The Start-Up Part 1

The Start-Up.

Episode 1.

Sadie Hayes.

Critical Acclaim for The Start-Up.

"Who knew Silicon Valley could be s.e.xy? Sadie Hayes' debut ebook series The Start-Up describes the real side of Silicon Valley and how its power corrupts. You will tear through this page-turner and will be begging for more!" Amy Gleason "In The Start-Up we see the beginning of Adam and Amelia Dory's climb to wealth and power... This fast-paced novel has provocative characters trying to figure out how to navigate a world controlled by money and bad intentions. I dare you to put it down!" Becky Julian "Silicon Valley and cliffhangers may be strange bedfellows, but Palo Alto writer Sadie Hayes debut, The Start-Up, is an unexpectedly addictive new novel that combines high tech hi-jinks with high tech publishing: a serial eNovel with monthly new releases planned." Gary Griffiths "Sadie Hayes is on her way to becoming a new kind of bestseller - an eBook bestseller." Grady Harp "Exciting, entertaining, and informative - The Start-Up is a must read for anyone interested in the fast paced worlds of entrepreneurship, Silicon Valley, and venture capital." J.R. Sedivy, Chairman and CEO, a.n.a.lytika, Inc.

"A well-crafted, fast-moving tale of the conflict which arises when honesty and integrity confront the wealth and oft-corrupted power of the high-tech world of Silicon Valley. An excellent read." Frederick J. Masterman, author of Season of the Plant "I have yet to see the movie, The Social Network, but if it's anything at all like Sadie Hayes' first novel, The Start-Up, I know I'l be in for a treat."

James Cope.

"Sadie Hayes provides a screen shot of technology's sordid underbelly in this riveting e-book novella." Bill Bentrim.

Prologue.

The last thing Adam and Amelia Dory expected was to become the richest family in the world. Having come from nothing, the eighteen-year-old twins were happy just to have a chance to escape the legacy of foster homes and small town drift. Now here they were, attending Stanford University on academic scholarships, with bright, happy futures ahead of them.

It was the kind of thing you heard at graduation ceremonies, all heartfelt and misty-eyed while a marching band played "Pomp and Circ.u.mstance." What you didn't hear, though, were all the details that came with it: the envy, betrayal, theft, broken laws, backstabbing, misdirection, and seduction. This was Silicon Valley, a place where unbelievable fortunes were made-money that put Wall Street and Hollywood to shame-and for every twenty-two year old billionaire parking his Porsche on the front lawn of his mansion, hundreds of people schemed how to take it away from him.

Starting out back then, Adam and Amelia knew none of this. If you were to ask them, years later, if they still would have gone through with it, you might have gotten a surprising answer. That is, if you could find them . . .

Chapter 1.

The Prisoner's Dilemma, v 2.0.

If Adam Dory weren't daydreaming, he would never have been punched in the face. He sat in the back of the lecture hall, absentmindedly studying a good-looking brunette one seat in front of him. Reading her IM conversation over her shoulder, he learned that last night at the Sigma Chi Derby Party the good-looking brunette cheated on her boyfriend, Ron, with his best friend, Tim. Of course, Adam didn't know any of those people.

"Mr. Dory? Mr. Dory!"

Adam looked up. One hundred pairs of his fellow students' eyes darted between him and a very angry political science professor. Why would Tim do that to Ron? How could Ron not see them leave the party together? Was he cheating on her, too? While Adam's head was swimming with strangers'

gossip, Professor Marsh continued to glare.

"Mr. Dory, I'm glad you could join us this morning. As you seem to be so riveted by today's discussion, I was wondering if you might help me out.

I described the Cold War's arms race as the cla.s.sic prisoner's dilemma. Do you mind explaining the concept of the prisoner's dilemma to the cla.s.s?" Adam swallowed nervously. "Well, I . . . "

"Yes?"

He took a deep breath. "The prisoner's dilemma . . . has to do with trust and cooperation. Let's say you have a boyfriend and girlfriend named . . .

Brian and Bridget. They love each other, but one night at a frat party Bridget hooks up with Brian's best friend Jim."

"A frat party?" Professor Marsh raised an eyebrow.

"Sure," Adam replied nervously. "Like the Sigma Chi Derby Party." The cla.s.s broke out into laughter and some even applauded. Adam felt encouraged. "So, Bridget cheats on her boyfriend Brian with his best friend Jim. The next day, they are both scared out of their minds of getting caught.

Before they have a chance to talk to each other, they each run into Brian.

Bridget doesn't know if Jim told Brian, and Jim doesn't know if Bridget told Brian. If Jim told Brian what happened, it'll make Bridget look like a s.l.u.t. But if Bridget told Brian, then it will make Jim look like a bad friend.

Of course, if they both keep their mouths shut, then neither of them looks bad . . . but they can't trust the other one not to tell." Professor Marsh smiled. "And why can't they trust each other?"

"Because they're both cheaters. They know what the other person is capable of. That's the point of the hook up--I mean the prisoner's dilemma.

