Page 71 of The Hard Launch

Lacey comes closer and plays it again, starting with the last time they were in San Diego.

“And I know Edmund’s likely stepping back,” one says.

“With his CF board seat,” the other says.

“But he’s setting up an intro with another airline—”

Lacey stops it.

“Edmund’s getting a Corday Ford board seat?” Glenn asks.

Lacey nods, her eyes wide. “When I heard it, I checked with Trevor. He’s a corporate governance savant,” she says.

Trevor raises his fist to me triumphantly.

“I know my shit. That’s self-dealing, bro.”

Glenn erases everything he’s written on the whiteboard.

Every officer and member of a board of directors has a legal obligation to act in the best interests of the business. That means Wally couldn’t make us hire his granddaughter as our CTO, and Amber can’t select accounting software based on which vendor gives her the nicest gift. It does also mean that a CEO shouldn’t torch a potential acquisition just because he doesn’t like the plans the acquiring company has for his startup.

My violation of that obligation is what Edmund’s pulling the board together over today, what my lawyer friend Ari warned me against doing. As ironic as it seems, Edmund’s going to argue that when I released the Roar code and tanked the Corday Ford deal, I was acting against Lettercat’s best interests. Even though nothing could be further from the truth.

But Edmund getting himself a Corday Ford board seat after secretly shopping us to their COO, after telling the rest of the board that Lettercat was a lost cause, unworthy of more funding, that we should be grateful for the lowball offer CF was making us? That’s self-dealing. It’s worse than carelessness; self-dealing can be prosecuted. The allegation alone has ended long and esteemed careers.

I call Edmund again, and this time he answers. I cut short the tirade he launches into by playing the message Lacey’s forwarded me, which I have all queued up.

“What is it that you want?” Edmund asks me. I have that all queued up too.

It turns out I am a killer; I’m just as surprised as Edmund is.

The emergency board meeting is held in the afternoon.

When it’s over, I walk out to the floor and I hit the gong.

“Jesus Christ, what now?” Kate says, speaking for every startup employee in history.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I tell them, “but I have some pretty important updates. First off, I hate to tell you all this but the Corday Ford deal is officially dead.”

I wait for the applause to die down before I continue. “The chairman of the board of directors has stepped down as of today; I’ve been appointed interim chair but I assure you, my tenure there will be as brief as humanly possible. Because I also stepped down as President and CEO today.

“I made a promise to a few of you that if we survived last month, I’d bring on a CTO who would provide strong technical leadership. But there’s no one in the world who wants that job more than I do; it’s where my heart has always been, and I can’t wait to step into that role. Enough about me: I’d like to introduce you to the new President and CEO of Lettercat. Glenn, come up and say hello.”

A few meetings later, I can tell Glenn’s spent a lot of time thinking about how this company ought to be run. He’s already talking about a re-org, moving Trevor to lead a new channel sales and partnerships department, bringing Amber on full-time if she agrees to, telling me he knows it’s not traditional but that he’d rather not have the CTO’s input on the new Head of Product. He assures me he has a promising internal candidate in mind.

I’m clearing my stuff out of his office to move back where the nerds and goobers hang out; returning to my people. Ella’s helping me pack, and she tries to recycle the water bottle Lacey left in here ages ago but I tell her not to.

“I just want to keep it,” I tell her.

“Suit yourself. You can keep all the garbage you want if I can convince you to take a small break before starting your new job,” she says.

“No need to convince me,” I tell her. “I’m taking next week off. I think my girlfriend and I might head to Hawaii.”

EPILOGUE

LACEY

The rule is, once we walk in the door to the office, we keep it professional.

This means hugging, handholding, and kissing are allowed in the elevator, so long as no other Lettercat employees are present. Affection and pet names— should any be introduced —are similarly banned at company lunches and business dinners, though there’s a happy hour exception as long as it’s Lettercatters only in attendance. I can’t be expected to keep my hands off this man for ten hours straight.

“Are you nervous?” Jude asks, hitting the button for our floor. He’s tan and relaxed after a week mostly off; we logged in for two hours each afternoon, once we realized not doing so made us too anxious to enjoy ourselves. People don’t change entirely overnight.

“I’m not nervous at all,” I tell him. “I’m excited.”

The doors slide open and we step out. Jude stops in front of the Lettercat sign and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath and squeezes my hand.

“What was that about?” I ask, once he’s come back to me.

He smiles. “I’ll tell you later,” he says, kissing my hand before he lets it go. “I don’t want to be late for my first meeting with our new Head of Product.”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” I tell him as I badge in. “I hear she can be very difficult.”