The Start-Up by Sadie Hayes

cracked open the door of his father’s home office enough to stick his head in. “Hey Dad, do you have a—” T. J.
    stopped short when he saw his father was on the phone.
    Ted motioned his son to come in and have a seat, signaling with his hand that the call would only take a minute.
    “Totally agree, John … The tax lawyers have been great … Mitch is sharp as hell … They’ve actually expedited the sale, should be closed in three weeks. Apparently it usually takes two months for the UK government to approve corporate transactions like this; I guess they’re a bit desperate for the tax revenue. Poor old England. Must be difficult to be dependent upon your former colonies … Yes, I’ll be in London the week after next to make sure everything’s running smoothly and do a few press appearances … I know I’m missing graduation, but T. J.’s being a real sport about it.” Ted winked at his son. “Yes, yes, give my love to Jenny and the kids. Talk soon.”
    “Whew!” Ted turned to T. J. as he set the phone back in its cradle. There were deep bags under Ted’s eyes, but they still sparkled with excitement and adrenaline. He radiated an energy that said, “I am Master of the Universe.”
    “What can I do for you, son?”
    T. J. sat up in his chair, his hands folded carefully in his lap. “Well, Dad, I was hoping you could help me get a job with Tom Fenway’s incubator.”
    “Didn’t you meet with him last week? How did that go?”
    “It was fine. I mean, I presented my credentials well, but I don’t think he understands how useful I could be, in terms of adding business insight to the engineering geeks he brings in.”
    “Tom’s a smart guy, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.” T. J. ignored the sting of this rebuff. “Well, it would help me a lot if you’d call him.”
    Ted cocked his head and studied his son. T. J. stared back unflinchingly.
    Finally he said, “T. J., I’m not going to get you this job. I got you the meeting, which is more than most kids your age get, but that’s where it stops. You have to get things yourself. Not just because it’s fair and meritocratic, but also because it will be more satisfying to you in the end than if I get it for you. You’re twenty-two, T. J. It’s time for you to start taking responsibility for your own success.”
    T. J. had been expecting this. “I see it a little differently. I think I’m twenty-two now, and it’s time for us to be more of a team. You do something for me, I do something for you.”
    Ted’s face folded into a mocking half-grin, and his right eyebrow raised.
    “Okay, T. J.,” he said with amused patience. “What, exactly, are you going to do for me?”
    T. J. smiled and said calmly, “I have some information that I think you’ll find valuable. About Gibly.”
    Still amused, as though he were playing Go Fish with a four year old, Ted humored his son. “And what information is that, T. J.?”
    “Did you know that someone hacked into Gibly last week?”
    “Not possible. The security is the best on the planet.” Ted didn’t flinch or show an ounce of concern.
    Neither did T. J. “They hacked into the user database. The one where Gibly stores the web activity and physical movements of each unique user.”
    “What are you talking about? Gibly doesn’t do that.”
    “Want to bet?”
    Ted’s amusement sank into annoyance. His son clearly didn’t have a clue what he was talking about and his presumptuousness was irritating.
    Ted rolled his eyes, punched a number on speed dial and put the phone on speaker.
    “Hello?” a man’s voice, thick with an Indian accent, answered.
    Still looking at his son, Ted said into the phone, “Amit, this is Ted.
    How are you doing today?”
    Amit, the lead programmer for Gibly, sounded distracted. “Mr. Bristol!
    I’m—I’m fine, sir,” he muttered. “What can I do for you, sir?”
    “Just have a quick question for you, Amit,” Ted said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.