Even though the two should cooperate to win, they can't trust each other, so they both get caught."

One hundred eyes turned anxiously to Professor Marsh, who paused before saying anything. An imposing old man with broad shoulders and a shock of white hair, this suit-wearing seventy-year-old was rumored to be a former CIA operative. His calm willingness to humiliate students made him one of the more infamous professors at Stanford. Everyone expected Adam Dory to get torn apart in front of the cla.s.s, but Professor Marsh only nodded. "That's correct, Mr. Dory. A very . . . t.i.tillating example, but a very good one."

Professor Marsh held up his hand and stared for a moment at Adam before continuing. "Additionally, for your extraordinary disrespect in cla.s.s earlier, I'd like three hundred words on what you'd rather be doing with your life than sitting in my political science cla.s.s." When cla.s.s ended, Adam walked sheepishly past Professor Marsh who placed a brief, comforting hand on Adam's shoulder. The moment of unexpected kindness was quickly interrupted when the attractive brunette accosted Adam.

"What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?" she said. "You like reading over my shoulder?" Adam froze, hoping to G.o.d that by not moving he would turn invisible. "You sick little geek. No wonder you don't have any friends." Then she punched Adam in the face and stormed off. Adam recoiled, more from the embarra.s.sment than the pain. A moment later, either by divine intervention or pity, his phone rang. It was an unknown number.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"h.e.l.lo, is this Adam?"

"Yes, this is Adam. Who's this?"

A woman's rushed voice came through the phone. "I'm Margaret. I got your number from Brett who thought you might be able to sub in for one of our bartenders tonight at a party in Atherton. Are you free? You'd need to be there at five."

"I actually have a study-"

"The tips should be excellent and we'll pay you double whatever your normal hourly rate is. This is a very important client; we've got 376 guests and one of my bartenders just got food poisoning. I'm a little desperate."

"Yeah, okay. Sure, I can make it. Where do I go?"

"I'll e-mail you the address. Park at the elementary school down the street."

"I don't have a car."

She paused. "Then how do you intend to get there?"

"I'll ride my bike."

"Fine. Just be here on time. And make sure no one sees you."

"Will do, Margaret. See you at five."

So much for tonight's homework, Adam thought. He sent his sister, Amelia, a text: "Hafta cancel dinner 2night-just got gig in Atherton.

They're paying double! Will steal fancy dessert for you. (-:"

Chapter 2.

The Stanford.

Freshman Roommate.

Policy in Action.

Across campus, Amelia Dory was sound asleep at the desk in her dorm room when her roommate, Patty, entered, loudly chattering on her cell phone.

"Oh my G.o.d, did you see her? She was so drunk and throwing herself all over Mark Landry. And I'm sorry, but that skirt was totally not the right size. I mean, if you're going to gain your freshman fifteen at least try to hide it. So embarra.s.sing. I am so, so glad we decided to go DG. Can you imagine if we'd had to pledge with her? Anyway, are you going to the SAE party tonight? I've got a family friend's graduation party but definitely want to stop by after. No, it should be fun. It's for T. J. Bristol. Yeah, I know. He's super hot. I think of him like a brother but could def set you up. I know graduation is in three weeks. I guess his dad's going to be out of town for it so they're throwing him a party early. Anyway, just a lot of Atherton families, but it will be a fun pre-party to SAE. Fab! See you tonight, love!

Kisses!"

"Oh my G.o.d, were you asleep?" Patty turned to see Amelia for the first time. "Oh my G.o.d, Amell, I am so, so sorry!" Patty Hawkins was tall and fit. She'd been a swimmer most of her life but quit her senior year of high school; she told her parents it was because she didn't want the pressure of being a college athlete, but really she'd read an article about how excessive exposure to chlorine could irreversibly destroy a woman's hair follicles. Still, she had broad shoulders and, though slim, commanded a lot of s.p.a.ce. Her blond hair fell to the middle of her back and her tanned face was always made up with mascara and pink lip gloss.

"No, no, I needed to get up," Amelia answered groggily, trying to piece together when she'd fallen asleep last night. She looked down to see that she was still in her clothes from the day before. "What time is it anyway? I think I slept through cla.s.s."

"Is this what happens when I don't come home at night? I swear to G.o.d, Amelia, if it weren't for me you'd do nothing but code and sleep at your desk!" Patty teased her with a twinge of judgment.

Amelia was her roommate's ant.i.thesis. Together, they were an impeccable example of Stanford University's policy of pairing freshman roommates according to different backgrounds. Where Patty's parents were trustees of the University, Amelia and her twin brother, Adam, were first-generation college scholarship kids. While they both often stayed out all night, Patty was pa.s.sed out at frat parties while Amelia lost track of time in the computer science lab. Where Patty obsessively worked out at the campus gym to burn off her vodka-cranberry-lemonade c.o.c.ktails, Amelia's exercise consisted of walking to and from cla.s.s; she'd tasted a beer once.

Nevertheless, the two girls were friendly with one another. They'd accommodated one another's quirks and never had an argument. Both knew they probably wouldn't see each other after this year, when Patty would move into the Delta Gamma sorority house and Amelia would stay in the dorms.

