly,” Kevin replied.
Arjun couldn’t help but chuckle. “Come on,” he said. “Taxi’s waiting.”
This was not Arjun’s first trip to Hyderabad. Growing up, he’d spent a few weeks in the city every summer, living with his father’s parents in their tenth-floor apartment. He’d followed his grandmother on her daily peregrinations to the city’s various temples, and he’d learned cooking from his grandfather. As a child, Arjun had loved India, so different from his home in Iowa: louder and brighter, simultaneously faster and slower paced. And this was to say nothing of the monkeys, which had fascinated him with their quick movements and curious, almost human expressions. More than anything, though, India was his grandparents—and, when they died, India became locked away, like ice freezing over a lake.
Arjun had last returned to Hyderabad in high school for his grandmother’s funeral. Since then, the city had lived only in his mind, shrouded in the sepia haze of the past. Now, driving to the site of their meeting, the color was flooding back into his memories of the place. Shade trees lined the avenues, and fruit sellers and newsstands cropped up along the sides of the roadway. Bicyclists and scooters weaved through a line of yellow rickshaws—which had stopped for a white cow crossing just ahead, its hump bobbing from side to side as it went.
Despite all that had remained the same as Arjun remembered, what struck him the most was how much the city had changed since its last visit. Glass buildings towered proudly over the avenues and were emblazoned with the names of American technology companies: Microsoft and Dell, Google and Amazon. It was almost as though Silicon Valley had fashioned itself an Indian twin. Arjun found himself contemplating what his life would look like if his parents had never left India. Would I be working in one of these skyscrapers? he wondered, leaning against the car window.
The car stopped outside one of the buildings, which stood taller than the rest. There was a multicolored sign on the fa?ade, ten stories above the street: PEACOCK INTERNATIONAL. They stepped out of the cab. “You ready?” Kevin asked, glancing over at Arjun.
He craned his neck up to stare at the huge peacock-shaped insignia. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The building’s lobby was as enormous and resplendent as a palace. Live trees stood around the perimeter of the lobby, and there was a large circular koi pond in one corner, complete with a wooden bridge and mini waterfall. There were sitting areas and a coffee bar, and, in the center of the lobby, the peacock logo appeared once more in a floor mosaic twenty feet across. An impressive lobby for an impressive company, Arjun thought.
He'd conducted extensive research on Peacock in the weeks leading up to this trip. It was primarily a telecom company with operations in India and Southeast Asia. Peacock was also expanding its footprint in the personal banking space; that was why Arjun had come all the way to India, having drilled the sales pitch so many times that he could have recited it backwards (and in his sleep, too). Still, despite all of his preparation, Arjun could feel the sweat beading on his palms, and he wiped his hands on his trousers.
He and Kevin approached the young man sitting at the front desk. “We’re from Pay Systems, Incorporated,” he said. “We have a twelve o’clock appointment with Charan Murthi.”
The receptionist squinted at his desktop. “Ah, yes. Arjun Chowdhury and Kevin McPherson. Unfortunately, Mr. Murthi was called away to Beijing this week. We have you up on the seventeenth floor with Mr. Wellstone.”
Arjun frowned. Back in San Francisco, Adam had given him a dossier on Charan Murthi: his likes and dislikes, where he’d grown up, and where he’d gone to school. Not only did Arjun not know these things about this “Mr. Wellstone”—he’d never even heard of the man.
The receptionist noted Arjun’s perplexed expression. “Is there a problem, sir?” he asked. Arjun glanced over at Kevin. He was looking at Arjun, too, awaiting a response.
“That should be fine,” Arjun said, and the receptionist directed them to the elevator bank. What am I walking into? Arjun wondered as he stepped into the elevator, a golden-capped glass cylinder that reminded him of an expensive jar in which a rich woman might store cotton balls.
The lobby grew smaller beneath them. “Are you okay?” Kevin asked as the elevator whirred up to seventeen. “Your hands are balled up like you’re about to hit something.”
Arjun looked down; Kevin was right. He relaxed his hands, flexing his fingers. “I feel like there’s something going on,” he said. “They changed the person we’re meeting with, without telling us in advance. And, where there’s one surprise, there’s always another.”
The elevator doors slid open, and before them stood a verdant living wall planted with a variety of ferns and creeping vines. Rivulets of water ran from the ceiling, glistening on the dark-green leaves.
