Nvidia Goes Private (1)
“Aaaaaargh! These goddamn short sellers!!!”
Ted Chang slammed his fist down on the keyboard and roared.
“I’ve told them a hundred times—our technology can reshape entire industries a decade from now! But these bastards only care about short-term gains!”
The CFO beside him tried to soothe him.
“Please, try to stay calm. Isn’t that just the fate of every tech company? Facenote went through the same thing the year before last.”
Short selling had always been a fact of life among Silicon Valley tech firms. And with the mobile boom now in full swing, related tech companies had become favorite targets. Facenote had been gutted the year before last; Nvidia was simply next in line.
Ted Chang stared out the window and let out a long, heavy sigh.
“It’s just… lately it feels like we’re the only ones getting hit. And it really doesn’t sit well with me.”
They had been under siege from short sellers for nearly a year straight. The typical short interest for a tech company ran between seven and ten percent. Nvidia was sitting right at ten.
The CFO offered what comfort he could.
“Well… they do have their reasons.”
“…….”
“Nvidia’s core business is selling GPUs, and the PC market is in serious decline.”
“…….”
“And it’s not as if mobile is saving us either. We launched our mobile processors with high hopes, but we’re getting crushed by Qualcomm’s Snapdragon—we’re looking at shutting the whole mobile division down. On top of that, the competition with AMD is only getting fiercer by the day.”
…It hurt all the more because every word was true.
Ted Chang’s voice dropped, heavy with gloom.
“But we can’t just sit here and watch the stock keep falling. We’re going to have to buy back shares, aren’t we?”
“Yes, that’s right. If we don’t, the price will keep sliding. The market will read it as a lack of confidence in our own future, and the short sellers will pile on even harder. If the stock drops any further from here…”
The CFO’s expression turned grave.
“We could become a target for a hostile takeover.”
“Damn it.”
“I’m not trying to scare you—it’s the truth. M&A activity in the tech sector has been heating up. Intel and Qualcomm have already shown interest in our technology, and Korea’s Seoseong Group is apparently looking as well.”
“A takeover? Absolutely not. I have zero intention of selling my company. Nvidia is my kid.”
“Understood. Then let’s proceed with the share buyback.”
“Shit. And this is exactly when we need to be pouring money into R&D…”
He muttered, fingers trailing over the latest GPU prototype sitting on his desk.
Having failed in both PC and mobile, Nvidia was preparing to pivot its entire business toward AI and data centers, built on the foundation of its GPUs. That transition demanded an enormous R&D budget. But defending the stock price mattered too. Shareholders needed to believe.
“Hah. No choice, then. Divert part of the R&D budget into a buyback and expand the dividend.”
“A sound decision. That should restore some market confidence.”
But Ted Chang’s face remained dark. Worry after worry coiled through his mind.
What happens if the buyback starves R&D of capital? What if cutting research weakens our future competitiveness? AI and data centers are still unproven markets—can I really bet everything on something so uncertain? And more than anything else… what if, as the founder, I lose control of the company I built?
It was a dilemma. Compromise for now and make the safe business call—or go all in and bet everything on the future of the technology.
The investment proposal from Makers arrived a few days later.
The CFO walked into the CEO’s office with a sheaf of documents.
“We’ve received a letter of intent for an investment from Makers.”
Ted Chang looked puzzled.
“Makers? Who the hell are they? Some VC firm?”
“A Korean family office. The principal is a third-generation chaebol heir. They haven’t been around long, but they’re establishing a real foothold in Korea.”
“Huh. Interesting.”
Ted Chang turned his attention to the documents he’d been handed. A family office led by an Asian chaebol heir of the third generation. As a fellow Asian, he felt a faint flicker of kinship—until he saw Makers’ investment track record, and recoiled.
Facenote short? Natural gas futures short? Yen short?
“They’re short sellers!”
Short selling was currently Ted Chang’s single greatest source of stress. He was on the verge of developing a full-blown short-seller neurosis. He rejected them without a second glance.
“No way!”
“They’re offering to invest four and a half billion dollars. If you don’t want it, there’s nothing we can do.”
“!”
The moment the CFO reached to take the papers back, Ted Chang’s hand shot out and seized them.
“Four and a half billion?”
“Yes. Four point five billion dollars.”
“Ahem.”
He wavered.
A string of failed ventures and a collapsing share price had driven his self-esteem into the floor. And now, out of nowhere, someone was offering to put four and a half billion dollars into his company? Just hearing it was enough to start filling the hole.
