Cobble Stoned — Day 20

Iris and I walked the six blocks to Wesley’s basement apartment. He’d found it in an ad from empty nesters whose last teen had moved out. Wesley had expected a reasonable price from the couple, and he was delighted when they quoted a number well below market value. But since moving in, the wife found out the husband was cheating with the family accountant and kicked him out. She clearly needed the money since she’d been raising his rent by $500 every six months or so.

Or maybe she was just greedy like me.

We stood on thick cobblestone and dodged date-night couples and bicycle delivery folks. The world was so fast and furious here. Lights flashed by and so did people. This place was in constant motion, and I was beginning to love it.

“Ready?” Iris asked with her knocking fist in the air.

“Wait!” I said pulling her away. “We should have a plan at least.”

“I don’t think it works like that, Soph. We need to get an idea where his mind is at and roll with the moment.”

“Yes, you’re right,” I stepped back. “No, wait! Should I tell him about… the offer?”

The door opened slowly without Iris even having to knock. He’d been listening to us the entire time and Deacon sat at the tiny dining table behind him, also listening. He widened the opening of the door to welcome us inside.

Deacon poured a round of sparkling wine in Chuck E. Cheese souvenir cups as we sat around the small round table. I watched the bubbles rise and burst just before overflowing. Deacon’s pours were perfect and precise like he’d done this many times. I’d never drank anything alcoholic before and wasn’t sure if I felt comfortable starting in Wesley’s basement apartment. I held the cup in both hands without sipping.

Wesley drank quietly, his face wiped of the distain I’d witnessed after Talk of Boston. Deacon sat beautifully like a rich kid at a nice dinner – straight backed and slender necked. He glanced at Iris a lot and I was beginning to think the wrong set of founders had hooked up. Then, suddenly, it spilled out.

“Comtel offered two-hundred-fifty million for FOH,” I started. “The guy emailed me days ago and I didn’t tell you about it. For that, I apologize. He asked to meet, and when we did, he proposed I become the front face of the App and ditch all of you. They would pay you off and acquire to app and its momentum into their suite.”

“Who gets the two-fifty?” asked Wesley, much calmer than I expected him to be.

“Me,” I said. “He didn’t say how much you’d get individually, but he did say you’d be satisfied and have to cut all ties with the company.”

It was only fair. They deserved to know. The surprising part was how well they were taking it. No tantrums or flailing of arms like I’d expected. All three of them seemed to contemplate their words carefully.

Deacon leaned in first. “What will you do?” he asked me.

I felt my eyes twitch. “What do you want me to do, Deacon?” I returned the question to him. “And you, Wesley. What’s happening between me, and you will tank this company in days. Your jealousy is palpable. You want to be the face of this, and twenty-years-ago, you absolutely would’ve been, but today, it’s me or it’s no one. Can you handle that? If not, we need to sell it, split the bag, and move on with our lives.”

Deacon looked at Wesley. “She’s right.”

“What?” I asked stunned.

“I said,” he stared at me. “You’re right. And that’s the last time you’ll hear it. Wesley, I have seen promising companies crumble from infighting and lack of prospective. If you can’t handle her leading, we should divest and let it go.”

Iris reached for Deacon’s hand and squeezed slightly.

“We fucked,” I said to Wesley, realizing that if I didn’t, the conversation wouldn’t be complete. “We all know it. We were all basically there. That was my first time. Another obvious fact that needs to be said out loud. But your knowledge of my sex life gives you zero psychological power in this dynamic. It should be as obsolete as the Boston weather. It happened. And if we move forward with this, it would be unwise to do it again. Agreed?”

We all glared at Wesley. His eyes were shockingly pitiful. But I did not care. This was wealth and accomplishment beyond our wildest dreams and a popped cherry would be a stupid reason to flush it all down the toilet. No pun intended.

“Agreed,” he hickuped and I thought he might cry.

“Good,” I said feeling much lighter. “Let’s take a vote. Sell to Comtel and split or keep this thing and get to work?”

“Show of hands to sell,” Iris said.

Wesley’s hand lifted from his lap, but he put it back down when he realized no one else’s hand was going up.

“Okay then,” I said. “We need to get to work.”