First Journey to LA (1)
In 1979, California was still a place steeped more deeply in the sweet, heavy fragrance of orange groves than in the sleek name Silicon Valley. Anyone expecting futuristic glass buildings would have been sorely disappointed. To Henry’s eyes, this was nothing more than a dusty backwater town.
Silicon Valley in this era was still an infant just beginning to stir. Even Stanford had yet to achieve its future global stature, remaining a respected university known mostly in the western United States. When people spoke of engineers, it was MIT in the East that earned the praise, not the western valleys. The great technology corporations still made their nests in eastern cities like New York and Connecticut.
Henry sat in the passenger seat of the convertible the trust agent had prepared, adjusting his sunglasses and leaning back. A record-breaking 34 degrees Celsius beat down on them. He had chosen this car over a proper luxury sedan with ice-cold air conditioning purely for the vibe.
I’m on my way to buy the sentimental Orange, so I figured the mood should match. But open car my ass—this is fucking unbearable. I want to jump into one of the escort vehicles right now.
Under the blazing sun, Henry’s open-top car and the black Ford Econoline vans trailing it rolled away from the airport for a long while. After he had readjusted his wind-battered sunglasses dozens of times, the low buildings of Cupertino finally shimmered into view like a heat haze in the distance.
The Orange company—destined one day to be worth trillions—and its future data empire were still breathing quietly inside dusty warehouses and cramped offices. Their first destination was 1 Bandley Drive, the current headquarters of Orange.
Henry stepped out of the convertible, hastily straightened his wind-messed clothes, and studied the building that would become a historic landmark.
Honestly, the place looks pretty shabby. Still, knowing that the ancestor of Orange’s legendary Mac will be born here makes it feel almost charming.
The moment he entered the lobby, it wasn’t refined cologne that stung his nose but the acrid bite of soldering irons and the stale ghost of cold pizza. In one corner, a BMW motorcycle sat on display in bizarre contrast to its surroundings. Beyond it stood a barefoot young man with a shaggy beard.
Twenty-four-year-old Stephen Watts.
He regarded Henry’s group with the wary, long-eyed stare of a stray cat. Clearly displeased by the sight of a suited young master flanked by six bodyguards and a personal secretary, Watts spoke first, his tone sharp.
“I heard you want to invest, but how much do you actually know about our technology? Or can you even imagine how this machine will change the world?”
At Watts’ arrogant, rude manner, Henry burst out laughing. The prickly personality he remembered from his past life clearly hadn’t changed. Amused, Henry replied, “Oh, I know that part very well. But I have no intention of telling you for free. Haha. That said, I tried the Orange II you built. It’s pretty well made. Of course, it still has a long way to go. If you want my insights, how about signing the contract first?”
“Hah, no thanks! You’d just offer useless backseat advice. More importantly, the voting-rights waiver and Time ad support we agreed on beforehand—are those confirmed? Just answer that.”
“Pfft. Yeah. If you’re not curious, fine. David came with me; he’ll explain the detailed terms. We aim to be true angel investors. We don’t need voting rights and have no interest in interfering. Just grant us priority investment rights in the event of future dilution.”
Henry signaled David from the think tank’s future team to handle Watts, then turned to the quiet, hairy man who had been listening—Steve Wozniak.
“What about you? Are you curious?”
“The VCs have been hounding us nonstop lately. That’s why Watts is a little on edge. But yes, I am curious. Ah, I’m Steve Wozniak. Nice to meet you.”
Henry shook Wozniak’s rough, oil-stained hand and smiled lightly. “Henry Debenzer. After handling the Orange II, I became certain. While Watts focused on the machine’s appearance and marketing, it was you who breathed a soul into this cold chunk of metal.”
Yeah. I watched those Orange videos on NewTube so many times they’re still burned into my memory. The pre-trip documents confirmed it—you really did everything except the marketing.
Wozniak’s eyes widened. Henry tapped the proudly displayed PC case in the lobby and continued.
“The report said Watts wanted to limit the expansion slots to two. You fought him all the way to eight. That was a stroke of genius. Thanks to you, this machine isn’t just a calculator—it became an infinite canvas users could draw anything on.”