A man stood in front of the wall, waiting to greet them. This must be Wellstone, Arjun surmised. Despite the heat outside, the man was wearing an argyle sweater vest over his crisp white dress shirt. Round, wire-framed glasses rested upon the bridge of his aquiline nose.
“Hey, guys!” he called, beaming. His voice had a slight Boston accent. “I hope you had a great flight in.”
He’s American? thought Arjun, marveling at the irony of traveling halfway around the world for this meeting. “It wasn’t too bad,” he replied, shaking the other man’s hand.
“Glad to hear it,” the man said. “I’m Ed Wellstone, by the way. I’m sorry about the mix-up earlier; I know I’m not who you were expecting. But I promise, I don’t bite!”
“It’s no trouble,” Arjun replied. “I’m Arjun Chowdhury, Vice President at PSI. This is Kevin McPherson, one of our senior software engineers.”
“Lovely to meet both of you,” Wellstone replied, shaking Kevin’s hand. “Let’s head to my office, shall we?” He led them around the living wall, revealing a more conventional open office space.
Arjun and Kevin followed Wellstone down the main aisle, past cubicles and conference rooms, and finally, to an immense office on the other side of the floor. There was a sitting area in front of the desk, with chairs and a table. A projector sat on the table, casting blue light onto a screen.
Wellstone sat at the head of the table, and Arjun sat beside him as Kevin hooked up his laptop to the projector. “So, I have to ask—” Arjun began.
“How did I get here?” Wellstone replied, smiling. “I know, I must seem out of place here in Hyderabad.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” Arjun said sheepishly.
“Not at all,” Wellstone said. “I’m a native son of Boston: I grew up in Back Bay, and I went to Northeastern and then to Harvard Business School. The truth is, I met a woman in business school, and we fell in love. She wanted to return home, and after we got married, that’s just what we did.”
Arjun nodded. “She must be a remarkable person.”
Wellstone smiled and toyed with his wedding ring. “She is.” He glanced up at Kevin. “But, as much as I’d enjoy talking more about love, I do have another meeting scheduled after this one. Are you ready to present?”
Kevin nodded. “The floor is yours, Arjun.”
“Right,” he said. He stood and walked over to the screen. “Well, first off, we want to thank you again for your time today. We’re here to present our—PSI’s—proposal to Peacock International.”
Arjun looked to Wellstone for some sort of confirmation. The other man smiled warmly.
He forged on. “Peacock is the leader in most of the markets in which it operates. But there is one area where it’s falling behind: banking. Now, Peacock offers banking services to many geographical areas that larger banks don’t occupy. In the past, that has allowed your firm to have a monopoly over all of these different locations. However, your monopoly is under threat as companies like Virgo and TriStar move into those traditionally underserved markets. That means that Peacock now finds itself in the position of having to provide new incentives to customers so that they’ll continue to use Peacock for all of their banking needs.
“That’s where we come in,” Arjun continued. “PSI offers unparalleled software infrastructure to support banking activities. We’ll augment your physical locations with digital services so customers can open accounts, deposit and withdraw money, and even invest in the stock market—all from their mobile phones.”
Arjun moved through the rest of the presentation, describing PSI’s offerings in detail. It was a comprehensive pitch, polished by hours of preparatory work. Still, as he flicked through the slides, Arjun began to feel nervous.
It was Wellstone. As the presentation progressed, a chill had settled over the other man’s demeanor. Where initially Wellstone had appeared warm and encouraging, now he seemed aloof and disinterested. He even pulled out his phone and answered a text message at one point. Am I blowing this? Arjun wondered, trying to keep his thoughts from racing as he spoke.
No, he told himself. He’s just playing hard to get. That was a common tactic, something every first-year learned in business school: in a negotiation, the winner is the person who appears most likely to walk away. But, Arjun thought, most of the groundwork for this deal has already been laid. We’ve been in negotiations for months; I’m only here to close. So why do I feel like this guy is messing with me?
Finally, Arjun reached his last slide. “As you know, my colleagues have already sent you documents containing all of the deal parameters we’ve discussed today,” he said, attempting to ease his disquieting thoughts. “I’d like to answer any questions you might still have.”
Wellstone was silent, and for a moment, Arjun thought he would continue his silence indefinitely. Finally, he frowned. He said only one word:
“No.”
A grenade went off inside Arjun’s skull, filling it with an angry buzzing sound. “No?” he repeated, his voice dulled with confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that this deal is no longer acceptable to our firm,” Wellstone replied, leaning back in his chair.
