"I'm sorry. I really have no idea where he is," Vasko mumbles, cracking his knuckles.
"That's okay. Why don't you just have a seat and tell me about your business, then? How's everything going?” I try a more casual approach.
"Okay, well, the microprocessors are selling well, and we're thinking of expanding into five additional markets. But that's where the financing comes in."
"And how much are you making a month?" I ask.
"About ten million."
"And how much is it costing you?"
"About fifteen. But you know, we're still setting up all of the infrastructure. We have a lot of expenses associated with the factories, and we're just expanding our marketing and advertising budget."
"Okay.” I nod.
It's not the most healthy profit loss statement that I have encountered, but the thing about tech companies is that they often lose money until they don't. I'm not going to hold that particularly against him.
"And what are your plans for expansion?"
"Well, we see a lot of potential in Europe and Asia."
"Any specific countries in particular?" I ask.
"Norway, Sweden, Finland."
"Are you aware of the fact that they have at least five other large microprocessor companies that focus not only on that but on other features, as well, just in the Scandinavian countries alone?” I point out. “What are your plans to compete with that competition and to stand out against them?"
"Well, we're going to spend a lot more on advertising and marketing," Vasko says, fumbling along.
I wonder if this is the first time in a long time that he has ever actually had to convince anyone of his competence, or if he's just incredibly lazy.
I ask him a few more questions, and he stumbles over the responses to those, as well.
"You realize, of course, that just advertising is not going to be the most successful thing to do to reach the Scandinavian market? They're very proactive supporting their own businesses and protecting their own companies, even if you were to come in and give them a substantial discount. And it would have to be very substantial for them to even consider doing business with you, over a fellow Nordic country."
"No, I didn't realize that," Vasko says.
The silence in the room becomes deafening.
A few moments later, someone knocks on the door and comes in. He is uncomfortably tall and dressed in a well-tailored suit.
"Mr. Langston, this is Zach Blasse, our Chief Financial Officer.” Vasko makes the introduction to the man grasping onto his iPad. “He’ll provide you with all of the financial information and answer all of your questions."
"Actually, that won't be necessary," I say, standing up and shaking his hand.
"What do you mean?" Vasko asks.
"Well, I think I have a clear picture of what's going on here, and someone from my office will be in touch later. It was a pleasure to meet you."
I'm trying to make the exit as swift as possible, but Vasko won't let me. He follows me out of the conference room and over to the rows of elevators.
I press the down button and none of them swing open, saving me from furthering this conversation.
"What's going on? Are you pulling out?" Vasko asks, looking flustered.
Suddenly, the smooth hair that was previously lacquered to his head looks tossed and uneven. His face flushes red as his cheeks fill up with blood, creating a mosaic on his pale skin.
"Listen, thank you so much for meeting with me, and I'll be in touch, as I said."
I take out my phone and try to force this conversation to a close as quickly as possible.
"Dante, what is going on?" Vasko snaps.
I shoot my eyes up at him.
Who does he think he is, calling me by my first name?
"Look, your boss made promises. He said that if you come over, I would give you a presentation. Everything will be fine. The financing will be secure."
"My boss is in no position to say that. I represent thousands of angel investors, and every company that I recommend for them has to go through a rigorous approval process, which, frankly, you have not passed."
Usually, I'm not so terse or rude, but the only way to deal with rudeness is to throw it back in someone's face.
"No, that's impossible."
The elevator door finally opens, and I go inside.
"Of course it's possible," I say. "It happens every day. Do you know how few people we actually invest with?"
"But I'm not a normal applicant. I talked to Cedar and he told me that we have a deal."
"I don't care what Cedar told you.” I shake my head. "The decision is up to me and you don't have a deal. Your company is barely making ends meet. You have no idea. You don't know anything about the market that you want to go into. And frankly, if you can't make your business work here, you have no business in expanding to all of these other territories."
"Look, I didn't know that he was going to be late; is that what this is about? You just can't handle if someone has an actual problem and can't make a meeting?” Vasko asks, his nostrils flaring out.
"No, this has nothing to do with that. That's why we had a meeting before your CFO even made an appearance. I asked you questions, you answered them…however, badly. You didn't know very much about your plans."
"Look," he snaps, pointing his finger in my face, when I let out a sigh I can almost see it collide with his skin. "Cedar made me a promise. I'm going to talk to him. You're going to regret doing any of this."
I shake my head no.
"Okay, let's just- ..."
"Listen, I gave you my decision," I say, broadening my shoulders, but not taking a step back.
We finally reach the ground floor and the elevator doors start to open back up again.
"I made my decision and that's it. There's nothing you can do."
"I'm going to appeal."
"There is no appeal process,” I say sternly. “This is my job, okay? I go around, I visit companies who need investment, some of them need it because they want to expand and they can't go the regular banking way. Others, like yours, I suspect are losing money. They're bleeding from the inside out. And you want my investors to plug up some of those holes and put a Band-Aid on it. But what you don't realize is your company is going to be defunct in two years, if that, and my investors will be on the hook for all of that money."
"No, I am very good at what I do and I'm very good at protecting their money and that's why they continue to put their trust in me,” Vasko says. His voice goes up and he’s pleading now, which makes me even more solid in my decision.
"We're not investing in your business."
I take a step forward when he snaps his arm in front of me to try to prevent me from walking out.
“You better move or I’ll move it for you,” I threaten and wait.
It's a standoff.
His eyes peer into mine.
I look straight ahead, keeping my face completely emotionless.
A moment later, he finally caves and retreats.
14