Chapter Thirty-One: The Great Qiao Who Takes the Blame Without Reason

The profits of White Software are enough to make anyone envious; insiders’ eyes are no longer red with jealousy, but blue. This year’s economy is terrible, everyone is struggling, yet Apple and White Software are particularly irritating—these two not only capture all the attention, but are also constantly siphoning money from the market.

From the perspective of these industry veterans, all these customers ought to be buying minicomputers. The so-called microcomputers are, in their minds, nothing more than game consoles, with performance so absurdly low it’s incomprehensible why clients are so easily deceived. What White Software sells isn’t really software, it’s just a game cartridge, and yet they have the audacity to provide such detailed manuals—are they sure they’re not teaching idiots how to use computers?

Larry Ellison is the epitome of an underdog rising to prominence, so his attitude toward a scion like William White is utterly predictable. Thus, a group of discontented veterans began firing off criticisms from afar, as sharp and caustic as possible, and microcomputers were mercilessly attacked.

The outcome was far from ideal. William White ignored them entirely, so they turned their ire directly on Joe. Joe, of course, was unafraid; in his telling, traditional IT giants were little better than evil Soviets. Faced with someone whose combativeness was off the charts, these old-timers were clearly outmatched; if the quarrel continued, they might end up in the hospital.

“William, I’m taking the heat for you—you owe me,” Joe said.

“Buddy, they look down on all microcomputer suppliers. You’re the benchmark here; I’m just a lucky kid,” William replied, unable to refute Joe’s complaints.

“Hmph, you poached their engineers; otherwise, the madman wouldn’t have gone crazy.”

“I never targeted him. Except for the directive not to poach Apple’s people, my headhunting agency has no special objectives. The old guy is just too petty.”

“Well, I don’t care—you owe me a favor.”

“Alright, alright, you win.”

William White didn’t mind owing this favor; when Joe fell on hard times, he’d help him out. He didn’t expect repayment, but at least Joe wouldn’t turn against him. Joe’s worldview was simple and direct: in his world, there were only geniuses and idiots, only enemies and friends.

William White had no desire to make an enemy of a fanatic, especially one with real talent—one misstep and he’d suffer for it. Such people were best kept as friends. Joe’s phone call was less a grievance than a boast; he’d always seen himself as the new leader of the industry, and couldn’t possibly pass up such an opportunity. If William White stole his thunder, then Joe would truly be upset.

Those who wanted to confront White got no response; another clueless youngster stepped up to show off, and Larry Ellison was beside himself with rage.

William White really had no time for him. Once, cornered on a film set, he blankly asked, “Who is Larry Ellison?” Then he claimed to be just an investor, the largest shareholder, leaving the company’s management and development plans to the CEO. He even praised Tom as an excellent IT professional, highly familiar with the company’s affairs, and suggested that reporters direct their questions to him.

After the journalists embellished the story, Larry Ellison’s fury was self-evident. White claimed ignorance of Oracle, and though he joked about his own lack of knowledge, his tone was so dismissive it was infuriating.

William White’s shameless act of playing innocent drove even the reporters mad. He had a habit of teleporting the conversation to movies, always steering the topic toward his films. When asked about cinema, he was cordial, answering ten questions for every one posed.

Reporters soon realized that if they wanted a pleasant interview, they’d better publicize his movies; otherwise, they’d end up like the Wall Street Journal, getting nothing of value from him. No journalist believed his claim of being “just an investor”; White Software’s staff confirmed that their boss was a brilliant software architect, and they were merely executors.

Some believed, some doubted; White Software’s original core team was small, and many companies tried to recruit them, but none succeeded. These people understood their real worth; under William White, they were excellent executors, but if they had to strike out on their own, they’d likely fail spectacularly.

No matter how good the benefits, it wouldn’t help if they lacked the ability to earn the money. Besides, White Software had a clear points system: once you achieved certain results, you’d receive corresponding equity incentives.

Initially, they didn’t care much for so-called equity incentives, thinking the boss was making a fuss; some shares were nice, but not essential—the main income came from salary and bonuses. Now, their perspective had changed. White Software was clearly incredibly valuable, and the company had only been operating for a few months. At this rate, joining the Fortune 500 wasn’t impossible.

In this era, the Fortune 500 wasn’t so daunting—anyone with revenues over a hundred million could qualify; nearing a billion dollars would almost certainly make the cut.

As for rumors from outside, they paid no heed. The boss had laid out a plan long ago; as long as they followed it step by step, all would be well. The company’s vision was grand; right now, it was just a sapling.

For such a disruptor, the software industry was bewildered. White’s business model was clearly different: most software providers supplied manufacturers, not direct sales to customers.

In terms of software importance, operating systems carried the most weight—they were the essence of microcomputers, and sold in bulk. White Software, however, charged per package; though hardware manufacturers benefited, the costs they bore far exceeded those of bulk-licensed software.

Outright purchase? Ha! Some did ask for a quote, and White Software bluntly replied, “No one can afford it right now. We’re not a traditional company; current valuations are a joke. If you’re unconvinced, check back in a year—you’ll witness a miracle.”

The software company was running smoothly; William White had no worries. The CEO he’d hired was a marketing genius, easily hitting all targets.

Hollywood, however, was a different story. The giants there gave him no respect. Paramount offered two million dollars to buy him out; Fox showed no interest. The only one willing to cooperate was United Artists, but their distribution fees were exorbitant—45% of the box office, which nearly made William White cough up blood.

American theaters usually only take about 10% of the box office in the first week, then gradually increase the share based on performance. Their operating costs aren’t high, whether renting or owning the cinemas.

Land is cheap, taxes are relatively low, and a 10% share is enough for profitability. As long as your film isn’t a total flop, with revenue from snacks and drinks, theater operators can make a decent living. This year was tough, but they managed to hold on; another year like this and it would be disaster—at least 10% of theaters would go bankrupt.