Arjun shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I was under the impression that this had been basically worked out.”
Wellstone frowned. “Nothing is ever really ‘worked out’ until the paperwork is actually signed. Our priorities have changed since we last spoke to your team. At this time, we feel that the resources devoted to this project are…inordinate.”
Wellstone’s blue eyes gleamed with amusement. He’d relished that last word, drawing out each syllable: in-or-di-nate.
He’s toying with me , Arjun realized. He’s trying to lower the price of the deal.
Arjun didn’t know if he was authorized to offer a reduced price. Of course, he could call Adam D’Antonio and ask, but he knew the negotiation would be over if he left the room. Besides, he thought, if I really could offer a lower price, Adam would have mentioned something back in San Francisco.
Arjun realized that he hadn’t said anything in what felt like several minutes. He was still standing beside the table, the projector remote in his hand. He’d never felt more stupid, like a knight on a battlefield with a pool noodle for a sword. Think, he told himself. He’d always been good at solving problems of all kinds— And what is this, if not another problem to be solved? he thought.
The beginnings of an answer were forming in his mind. He met Wellstone’s stare, trying to appear as confident as possible. “I understand your hesitation,” he said slowly, like a deer venturing out of the safety of the forest. “The amount of money we’re asking for is very large. And you might think that the approach we’ve just presented to you isn’t unique enough. Too cookie-cutter. After all, if we give you the same stuff as we give everyone, what’s to stop your competitors from hiring us to do this for them?”
Arjun thought he saw the subtlest of nods from the other man. It’s working, he realized. He’s on the hook—now, reel him in.
“We can offer you a suite of custom features,” he continued. “A set of software tools that will be unique to Peacock International. We’ll help you stand leagues apart from the competition.”
Wellstone straightened slightly. “And what sorts of features are you referring to?” he asked, his voice even. Still, Arjun could sense his interest, hiding behind his words like the face behind a mask.
Arjun shifted nervously. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Work the problem , he thought. What does he want more than anything?
“Data,” he began. “Most of your customers use mobile phones as their primary, or only, internet-capable device. Wi-fi is scarce in many areas, which pushes customers to use cellular data instead. Online banking, therefore, is an enormous expense for these users—if they even have reception in the first place.”
Arjun looked over to Kevin, who’d been observing silently for the entire presentation, scarcely moving in his low-slung chair. “What if there was a way to drastically lower the amount of data used in online banking?” he asked. “What if there was a way to make Peacock services much, much cheaper than the competition?”
Wellstone shook his head, chuckling slightly. “It’s a nice idea,” he said patronizingly. “But it’s impossible. Online banking is necessarily data-intensive. There’s no way to get around it.”
For the first time, Kevin spoke up. “That’s incorrect,” he said, oblivious to his lack of diplomacy. “Maybe there’s no way for your software engineers to get around the data issue—but I’m a much better coder than they are. Are you familiar with network effects?”
Wellstone shook his head. Where’s he going with this? Arjun wondered, looking over at Kevin.
“Essentially,” Kevin continued, “users could ‘piggyback’ on other users’ phones, provided those other users also have the app. If you opened the app, the computational load would be spread to other phones. It’d be a minuscule amount, barely noticeable. In turn, when those other users use the app, their data load would be distributed onto your phone, as well. This would dramatically lower data usage for every user overall.”
Kevin had struck gold. Sparks lit up in Wellstone’s eyes. “This isn’t just theoretical, is it?” he asked, his tone growing suddenly animated. “You can actually do this?”
“I’ve done it before,” Kevin said casually. “If you have a whiteboard, I could explain how it works.”
Wellstone relayed Kevin’s request to his secretary, who brought a rolling whiteboard into the room. In a flurry of movement, Kevin sketched out his ideas in red marker.
Arjun watched as Kevin explained, occasionally cutting in to ask Kevin to provide more details when Wellstone looked confused. Eventually, Kevin’s drawings grew so dense that Wellstone had another whiteboard brought in. Arjun continually looked at the other man, and he felt nervous anticipation fluttering in his chest. Is he taking this well? he wondered.
Finally, Kevin finished. He stood between the two whiteboards and capped the marker. He glanced at Arjun, and that was his cue to bring it home.
He stood and cleared his throat. “So, there you have it,” he said. “Now, do we have a deal?”