"Ugh. I think my English teacher is going to fail me," Amelia moaned, gathering her school bag and jacket and searching for her keys.

"Please. You are, like, the smartest person at this school. You couldn't fail if you tried." Patty slipped into her silk bathrobe and shower shoes.

"But, my G.o.d, Amelia, at least change clothes!"

"You're right, you're right." Amelia laughed. "Oh, I'm just so close on this one code pattern. It's completely taking over my life. Maybe I should just go to the lab and work it out so it's off my mind."

"You sound totally exhausted." Patty stood in the corner of her room, fumbling in her sock drawer. Her hand found the small orange bottle of pills that her childhood doctor still prescribed to help her stay focused in school. "Here, take one of these if you want to get your stuff done quickly." She placed the bottle on Amelia's desk. "I'm sleeping at my parents' house tonight but I'll see you tomorrow," Patty said as she left the room for the shower. "Good luck with your coding!"

Amelia changed into a clean pair of denim shorts and a plaid shirt and slipped on three-dollar rubber flip-flops from Walgreens. She was five feet and six inches tall, but her slight frame made her seem much smaller, as did the fact that her shoulders sloped forward from hours in front of the computer. Her straight brown hair was always pulled into a ponytail, which unintentionally accentuated her high cheekbones. She wore plastic frame gla.s.ses over her green eyes and occasionally slathered on ChapStick when she met with a professor.

Amelia put the bottle of pills back on Patty's side of the room. As she was leaving, her cell phone beeped with her brother's text message.

Quickly, she typed, "No worries . . . gonna be a long night at the computer lab. I'll stop by your room tomorrow to collect my dessert. Have fun!"

Chapter 3.

Macallan, Champagne, and Two Maraschino Cherries.

Adam tried to play it cool as he punched in the code to the front gate of the Bristol estate, but he could hear his heart beating in his head. The family changed the code every day for security purposes, Margaret had told him, so there was no use trying to remember it after tonight. She'd told him the family was an "important client," which he understood as code for "rich." As the gate swung open he realized what "rich" actually meant.

The gate opened onto a circular drive that approached a sweeping, three-story, white mansion delicately draped with wisteria in full bloom.

Two large sycamore trees provided shade over an eight-car garage. The circular drive enclosed a lawn that had been mowed to create a careful crisscrossing pattern on the gra.s.s, and a manicured rose garden lined the fence separating the house from the neighboring estate. Adam took a deep breath and, per Margaret's instructions, headed toward the back entrance next to the garage, resisting the urge to peek inside to discover what automobiles were housed within it.

"These people make serious money," Adam thought to himself.

The hour of preparation flew by as Adam filled crystal gla.s.ses with smoked almonds and blue-cheese-stuffed olives. Margaret gave him a starched white uniform and was kind enough to help him with his bowtie.

Once he pa.s.sed her inspection, she led him out the back kitchen door to his station for the evening. He visibly gasped when he saw the Bristol's backyard. It started at the edge of a rose-enclosed patio adjoining the house and held a ma.s.sive white tent that glittered with thousands of white Christmas-tree lights. Twenty round tables were draped with white tablecloths and showcased elaborate flower arrangements at their centers.

At each table, ten places were set with three forks, two wine gla.s.ses and multiple porcelain plates. The tables surrounded a large wooden dance floor, on whose far side jazz music was coming from a DJ stand. A swimming pool glittered behind the DJ and, behind it, sat a mini version of the white mansion, which Adam realized must be the pool house.

"You have thirty minutes to figure out how to act like this is normal." Margaret elbowed him with a smile.

The bar was set up on the patio, stocked entirely with top-shelf liquor.

Beneath the bar, hidden by a white tablecloth, were cases of additional bottles. A nearby table was stacked with shining crystal gla.s.ses, organized by type, from martini gla.s.ses to bulbous red wine gla.s.ses to delicate champagne flutes. "You'll run out of liquor and gla.s.ses quickly. Enrique is your bar-back, so make sure you let him know when you're running low.

Just keep pouring, and keep the drinks stiff. Fine to take tips, but put them away immediately-we don't want anyone to feel pressured." Guests started arriving at six o'clock, and by six-thirty Adam had sent Enrique away with three cases of empty Grey Goose bottles. For all the glamour of the setting, he was struck by the casual attire of the party's attendees. There wasn't a suit in the crowd; the men were dressed mostly in dark denim or khakis, and most weren't even wearing sport coats. Far from the elaborate c.o.c.ktail dresses he'd expected, the women donned sundresses or white denim and sandals. College-aged guys and girls mingled naturally with their parents, who didn't seem to mind the c.o.c.ktail gla.s.ses they all had in hand.

"What type of Scotch have you got back there, bud?" asked a tanned gentleman with curly white hair and a sideways grin. He leaned his elbow on the bar and popped a handful of almonds into his mouth.

"Macallan, sir."

"How old?"

"I'm sorry, sir?"