“You… noticed that.”
“Is that all? Instead of plastering expensive chips everywhere, you tore down the wall between software and hardware and slashed the part count dramatically. Maximum efficiency from minimal components—that elegant design is art beyond engineering. You’re not merely an engineer. You’re the Michelangelo of the digital age.”
Wozniak’s face flushed. He laughed awkwardly, but his eyes sparkled with pure delight. For a man who had spent his life wrestling with machines, an investor who instantly understood his design philosophy was more electrifying than any fat check.
When Henry was about to offer one more piece of advice, David and Watts approached after finishing their discussion.
“With conditions like these… humph. Let’s go sign the contract. Woz, what do you think? You in?”
“Watts, I believe Mr. Debenzer is the investor who fits us best! I’m fully in favor. And let’s all go together. I’m extremely curious about the insights this gentleman mentioned.”
Wozniak’s uncharacteristically firm tone made Watts blink in surprise, but he soon turned away as though it were nothing. He strode ahead toward the conference room he had prepared for guests.
David looked bewildered at the arrogant back. Wozniak gave a wry smile and explained while guiding the party.
“Looks like he’s gone ahead to prepare the contract. This way, please. I’ll show you.”
Only then could Henry, David, and the bodyguards escape the acrid-smelling lobby.
Inside the conference room, Watts was already seated. Before Henry could even sit, he shoved the contract forward and spoke as if granting a great favor.
This isn’t even the peak of his arrogance, and it’s still the very beginning. No wonder he gets pushed out later…
“Five million dollars for five percent. That’s my final offer.”
“Fine. David, review it and flag anything unusual.”
David snatched the papers without sitting and scanned them rapidly. With veteran skill he dissected every clause, then nodded.
“Standard contract. Exactly as Mr. Watts stated—five million for five percent, a minimum of one advertisement per year in Time magazine for three years, and the voting-rights waiver. No other toxic provisions.”
“All points we already agreed on. Let me see it.”
Without hesitation Henry signed the contract with a bold flourish. He then produced a check from the Chase Manhattan trust account he had prepared, filled in the exact amount and signature, and handed it to Watts.
After the business was done, Henry approached the faintly smiling Wozniak, covered his mouth with one hand so the others wouldn’t hear, and offered a quiet word of advice.
Normally a deal of this size would have been followed by a noisy press conference and lavish after-party, but thanks to Watts’ eccentric temperament, this Orange investment didn’t even include a welcoming cup of coffee. Henry actually preferred the clean simplicity. He collected the signed contract and left the building without a backward glance.
Back inside the office, Watts shook the check, unable to hide his excitement.
“Time! It’s Time magazine! That snobby publication that won’t run your ad even if you shove money down their throats! Henry? I don’t like the guy’s personality, but that one condition is pure art!”
“Hmm… yeah, if it’s Time…”
“It’s not just getting published. Three full-page ads over three years—back cover or inside front cover! This is prime real estate that giants like Ford and IBM have been fighting over for a year. The moment our ad runs, Orange’s entire stature changes! Woz, this contract is an insane win. By the way…!”
When Watts noticed Wozniak still staring into space with a dazed expression, he finally snapped.
“Woz! What the hell did you hear that’s got you spacing out like that?”
“Well… I’m not sure. That Henry guy suddenly told me to think about fonts.”
“Fonts? Letter shapes? Ha! Is he insane? We’re scraping chips because we’re desperate for every single byte, and he wants us to waste resources on that kind of luxury?”
Watts snorted and gathered the documents. But Wozniak’s thoughts were different. Henry’s eyes had not belonged to a madman. They had been calm and brimming with certainty, as if he had already seen decades into the future.
“Your machine is perfect. But people don’t buy computers just to stare at columns of numbers. In the end, they buy them to look at letters. If there’s even a little space left on the board, instead of rigid calculator logic, consider adding a library that can render elegant fonts. The world will go crazy for a machine that can print the most beautiful invitation on earth far more than for a precise calculator.”
The most beautiful invitation…
Wozniak stared at his precise circuit diagrams and suddenly saw graceful, curving letters he had never imagined landing on them like butterflies. And in fact, that was exactly the feature he would one day create.