Five Million to Survive the Week
Palo Alto. Volta Motors headquarters.
It was a building that made the word "headquarters" feel like a joke.
The place had originally been a logistics warehouse, converted for office use — the sprinkler pipes still ran exposed across the ceiling. Half of the second-floor workspace sat empty. Of the nearly thirty desks that had been occupied just three months ago, eleven remained.
Ryan Holt picked up the phone from inside the glass-walled office at the far end of the second floor.
—Ryan.
"Mark, you busy?"
Eight years ago, when Holt had built a prototype for an online payment service out of his college dorm room, this was the man who'd written him a fifty-thousand-dollar check. When the company sold two years later, Mark got back forty times his money. Ever since, he'd been a friend first and an investor second — the calls never stopped.
—Your calls, I take even when I'm busy. What's up?
"The round isn't closing."
Startups typically raise outside capital in stages. A round failing to close meant the funding target still hadn't been met.
—How much came in?
"Ned put in two million. That's it."
—...Two million?
"Two million on a thirty-million-dollar round. Yeah, I know. The number's a joke."
—Sequoia?
"They said talk after Christmas."
—That's a no, and you know it.
"I know. Kleiner won't even book a meeting."
Those were the two biggest VC firms in Silicon Valley. A large share of the companies with Apple, Google, Yahoo, and Amazon on their résumés had grown up on those two firms' money.
When firms like that stopped showing interest, the market's verdict was as good as delivered. If you couldn't even get a meeting, you hadn't made the review pile in the first place.
"I've been to two other VCs. Twice each. Same answer both times — it's not the timing."
—...
"What does that even mean, 'not the timing'? Lehman blew up, so suddenly nobody needs electric cars? Did oil stop being used?"
—Ryan.
"Did gas cars suddenly get efficient overnight? What's actually changed? The only thing that changed is a bunch of Wall Street guys stacked leverage until they blew themselves up."
—You're right. You're completely right. But those guys blowing themselves up froze every dollar in sight.
Holt went quiet for a moment. He pushed his chair back and stared up at the ceiling.
"The Lightning is going to work. It's going to sell. I know it."
—I know.
"The Lightning. Customer deliveries start in February. Three prototypes are sitting downstairs right now. Yesterday's test put zero-to-sixty at 3.9 seconds."
—...
"3.9 seconds. In an electric car. The gas-powered supercars they call *fast* are in the fours. Come see it yourself, Mark, and you'll get it. This is a business that works."
—Ryan, that's not what I'm saying. I'm not saying electric cars won't work.
Even his friend's reassurance left Holt feeling suffocated. Honestly, part of him wondered whether the man truly believed him at all.
"Then what's the problem?"
—The market is the problem. Lehman went under, AIG went under, and nobody knows what blows up next month. Half my portfolio is gone. Honestly, if you asked me to put money in right now...
"Five million. Mark, five million dollars."
—...
"That gets us through the next payroll."
The eleven remaining employees of Volta Motors were due to be paid this Thursday. The current balance wouldn't cover it.
—What about your house? I heard you've been sleeping at the office.
"The bank took it."
—The condo?
"That too."
—Goddammit, Ryan. Why'd you let it get that far?
"Because I had to. Doesn't matter. Five million. That's all I need. Help me once."
—...
Mark stopped talking.
A long silence stretched across the line before his voice came back.
—You know what the market's saying about you?
"If you mean the guys calling it a scam, they've never sat in my car. That's the whole story."
—I know you're not a fraud. I've known since the dorm days. But Ryan — there is nowhere on this planet right now that's in a position to write you a check.
It was a lie. The VCs hadn't zipped their wallets shut. The moment they saw a promising sprout, they still dropped in millions, tens of millions.
The Mark on the other end of the line was no different.
In the end, they didn't believe in Volta. They didn't believe in a man called Ryan Holt, either. *Not a scammer* was all they were willing to say out loud.
"So it's a no."
—...I'm sorry.
There was no rage in Holt's voice, no disappointment either. Nothing left but the confirmation of a fact.
"Fine."
—The car's going to be beautiful. That part's certain.
"Yeah. Thanks, Mark."
The call ended.
Holt set the phone down on the desk. A spreadsheet glowed on the monitor — cash balance, parts invoices, the payroll schedule.
At this rate, every line sprang a hole.
He turned his head and looked out. Engineers were hard at work, heads down. Christmas was five days away, and not one of them had mentioned taking a holiday.
"..."
After staring at them for a long while, Holt stood and walked down to the first floor.
Inside the assembly space, two sheet-covered Lightnings stood beneath the lights.
He pulled back a corner of one sheet. The low body, the sleek roofline, the Volta emblem set into the smooth curve between them.
The electric car the legacy automakers couldn't build was sitting right in front of him — and he had no money to ship it.
"Ryan."
A voice came from behind him. Jason, the COO.
"We've got a meeting request from Korea."
"Korea?"
"A firm called Reborn Capital. They sent materials ahead."
Holt frowned. Korea was foreign enough on its own — Reborn Capital? Never heard of them.
"Another tire-kicker?"
More likely than not, someone with zero intention of buying — just there to kick the tires a couple of times and walk away.
He figured this one would be the same: an investor who'd pretend to do his diligence and never put in a dime. Since opening the round, there'd been three or four of those meetings already.
Jason shrugged.
"Not like we're in a position to be picky."
"No. No, we're not."
Holt spat the words out bitterly and looked back at the Lightning.
"Book it. As soon as possible."
"Did you wait long?"
San Francisco International Airport.
Danny Kim was already outside, pulling up in a car he'd driven himself as I came through arrivals.
"Nah, I just got here. Hop in."
