The Underwriting (36 page)

“I only missed one day and it was Satur—”

“No excuses, Tara,” Catherine snapped. “You do not get ahead in this business by making excuses.”

“I'm not making—”

“Stop!” she yelled, putting her hands up again. “Stop talking. We all have to make sacrifices. And your unwillingness to do that is why Antony van Leeuwen is issuing a comically negative view on the IPO. You know this IPO is the only good thing this firm has going for it, and now, because of you, it's going to be one more bad piece of press.”

Tara looked up at the ceiling. “How bad is Antony's report?” she asked.

“He's setting a price target of two dollars a share. Did you seriously miss that?” Catherine guffawed. “This is completely unacceptable, Tara. I was told you were worth watching,” she said. “I was trying to help you.” Her voice got more and more angry. “I put
my name
behind you.”

Tara waited for the feeling of guilt, for the terror of being in trouble to push its way through the sand in her brain and propel her into action. She waited for it, but nothing came.

“What if he's right?” she said softly, shifting her gaze back to Catherine.

“What did you say?”

“I said, what if Antony's right?” Tara said more firmly, her eyes steady now. “What if these apps really aren't worth anything?”

“You were hired to sell this IPO, Tara,” she said. “Nothing less and nothing more.”

Tara nodded. “So I've heard,” she mumbled. Her eyes dropped back to Catherine's hands. Her fingers were folded together, but her ring finger was extended, held straight by the golden contraption that went where the wedding ring ought to be.

“What happened to your finger?” Tara said.

“What?” Catherine asked, irritated.

“Your finger.” Tara lifted her chin toward it.

“Don't change the subject.”

“Did you hurt it?”

Catherine took a sharp breath in, stretching out her hand and looking at it over her glasses. “It's a new ring,” she said, lifting it to Tara. “It's to remind me of my own strength, and not to get sentimental.” She looked back at Tara. “Advice you ought to heed.”

“Does your husband not mind?” Tara said carefully.

“We're separated,” Catherine answered, sitting up even straighter. “He was never able to handle the fact that my success exceeded his.”

Tara looked at Catherine for a long time. Her hair was perfectly in place, her outfit perfectly pressed, her skin just made-up enough, her teeth just white enough, her body just thin enough to escape criticism from any view.

“I'm sorry that I left in the middle of the road show,” Tara finally said, standing. “It won't happen again.”

“There aren't many strong women in this world, Tara.” Catherine's voice softened. “But I think you've got it in you, if you just apply yourself.”

Tara searched Catherine's eyes for understanding, but found none. “I hope you're wrong,” Tara said quietly, turning to leave the room.

She went to the bathroom, locked the door and lifted the lid to the toilet seat. She opened her bottle of Xanax and poured out the pills. She did the same with the Celexa, watching them drop one by one into the toilet bowl, before she flushed them all away. She washed her hands in the sink and looked, satisfied, at her reflection, confidently deciding what she was going to do.

AMANDA

M
ONDAY
, M
AY
12; S
AN
F
RANCISCO
, C
ALIFORNIA

Amanda couldn't sleep. It was three thirty in the morning, but all she could think about was the as-yet-to-be-named company she was going to start with Julie.

She turned on the light and reached for
Venture Deals
, the book by Brad Feld that had become her bible for learning the ins and outs of becoming an entrepreneur.

Amanda's thoughts hadn't been so consumed by anything since Todd Kent. Julie was right: giving that time to something more useful was exhilarating. She couldn't believe how much she'd underestimated her roommate.

She looked at the clock: four a.m. Screw it, she wasn't going to go back to sleep anyway. She got out of bed and showered and dressed and headed into the office to do a few hours of trademark research before the rest of Crowley Brown got in.

When the elevators opened on her floor, the light was already on, and she saw Andy Schaeffer tapping away at his computer.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, taking a seat at her cubicle.

“Hook is fucked. The road show's about to explode.”

