Chapter Forty-Nine: A Valuation of One Hundred Million Dollars

Valuing White Software is incredibly challenging; no one truly knows their exact revenue figures. Based on data compiled from other companies, they sold at least seventy thousand units of software in August alone. This means that, just for August, White Software brought in at least seven million dollars in revenue. Adding their other adapter card business, reaching eight million was easily within their grasp.

It was no secret that the Blue Giant was interested in acquiring a stake; the IT industry is small, and news like this can’t be kept under wraps. As the leader in personal computers, Apple naturally wanted a share as well. Regardless of the percentage, they at least wanted a seat on the board.

Since there were interested buyers, Wall Street was, of course, expected to provide a valuation. Unsurprisingly, Morgan Stanley managed to disappoint once again. A one hundred million dollar valuation simply couldn’t reflect White Software’s true worth. Except for the idiots on Wall Street, no industry insider would ever assign such a figure; the company might very well make a hundred million next year. Was this valuation supposed to be a joke?

If the company were truly so cheap, the Blue Giant would have snapped it up long ago, and Apple wouldn’t hesitate either. Even if it meant taking on some financial risk, they would never pass up such an acquisition.

Faced with the outside world's noise, William White was at a loss for words. When had he ever said he wanted to sell the company? Even if he stopped developing new products, the next two years would be solid, with revenue unlikely to fall much below this year’s.

Besides, it was absurd to evaluate a software company in such a static way. Did they even know what a stock was? Stocks represent a company’s future cash flow. With so many R&D projects underway, how could they simply ignore that? They should stick to valuing steel companies—those have little value anyway, so they wouldn’t make any mistakes.

Normally, William White wouldn’t be so harsh, but Wall Street’s antics had worn him down. He hadn’t even asked for their evaluation, so why did they insist on offering unsolicited professional advice time and again?

His public rebuke left Wall Street in a daze; they’d never encountered this before. No one complained about a valuation being too low—they were directly told what a stock truly represented.

After such an embarrassing dressing-down, Wall Street seemed to lose their composure entirely. The one hundred million dollar valuation had already been a hard-fought compromise—only a few months ago, the figure was ten million. Tenfold growth in such a short time, and still he wasn’t satisfied?

Wall Street’s frustration was overwhelming, with Morgan Stanley in the most awkward position. Even Apple was considering changing underwriters, refusing to accept their valuation.

This was always their way: whether or not a company needed a valuation, they would offer their professional advice. Their habit of looking down on these companies had made them arrogant, deaf to their clients’ feedback, and always eager to preach.

When his own interests weren’t at stake, William White couldn’t have cared less. But now things were different. Next year, he planned to launch a Series A financing round. At this rate, ten percent wouldn’t be enough to meet his needs—so the current valuation was problematic. He didn’t want to send the wrong signal to investors; arguing over valuation again next year would be a mistake.

In the face of all this, Morgan Stanley was at a complete loss. Even internally, there was disagreement about the valuation—some thought it was wildly inflated, others thought it was far too low. One hundred million was just the average between their opposing views.

They were simply used to this—used to picking apart other people’s companies. Call it bad luck; this time, they’d run into someone who took things seriously, and now they were in real trouble.

After his outburst, William White returned to post-production work. The software companies were all running smoothly now, leaving him with little to worry about. Finishing the movie’s post-production was the real priority.

“Boss, Eddie Murphy is here for your appointment,” Linda, his secretary, announced, seeing him still busy.

“Alright, take him to my office. I’ll be about five minutes.”

“Okay, boss.”

A man focused on his work is always attractive; Linda was rather smitten. But, alas, her feelings went unreturned, and all she could do was admire from afar.

“Eddie, have a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

“Linda, bring us some coffee, will you?”

“Yes, boss.”

Eddie Murphy had a slick, flashy look about him—a common sight among his peers. As long as their pockets were lined with cash, they’d proudly wear gold chains several feet long.

“Eddie, did you just rob a jewelry store?”

“Haha, boss, don’t tease me. You know how it is—I have to put on a show so people don’t look down on me.”

“No wonder gold prices are soaring. Looks like you’re doing well for yourself,” William White said with a wink.

“Boss, any chance I could be considered for your next film?”

“No one’s approached you for roles? You should be pretty hot right now!” William White was a bit surprised.

“It’s all scripts trying to ride the wave of my popularity. If I took those, it might actually hurt my image.”

“Alright then. Next year, there’s a film series in the works. Have your agent talk to legal.”

“Thank you, boss.”

“You’re not even going to ask about the script?”

“If it’s your script, I don’t need to see it—I know it’ll be good.”

Eddie Murphy’s fee would be negotiated by his agent. That’s how Americans did business—friends were friends, business was business. There was no need for sentimentality.

William White still intended to wager small sums for big returns. In this era, big-budget productions were far too risky—one misstep and you could lose everything.

By building strength through smaller productions, he could wait for the old guard to falter and then swoop in for a bargain.

Summer in Los Angeles was unbearable. Even with air conditioning, William White was drenched in sweat. The husky sprawled at his feet was equally miserable, tongue lolling on the floor.

“Come on, you silly dog, let’s go home.”

At his master’s call, the husky perked up, eager to perform its usual antics. Though a bit of a fool, the dog was undeniably endearing.

Every time he saw Jason, he couldn’t resist a jab—how could anyone confuse a husky with a German shepherd? There was no point showing off his terrible German; while it might not matter much with a puppy, in other matters it could be a disaster.

The new school year was about to begin. There were still some exams to complete, but they shouldn’t pose any significant problems.

For a student of considerable influence, the school would be fairly lenient, as long as he didn’t push his luck too far. They wouldn’t expel a student unless he went completely off the rails.

That was the case for the underachievers—let alone the top students. High achievers were always given a little extra leeway; it was the same everywhere. Good students always received special treatment.

American education at the university level was nothing like back in the homeland. The drill-and-kill style so prevalent there had little place here; what was valued was creative thinking. Professors had no interest in those who stuck rigidly to the rules.

Applying what you’ve learned—they took that seriously. Why else do you think the summer break is so long? Did you really think it was just for vacation?

It wasn’t that you couldn’t take a break, but if your paper was a disaster, you’d be in for a world of trouble.