Chapter Forty-Six: A Kind of Hatred Called Helplessness

Oracle, also a software company, was not having an easy time. Ever since its public spat with White Software, Larry Ellison had practically turned into a laughingstock. The other side made it clear they didn’t care, and pursuing the matter further would only make things worse for him.

In the eyes of Silicon Valley’s old guard, William White was audacious and arrogant, paying no heed to these industry veterans. When facing his competitors, he remained calm and went off to make movies, and what was most infuriating was that his films were wildly successful as well.

They called microcomputers trash, so he developed a database specifically for them. According to industry insiders, it performed quite well. Based on the upcoming version’s features, even if it didn’t quite reach the standard of minicomputers, the gap was negligible.

This made it clear that he was perfectly capable of developing large databases; he simply chose not to compete in that field. Their user base was too small to bother with. Now the old hands were starting to panic. If things continued like this, they’d all become relics of history. A single microcomputer wasn’t expensive, and neither was a set of software.

But when everything sold in the tens of thousands, the story changed. In less than five years, his company’s revenue could leap by unimaginable margins.

By then, it might be the big companies that ended up being acquired.

"Boss, we’ve received news that White Software has licensed out all its hardware. The details of the deal are unknown, but they have given up hardware manufacturing."

Seeing his subordinate’s confusion, the leader of Big Blue was equally troubled. White Software’s deliberate retreat was actually a loss; those assets were worth a great deal, and spinning them off now seemed unwise.

“Who got the licenses? How much did they pay?”

“Three Japanese firms acquired the rights. They didn’t buy them outright but opted for a revenue-sharing model.”

“Alright, I see. Go on with your work.”

William White wasn’t about to let the Japanese get a windfall. He knew exactly how big the adapter card market was. These seemingly insignificant devices would eventually move billions of dollars, making it a lucrative business.

It was a pity that, at this point, China lacked the manufacturing capability, Taiwan’s semiconductor industry hadn’t yet emerged, and South Korea was still wrangling with itself. Only Japan was truly suitable.

Despite high unemployment in America, opening a factory there was a recipe for disaster—the workers would drag you down with them.

An electronics factory?

In the future, even China would struggle to find enough workers; how could you expect to manufacture in the US? It was laughable.

Americans liked freedom in their work. For repetitive assembly line tasks, it was impossible to find skilled labor; annual worker turnover exceeded 100%. HR didn’t need to do anything else but hire new people every day.

OEM or licensing was the way to go. Even if the profit margin was less than five percent, it was a guaranteed income—sell more, earn more.

The Japanese hadn’t accepted this initially, hoping for a straight buyout. But William White wasn’t foolish. Motorola’s 6500 chip had been sold outright, and the Americans made money off it for decades, producing over a hundred million CPUs. If you calculated the royalty, the license was practically free.

What? Disagree? Fine—he’d just go to someone else. There was never an intention to grant exclusivity. If the Japanese refused, he’d sell to the Germans; they’d meet the requirements just as well.

Imitating American products? No one dared anymore. The auto industry alone had enraged the US, and any funny business would result in devastating penalties.

The Americans would stop at nothing to protect their high-tech companies—even arresting foreign executives if necessary.

Purely profiting from patents and design was rare in this era, making William White’s approach quite unconventional.

American factories could do the same, the prices were similar, and they should have been interested. But clearly, they weren’t. They’d prefer OEM deals, but selling and marketing themselves? No thank you—who knew how long this stuff would sell? It might flop overnight.

William White had no obligation to accommodate them. If they didn’t agree to the same terms, that was the end of the partnership.

Just think: they’d already sold their memory factories to the Japanese, so why would they want to get into electronics manufacturing?

And what was the added value of a memory factory? The author still remembers carrying a two-megabyte memory chip in his shirt pocket, triple-packaged. He’d walk carefully, guarding his chest, such was its value.

These high-value-added products were disregarded by Americans, a testament to their extravagance.

White Software’s database was about to launch. Like it or not, it was happening, and the threshold for using databases was about to drop dramatically. No longer would it be an exclusive, high-end technology.

This was already a fact. Continuing to mislead clients wouldn’t be so easy. If they didn’t cut prices, their businesses would wither.

William White was not as magnanimous as he seemed. He didn’t jump out to openly challenge the industry like Steve Jobs, but his counterattack was more effective—the plunging Oracle stock spoke volumes.

Sure, they could keep claiming his software was inferior, but it was pointless. His prices were so low they were almost a steal.

When your prices are much higher and performance is only marginally better—and that gap is mostly due to hardware—what’s left to argue? He ran a truly conscientious business, while their software and services were exorbitant. Did they think everyone else was a pig to be slaughtered?

White Software fundamentally changed the software ecosystem. For newcomers, this was fantastic news: as long as you produced innovative, practical software, there would be buyers. For the old guard, it was a disaster. Things were manageable for now, but as time went on, change would be inevitable—otherwise, they’d face severe setbacks.

“Young master, silver has reached the expected target. Should we unload our position?”

Seeing Uncle Fu’s excitement, William White replied, “Yes, but do it slowly—don’t let anyone notice. We should be fully out in two months. Leave London alone for now.”

“Understood, young master. The Hunt family really outdid themselves this time.”

“Haha! Those reckless fools, manipulating silver so brazenly—if they keep playing, they’re doomed,” William White said with a mocking smile.

“There are already all sorts of rumors circulating in the market, none of them good.”

“How could the silver standard make a comeback? The Federal Reserve isn’t run by idiots.”

With the help of the oil-rich sheikhs, the Hunt family was almost untouchable, looking down on everyone else.

That was nearly the truth. William White only invested a few million, and the profits were already insane. Once all these futures contracts were closed, his gains would easily top one hundred million. The Hunt family had invested in the billions, so their paper profits were beyond imagining.