"Thank you. You came all the way from New York — you must be exhausted."
"Please. Came to warm weather, so I'm feeling brand new."
Danny said it with a grin and pulled out onto the road.
December in California rolled past the window — a different December than Seoul's, dry and bright under a clear sky.
"It's already the Christmas holiday? There's nobody around."
Before long, as the car drew near our destination in Palo Alto, the scenery began to change. Along both sides of the road, two- and three-story office buildings with their signs still up were starting to show empty parking lots. In the span of a single block, I counted three leasing signs.
"It's not the holidays. They're dead."
Danny shook his head.
"See that one over there? Half its signage is torn off already. Fintech startup was there until three months ago. They'd raised a Series B, and then their banking partners evaporated and took the whole company down with them."
Another one slid past the window. A ground-floor office with the blinds drawn, a few cardboard boxes stacked by the door.
"That one?"
"Data analytics shop. All their clients were in finance. Closed up a month after Lehman went under."
Danny turned the wheel and went on.
"But don't get the wrong idea — it's not like money's stopped moving entirely."
"I'd imagine so. VCs have to invest to survive. Even in a time like this, they wouldn't shut their wallets completely."
"Right. The wallets are open. What's changed is the bar."
Danny looked ahead as he spoke.
"Up until last year, if the tech was good, the money showed up. Show them one working prototype and millions moved. Not anymore. Now you have to prove commercial viability on top of the technology. You've got to show them the numbers — that the product sells, that the business makes money."
"That's why Volta Motors can't get funded."
"Yep. They built the car, but they can't prove it'll sell."
A short silence settled over the car.
As we turned onto the edge of the industrial park, the buildings thinned out. Danny slowed down and pointed to one side.
"There it is."
A two-story building sat beyond a parking lot.
Volta Motors.
The moment we stepped out of the car, a man came through the ground-floor entrance. Tall and thin, several days of stubble on his face, dark circles under his eyes — but his gaze was sharp and vivid. It wasn't a face starved of sleep so much as a face being hunted by something.
"Reborn Capital?"
Ryan Holt. His face was far younger than the one I'd seen in the future, and I couldn't help but smile.
Danny stepped forward and extended a hand.
"Danny Kim. We spoke on the phone."
"Ryan Holt. Come on in."
As we shook hands, Holt's eyes swept over me. He was clearly thinking I looked young. To his credit, he didn't show it.
"This way."
At Danny's word, I nodded and followed Ryan Holt inside.
The interior was a wreckage. Empty desks everywhere; you could count the engineers still working on one hand.
Holt led us up to a conference room on the second floor. Through the window, the first-floor assembly space spread out below.
"There's something I want to say first."
Holt opened his mouth the moment he sat down.
"There are people who call us a scam. Say we're raising money on electric cars and planning to run. I've got nothing to say to those people — but if that's who you are, you can walk out right now."
Instead of answering, I pointed out the window.
"That car out there — that's the Lightning?"
"...Yes."
"Does it actually drive?"
"Of course. Drove a prototype to the In-N-Out just this afternoon and bought myself a hamburger with it."
"And the speed? I'd like to hear the specs."
"Zero to sixty in 3.9 seconds. Top speed, 125 miles an hour."
The units sat oddly in my head, but it worked out to roughly 201 km/h at the top end.
Even knowing the future, it landed. I was impressed.
"In an electric car?"
"In an electric car."
The hostility drained out of Holt's face. As always, across every country and every language, the universal move when talking to an engineer is to start with the thing they built.
"Shall I show you?"
I nodded, and Holt led us down to the first floor.
When the sheet came off, everything the photographs couldn't convey came into view. The finish wasn't a prototype's. It was a production car, steps away from the line.
"First customer deliveries begin in February. We already have reservations on the books."
"How many?"
"...About a hundred."
No small number.
"Is there a deposit? I'd like to buy one myself."
"Price is $120,000. Full payment up front."
Astonishing. A hundred people had handed over $120,000 in advance for an electric car that hadn't even launched. In our money, that was well over 150 million won — per buyer.
"Impressive. Now then, I'd like to ask a few questions. How is the current round coming along?"
"We're targeting $30 million, and $18 million has come in."
I laughed to myself. The smoothness of the lie told me this man had a talent for business to match his talent for engineering.
In my previous life, when I'd heard the stories about Ryan Holt, this current round was described as the moment everything came apart. And the rumors were already circulating on Wall Street, too — but he figured someone who'd flown in from Korea wouldn't know any of it.
"Excellent. Then I'd expect the VCs to be lining up to invest."
"It's just the Christmas holiday. We have several meetings scheduled once it's over."
Holt said it while looking me dead in the eye.
I nodded and let my gaze travel over the Lightning's body one more time.
The Lightning would succeed. It had to — Volta survived, the EV market opened, and only then did the battery materials business start turning.
"That's a shame."
"I'm sorry — what is? As you can see with the Lightning, we—"
"Oh, it's not the car I'm mourning."
I turned my head and looked straight at Ryan Holt.
"I just didn't expect the round to be this full already. I'm not thrilled about our stake shrinking, that's all."
Holt's brow creased. Did he think I was bluffing?
"Ha. And you are...?"
"Seon-woo."
"Right, Seon-woo. So how much were you planning to put in, to be so heartbroken about dilution?"
"Fifty million dollars."
Holt's expression froze.
"...I'm sorry, what?"
"Reborn Capital came here prepared to put fifty million dollars into your company."
Fifty million dollars — into a company dying because it couldn't raise thirty.
It was more than the entire round.
Holt stood frozen, unable to say a word. His face couldn't decide between fraud, a joke, and something real.