“What?” Amanda asked. She hadn't heard from Juan in three days—she'd figured he was busy but maybe this was why. “What happened?”

“This analyst issued a two-dollar-a-share price target,” Andy said. “Now everyone's freaking out that investors are going to pull out and make the price plummet.”

“Do you think they will?”

“No clue.”

“So what are you doing?”

“Preparing everything in case the IPO doesn't happen.” Andy looked up at her. “If this deal doesn't go off and I've spent all my time . . .”

Amanda didn't hear the rest: she'd already started Googling “Hook IPO” for the latest news.

Amanda read the first search result, which had been posted twenty minutes before:
Scathing Analyst Report Values Hook at $2 a Share
.

Antony van Leeuwen, top tech research analyst at Credit Suisse, issued coverage in advance of the location-based dating app's NASDAQ debut, setting a price target of two dollars a share in an aggressive statement against what he called “farcically unrealistic pricing of social media applications.” Unlike many naysayers who speculate the social media bubble will burst because of failed revenue models, van Leeuwen's predicted downfall is predicated on a thesis of user backlash if and when they catch on to how much information these apps are capable of collecting, and the safety risks associated with the storing of that data. L.Cecil, the IPO's lead underwriter, is reeling from the news, desperately trying to restore investor confidence in the twenty-five- to thirty-five-dollar price range it's been quoting for the IPO later this week.

Amanda's face went white: if the price dropped to two dollars a share, Juan wouldn't be able to build his community center, and Julie would walk away with practically nothing. All their new plans would go up in smoke.

“No way,” Amanda said out loud, shaking her head at the screen. They'd worked too hard for this: she wasn't going to stand by while her friends got screwed.

TODD

T
UESDAY
, M
AY
13; M
ENLO
P
ARK
, C
ALIFORNIA

“Wall Street is buzzing again today with speculations over the fate of Hook after a scathing report from Credit Suisse research analyst Antony van Leeuwen. In a nonstandard move, van Leeuwen initiated coverage before the deal is finalized, at a low two-dollar price target that is sparking others to ask whether Hook's anticipated twenty-six- to thirty-two-dollar public debut might be a scam for public investors.”

Todd had always liked Lucy Lowe, CNBC's hottest anchor, but right now he wanted to punch her. He watched the report as he tied his tie in the hotel room at the Rosewood in Menlo Park, where they'd arrived last night for the final two days of the road show.

“In other news, closing arguments in the Kelly Jacobson trial will be heard today in Palo Alto. The girl's RA, Robby Goodman, stands accused of sexual assault and involuntary manslaughter after allegedly giving the girl a lethal dose of the drug MDMA, or ‘Molly,' which caused her to have a heart—”

Todd turned off the TV, pausing to take a deep breath and collect himself. Today was going to be difficult; there was no way around that. But with challenge came opportunity: van Leeuwen had raised the stakes, but that only meant Todd had more to gain if he won. He just had to get investors back on his side, and then he'd be even more of a hero than he'd been set up to be before.

His phone rang and he answered it as he picked up his briefcase and headed to the hotel lobby.

“Hello?”

“You need to fix this.” Harvey's voice was angry.

“Antony isn't going to withdraw the report,” Todd said. “You know he's trying to—”

“Then you'll have to find another way to fix it, won't you?”

“If it were a twenty-two-dollar price tag,” Todd said as confidently as he could, “I'd be worried, but at two dollars? People will see through—”

“People respect third-party opinions,” Harvey interrupted.

“I know,” Todd said. “But—”

“You're not going to win the match if you don't get in the pool,” Harvey said. “I have to go.”

The phone clicked off and Todd shut his eyes, defeated. Would it be so difficult for senior management to give a little positive encouragement from time to time?

He spotted Tara in the lobby and went to join her. “Good morning,” he said.