After a long, agonized deliberation, Ted Chang shook his head.
“Looking at their track record, they’re short-term players. That kind of investor doesn’t fit with me. They don’t actually care about my company’s future.”
“What about just meeting them once? Makers says they’d like to see you in person for even a few minutes after their schedule here wraps up.”
“That’d be the middle of the night.”
Ted Chang was famous for working late. His insomnia-fueled work style was something of a legend in Silicon Valley.
“Yes—they said even if it’s dawn, as long as you give them a time, they’ll come. They did ask for a Friday, though.”
He wavered again.
They want to meet me that badly? At dawn?
Ted Chang kept his interest carefully buried and answered with deliberate coolness.
“Fine. Whatever. Set it up.”
And so the meeting was arranged for Friday at dawn—exactly as Lee Jaseung had wanted.
Nvidia was based in Silicon Valley. The time difference between Korea and Silicon Valley was sixteen hours—and that gap created a peculiar opportunity. Friday in Korea was still Thursday in the United States.
If I go to America, can I see the future twice in one week?
Accounting for travel time, it would be extremely tight. But it was worth attempting.
At three in the morning on Friday, Lee Jaseung saw the future in Korea and then departed. By the time he met Ted Chang in Silicon Valley, it was two a.m. on Friday morning. The meeting place was nothing more than a bar right in front of the company.
Jaseung gave a dry, humorless smile.
A bar.
There was hardly anyone around at that hour, but this was the first time he’d set foot in a public drinking establishment since college. He didn’t drink, and he always held meetings in private spaces—company offices, hotel suites.
The owner came over.
“What can I get you?”
“Water, please.”
The owner’s face said he could not believe what he was hearing.
What is this, a mountain spring?
But the moment a tip equal to a full day’s revenue hit the table, his attitude flipped instantly.
“Coming right up!”
“Ah—one moment.”
“Yes?”
“I’d rather not use the house glasses. Would you mind buying me a bottle of mineral water?”
“…….”
This lunatic.
But when a tip equal to a week’s revenue followed, the owner immediately ran to a convenience store and returned with bottled water and a spread of bar snacks. Jaseung ignored the food entirely and drank only the water, growing steadily more uncomfortable in his seat. Public places simply were not in his nature.
Fortunately, Ted Chang appeared in the distance, strolling over without particular haste. After a brief exchange of greetings, Ted went straight to the point.
“So you want to invest four and a half billion dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Honestly, our cash position is rock solid. We’re not exactly in a situation where we need outside capital.”
“I’m aware. Your CFO runs the books quite conservatively. Virtually no long-term debt, and a substantial cash reserve. However…”
Jaseung watched Ted Chang’s expression carefully as he continued.
“You need that cash both to defend against short sellers and to fund R&D for new businesses. That’s the problem, isn’t it? Pivoting your core business to AI is going to require enormous capital.”
Jaseung did not miss the shallow sigh that escaped Ted Chang.
“On top of that, I understand your personal ownership stake is around five percent. You do realize that puts you in a rather vulnerable position if a hostile M&A attempt materializes.”
“So you’re saying I should take your money.”
“Yes.”
Ted Chang’s posture immediately went slantwise and defensive.
“How do I know you’re not a poisoned chalice? Your track record is mostly short selling, and from what I can see, your investment style is aggressive and focused entirely on short-term returns.”
Jaseung’s mouth curved into a slight smile.
“Ah. There seems to have been a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?”
“My approach isn’t aggressive—it’s efficient. And I’m not interested in short-term returns. I’m interested in high returns.”
Confusion flickered across Ted Chang’s face—a clear Isn’t that the same thing?
“You look as though you’d like to ask whether those are actually different. Yes. They are.”
Jaseung understood perfectly. Like most founders, Ted Chang had welded the success or failure of his company to his own identity. Under the weight of business setbacks, the pressure from short sellers had to be unbearable. Of course he would react with hypersensitivity to someone who shorted stocks for a living. Unshakable conviction, immune to external circumstances, did not exist in this world. All there was, in the end, was believing in yourself and your vision hard enough to endure. That was what Ted Chang was doing right now—enduring.
And Jaseung intended to give him exactly the words he most needed to hear.
“Short-term returns mean squeezing a company for results within three months, six months—living and dying by quarterly earnings. What we want is high returns. The kind of return you get when Nvidia grows tenfold, twentyfold, over five or ten years.”
