Chapter Forty-One: I Want You to Feel Uneasy

The so-called internal product launch still attracted many companies, so much so that the venue had to be changed to a hotel—White Software simply wasn’t big enough yet, not even having a conference room for a few dozen people. There was nothing they could do when facing a client base of over a hundred people. The software itself was indeed rather rudimentary, but that wasn’t White Software’s fault—the hardware foundation was just too poor. Many features would only appear in version 2.0.

Even so, the computer manufacturers had no complaints; in fact, they were more delighted than anything. Every company was developing new computers, and now, knowing the software’s minimum requirements, they could easily piece together a new machine. They didn’t care whether it barely ran on the Apple II; price was what mattered most. After all, large database software was extremely expensive. Even on minicomputers, the price wasn’t cheap—if the software was too costly, it simply wasn’t worthwhile. They’d rather grit their teeth and buy a minicomputer, since the performance was not the same.

William White announced a price that was almost comical; though future versions would increase in price, this version was only $299. Well, how much could it go up anyway? It would probably always be under a thousand dollars. This was professional software, and no company had ever sold it this cheap. It looked like the old established companies would be quite disgruntled. While their software might not be as good, they had everything White Software had—and then some features White hadn’t even thought of.

No one doubted their design capabilities anymore. Not only did this launch announce the current version, but it also revealed the roadmap for the next one. The 1.1 version was already powerful, and the version number made it clear it was just a minor upgrade. It was likely that version 2.0 would crush minicomputer databases completely; the competition had best prepare themselves.

Strictly speaking, there was no need to unveil the next version; those features were only on paper for now. Sharing them was a bit of a stretch, perhaps bordering on bravado. But with so many guests present, the original release just wasn’t impressive enough. Most importantly, William White was simply trying to stir up trouble for others.

The venue was quite chaotic that day; many people had snuck in, like Bill Gates, who was now daydreaming in a corner. The audience was a mixed bunch, with many clearly displeased. This software company was truly disruptive; even the biggest giants could no longer ignore them. White Software was openly targeting the minicomputer market, and if the giants didn’t respond, they’d likely suffer for it.

At the subsequent cocktail reception, many chose not to attend, but William White didn’t care—he imagined they had little appetite for drinks now. In fact, he had already become a prime acquisition target for many companies. Everyone realized that White Software’s value would only keep rising; if they didn’t buy now, they wouldn’t be able to afford it later.

No one doubted William White’s computing skills anymore—his typing speed was simply astonishing. There was no trick to it, just familiarity.

“William, can you guarantee the pace of development?” Joe asked, though he was inwardly convinced.

“Joe, I could actually move even faster—it’s just that the hardware isn’t keeping up.”

“Keeping up? What does that even mean?”

“Haha, don’t you think it’s vivid? It’s actually an ancient phrase from the Celestial Empire. I just translated it directly: ‘keeping up’ or ‘not keeping up.’”

“No one knows what you mean,” Joe said, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Haha, that’s because you don’t understand their civilization. When their feudal dynasties were at their height, we were still grubbing around in caves.”

“All right, all right, they really are mysterious.”

William White slipped into his usual persuasive mode—who knew whether Joe would ever unearth the origin of that phrase.

“Joe, when you become the center of the world’s attention, trust me, creating a few words is nothing. They’ll definitely be included in the Oxford Dictionary,” William White said with a mischievous grin.

“Hmm, I very much look forward to that day,” Joe replied, wearing an expression of eager anticipation.

“Haha, you’re bound to succeed. Let’s work hard together.” William White clapped Joe on the shoulder. “Let’s celebrate a bit early—how about a drink?”

“Great idea!”

The two burst into hearty laughter, leaving those around them puzzled.

They were in high spirits, but naturally, that meant others were dissatisfied. The world was always like this—some people never looked to themselves, always focused on what others were doing.

Of course, not everyone was that way; some learned from the successes of others, Bill Gates among them. He quickly adjusted his mindset and saw a bright path forward. Relying solely on compiler licensing was useless; like William White, he needed to focus on end-users. As long as there were enough users, anything could be sold for a fortune.

The number of end-users already seemed vast, and the future would bring even more. Falling behind the main wave would lead to being marginalized.

William White was in a good mood lately. He’d successfully shaken off financial worries—both his film company and his software company were generating profits every minute.

And there was another film coming out this year. Hollywood’s big shots would soon be driven mad. With two hit films as a foundation, his future days would be much easier.

What he didn’t know was that they were already close to madness. Taking big risks for big rewards wasn’t unheard of, but never to such an outrageous degree. Seeing the daily box office numbers reported by their subordinates, not a single studio executive wasn’t cursing.

By comparison, they felt like complete fools—all their big productions and Oscar ambitions meant nothing. They were being utterly outclassed; the films they called shoddy and lowbrow were breaking records every day.

That wasn’t even the end of it. The box office in Europe was also impressive—especially in Britain, where people were calling it an art form. Some claimed the “British style” had conquered Hollywood.

What a joke!

Just because one actor was British, how did that make it a “British style”? How empty must they be to say such things?

And to call it art—how could they interpret so much into it? How did a slapstick comedy become an art film, praised to the heavens?

True, the film did give a voice to minorities, taking pointed jabs at the American government, though it did portray a few good people. Still, it seemed a bit like pandering to the black community.

The British saw it differently; to them, the director was an artist, a true descendant of British aristocracy. The film, with its mixture of humor and satire, exposed the darkness of America. This form of artistic expression was worthy of another Chaplin, and the film ought to be nominated for an Oscar.

Reading such reviews, William White nearly fainted. He would never have the nerve to submit it for an Oscar—these people were absurd! He still had some pride; shameless as he might be, he’d never stoop that low.

Well, he’d been an immigrant for generations, yet they still treated him as a noble’s descendant. How dearly loved could one man be?