“Morning.” She glanced up from her laptop, then went immediately back to typing. She'd been a bitch this entire road show. It was Callum's fault: he's where it had all started. Whatever had gone down with him in London, it had changed her, and gotten even worse after she went to his hotel last week for some midday quickie. She hadn't even apologized for skipping town for her sister's wedding, and now had the nerve to be pissed at him for ratting her out to Catherine.

“I had to tell her, you know,” he said.

“What?” Tara stopped typing and looked up.

“Catherine,” he said. “She showed up and asked where you were. I couldn't lie for you.”

“I know,” she said, going back to her computer.

“Then why are you being so pissy?”

“Am I?” she asked, still typing.

“This whole thing is your fault,” Todd said.

“Antony's report, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“He told me it was because he didn't trust Nick,” she said, still typing.

“You talked to him?” Todd's jaw jutted forward.

“Of course,” she said, glancing up, as if it were nothing. “I wanted to see if I could do anything to address his concerns.”

“Which you obviously failed to do.”

She shrugged, looking back at her computer screen. “I guess he has a right to his opinion.” She kept typing.

“Will you stop typing?” he shouted.

She did.

“What did he say?” Todd asked more calmly.

“We had a long conversation about user information and data security. He doesn't disagree with the collection in principle, but thinks that without a clear company statement on how it's used, consumers will get nervous, especially if they don't like the CEO, and consequently stop using the app as soon as there's a viable alternative,” she said, her voice casual. “I thought it was an interesting point.”

She resumed her typing. She thought it was an interesting point? How could she be so flippant?

“Louisa says they're really in love, you know,” Todd said, his voice full of spite.

“Who is Louisa?”

“The woman Callum's cheating on you with.”

Tara's fingers stopped typing. Got her.

“Oh, you didn't know?” he asked. “Yeah, I ran into them canoodling at the bar at Gramercy Tavern weeks ago.”

“Why are you telling me?” she asked without looking up, her voice weak.

“Because I'm a good guy,” he said.

Tara looked up at Todd, her eyes glassy, hurt, as they connected to his. She looked innocent and vulnerable and sad, and for once Todd didn't like the feeling of his power over her.

“Tara, I'd love a coffee if you're not doing anything.” Nick Winthrop appeared beside them.

“I am actually doing something, Nick,” she said firmly as she broke Todd's gaze. “But I'm sure one of the thirty-five staff at this hotel could get you a coffee.”

“What did you—” Nick started.

“If you'll excuse me,” she cut him off, getting up to leave.

Nick's pink face turned red. “Where's an analyst to get me a coffee?”

AMANDA

T
UESDAY
, M
AY
13; M
ENLO
P
ARK
, C
ALIFORNIA

Amanda pulled the car onto the 280 freeway heading south to Menlo Park. She'd been up for over twenty-four hours but didn't feel tired: she was amped up with determination to save Juan's and Julie's fortunes, and the thrill of having found the evidence that would do it.

She'd started by reading Antony van Leeuwen's report, looking for errors in his logic and trying to think of a way to counter his points. But, finding nothing, she'd turned to Antony himself. It took several calls to the SEC and European Securities Committee, but eventually her prying revealed that Antony had a large stake in a fund that held a short position on L.Cecil shares. His negative report had nothing to do with debunking the social media company, and everything to do with putting another nail in the bank's coffin: one that would send
its
share price to hell, and Antony's personal returns soaring.

Whether or not Antony's points were worthwhile was irrelevant. His personal position made his opinions unreliable, and could be the key to restoring investor confidence in Hook.

She'd waited for Chris Papadopoulos to come in this morning, only to discover he was going straight to the road show breakfast at the Rosewood. Which is where she was heading now, to tell him what she'd found and save the deal, along with her friends' rightful millions, and her and Julie's plan for their company.

The parking lot was packed, but Amanda found a spot and steered the car carefully into it, taking a deep breath as she shut off the engine. She knew Todd was here and it scared her: What if seeing him made her fall for him again? What if she got sucked back under his spell and started to doubt her new path?
Just find Chris
, she told herself, getting out of the car.