Ted Chang slowly began to uncross his arms.
“Data centers. The AI vision. These are five-year, ten-year plans. Wall Street doesn’t understand that kind of long-term investment. What they want is performance right now. But I do understand.”
Jaseung smiled—as if he meant every word with genuine sincerity. At the very least, that was how it looked to Ted Chang.
“If I help you, we can raise your ownership stake to fifteen percent. Or we can restructure the board so that you take full control. Then you could build a great company without being jerked around by quarterly results. Don’t you think?”
It was exactly what Ted had most wanted to hear. His throat worked.
The dream of every Silicon Valley founder—the freedom to pursue your own vision without short-term pressure—was being laid out in front of him.
Why had he done the IPO in the first place? For capital. Back then, Nvidia had desperately needed money to grow, and the public markets had provided it. At the time, he had sworn he would do anything for that funding. Talking to Wall Street analysts, preparing quarterly reports—none of it had seemed like a real problem. But once the coffers were full, a different feeling had begun to take hold. He wanted to realize the vision he dreamed of—without being ground down by earnings pressure, without short-seller attacks, without living and dying by the stock price.
So he had no choice but to ask.
“How, exactly?”
“Take the company private.”
“……Excuse me?”
Ted Chang’s mouth fell open in shock. He had assumed Jaseung would, at most, offer to become a friendly institutional investor.
What did he just say?
“Go private?”
“Think about it, Ted.”
Jaseung used his first name with easy familiarity.
“This is the best option. Once you delist, you can freely redesign the entire governance structure. What is your stake right now?”
“…Four point eight percent.”
“If anyone sets their mind to it, they could strip you of management control in no time. Just like Steve Jobs at Aple.”
Ted Chang visibly flinched. The story of Steve Jobs—founder or not—being ousted from his own company was infamous.
“Now think about Dell. They went private not long ago, didn’t they?”
“Yeah. They partnered with a private equity firm and took the company private.”
“And why do you think they did that? Dell was dependent on PC sales. They needed to transform their business model—and that kind of massive pivot is nearly impossible for a public company. Activist funds were already breathing down their necks, lecturing them about ‘shareholder value’ and demanding short-term results, weren’t they?”
Ted Chang snorted.
“Activists. Those guys are just short sellers wearing an activist costume. They don’t give a damn about shareholder value—only their own pockets.”
The man who was, in every practical sense, exactly one of “those guys” nodded with perfect composure.
“Of course I understand. Which is precisely why going private would free you from that pressure. Once you’ve realized the vision, you can always re-list later.”
“Hmm…”
Jaseung’s proposal was remarkably persuasive. If there had been no precedent, it might have been easier to dismiss—but Dell had just done exactly this, and that made it harder to ignore. Nvidia, too, had been battered by the PC market’s collapse, had failed in mobile, and was now trying to pivot toward AI. Wasn’t the situation almost identical to Dell’s?
Dell went private… so why shouldn’t we?
But delisting is such a drastic change…
Still… a company culture focused on the long-term vision…
Jaseung watched Ted wrestle with himself, then lifted his wrist and checked his watch. Time had slipped past unnoticed—it was already three in the morning. An entire hour had vanished into conversation. The bar’s remaining customers had almost all filtered out, and the bartender was wiping glasses with sleepy eyes.
And Lee Jaseung saw the future once more.
Immediately after the earnings announcement, short interest climbed to twelve percent. Ted Chang screamed with raw fury.
“Damn it! Every last one of these short-selling bastards deserves to die!”
A smile spread across his lips as he came back from the vision. Two gains.
One: shuttling between Korea and the United States made it possible to see the future twice in a single week.
Two: another short attack was coming soon. Short interest would hit twelve percent.
That would make for a very fine counterpunch.
“As it happens, I’ve just thought of a way to hit the short sellers where it hurts. Interested?”
Ted Chang’s eyes lit up at those words.
“Screw those bastards over? How?”
“Curious?”
An eager nod.
A far more enthusiastic reaction than when he’d proposed going private. The desire to see someone else fail was almost always stronger than the desire to see yourself succeed.
Jaseung rested his chin on his hand and smiled thinly.
“Then sign first.”
※ This work is a work of fiction. All characters, groups, place names, and events appearing herein are entirely fictional and bear no relation to any real person or entity. Specialized knowledge described in the narrative has likewise been reconstructed and adapted for the story, and may differ from actual information.