Chapter 113: Apples Are Not Easy to Bite

William White was a capitalist, and being called selflessly fair was hardly a compliment—his creations were absolutely not to be copied by anyone. Charging tolls was naturally detested, and accusations of patent monopoly were far from novel.

Patents in America were truly a headache. White Software was no Xerox; it wasn’t some laboratory product. Fine, it was from a small studio, but a product was a product, and without production authorization, manufacturing was strictly forbidden.

Not to mention other companies, even Apple was extremely envious—the adaptation card was incredibly profitable, almost forming an entire industry on its own.

Patent troll?

Yes, they admitted it. “Got the guts to sue me?” was the defiant challenge.

“Keep talking nonsense, and you’ll never get authorization.”

William White wouldn’t waste time responding to such petty complaints; if they had the ability, they could develop it themselves.

“Boss, are you sure about ramping up development? They won’t back down easily.”

“Tom, our stance is clear. The extent of our promotion depends on the shares we hold.”

“So, you mean production will happen no matter what?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t we profit? Maybe Steve Jobs didn’t understand this, but Makula certainly did. He’s a capable manager, just overly focused on profits.”

As expected, Apple’s shareholders were abuzz with discussion. Their valuation was much higher than in the past, so naturally, no one wanted to sell their shares.

“Makula, is this software really that important? Can’t we get another company to develop it? Doesn’t that kid from Houston visit often? Why not ask them?” a Wall Street elite asked.

Apple’s founders ignored him. Such a stupid question revealed just how incompetent he was.

Makula, the ever-patient mediator, explained calmly.

“White’s hardware capabilities are solid, and their software and games are ahead of their time. But that’s not the worst part—their office software and microcomputer databases have virtually no competition.”

Others couldn’t grasp the jargon, but the word “monopoly” was a highly sensitive topic.

“Would they really forgo profits? Our new products could even boost their sales.”

This time, even Makula had nothing to say. What was the Lisa project about? These professional managers surely knew—White clearly had no interest in it.

Jobs had practically given up on the project. It had no future; it was merely a transitional product.

Ignoring Apple’s internal conflicts, William White knew they’d give him some shares. His demands weren’t excessive—just seeking some compensation.

“Tom, I need at least two million dollars in shares. If they propose a share exchange, we’ll offer them equivalent shares in our Series A round at year-end.”

“Understood, boss. I’ll negotiate with them tomorrow.”

William White had no time to wait for their back-and-forth. He was heading straight to Los Angeles; his editing had just begun, and there were plenty more tasks ahead.

The IT world was still a battlefield. The chaotic wars among personal computers were headache enough, not to mention the troublesome Bill Gates.

Everyone talked about Bill Gates, but his good friend Paul was the real winner—having overcome cancer, he was living a joyful life.

Out of money?

Simple—sell some shares.

This guy, barely thirty, lived a life of leisure yet consistently ranked in the top ten richest people. He had some loans, but wealth wasn’t always tangible.

This legend was different. Whenever funds ran low, he sold shares—and somehow, he kept increasing his holdings. Truly baffling.

Bill treated his close friend well, never pushing him out—a rarity in America. No matter how close, friends were often discarded.

“That bastard’s back in Los Angeles again?” Steve Jobs scowled.

Tom pretended not to hear the complaint. Both men were strong-willed, and such mutual jabs weren’t uncommon.

Apple’s bureaucracy was a mess. Endless disputes dragged on with no resolution for months. Who the hell could wait?

William White’s editing speed was no joke—within days, he completed the rough cut, then moved on to meticulous refinement, with time to spare.

After days of Wall Street quibbling, they suddenly had an epiphany.

“We’re a bunch of fools. If Apple’s stock is rising, how could White Software be any less? Even if IPO is far off, it doesn’t stop them from cashing out.”

The group finally understood. Many coveted White Software, but the company had such massive cash flow they simply made some investments on the side.

Wall Street elites realized their shallow knowledge of IT. Apple’s founders had long seen through them, quietly enjoying the spectacle.

White Studios required employees to sign non-compete agreements, a trend that quickly spread through Hollywood. With some eager instigators fanning the flames, the situation risked spiraling out of control.

Such agreements weren’t unheard of—usually signed by executives. But no one had ever heard of janitors being required to sign them.

What in heaven’s name was this guy planning?

The unions naturally took notice, and a group of workers began protesting.

Reporters were delighted but puzzled by the delay. What was this all about?

“Janitorial work is crucial. Due to some indescribable reasons, we’ve lost many staff. Though their tasks are basic, their absence disrupts normal operations. It’s true we have no janitors now. Some factions’ tactics are truly despicable. Why not just cut electricity and water? That would guarantee your box office wins.”

Crash—a crystal ashtray shattered into pieces. The old man in the boss chair was gasping, clearly enraged.

Damn it, poaching janitors—what a disgraceful move.

Should he defend himself?

Ha!

This kind of obvious self-incrimination was stupider than a pig. Some things could be done but not spoken aloud, lest you become a laughingstock.

White Studios’ spokesperson was the worst at this—they’d push hard, then claim it was just a joke. Who told you to be so fragile? We were only speaking casually.

What made it worse was many media outlets took it seriously, unleashing merciless ridicule too painful to read.

Seeing those old men’s sinister glances, Steve Ross almost vomited blood.

Hollywood’s opinion of William White’s shamelessness reached new heights.

The strangest part was his popularity didn’t decline but increased. The unions, unfortunately, got caught in the crossfire, becoming the scapegoat for stirring trouble when their real goal was to improve ordinary workers’ conditions.

Did you think these agreements were signed casually?

Employees had special allowances, unlike what people assumed. And crucially, if an employee was fired by the company, the agreement held no binding power.

A group of stubborn lawmakers felt like tearing their hair out. The stupid label stuck firmly—it was a damn trap.