Michael Ridpath - Final Venture

I squeezed her, and she pressed herself close into me. Then she began to cry. And she didn't stop.

I arrived at work a little late the next morning. Daniel hadn't shown up yet. I greeted John, who was looking over the Wall Street Journal whilst attacking a blueberry muffin.

'Forty-four and a half,' he said, without looking up.

'It's creeping back,' I said.

'Creeping is the right word for it.'

I checked the Chelsea web-page for details of the match they had played the night before. The Internet was a godsend for English football supporters trapped in America. The boys had won again, two-nil.

John interrupted me. 'Hey, Simon! Did you hear about Boston Peptides?' The whiff of gossip quickened his voice.

'No. What's happened?'

'BioOne's going to take it over. Art and Daniel were working on it all of yesterday'

I put my head in my hands. 'Oh, Christ.'

John was surprised by my reaction. 'It'll be good for Lisa, won't it? She has stock options, right? And BioOne will give Peptides the backing to expand its R &D'

'I don't think Lisa likes BioOne very much, John.' Where venture capitalists saw a high stock price, Lisa saw a big bad biotech company. And now she would be working for it.

Daniel strode into the office, bags under his eyes, and briefcase pulling down one arm.

'I heard about Boston Peptides,' I said. 'John told me.'

'It's a good deal,' said Daniel, arranging the papers on his desk.

'For BioOne.'

'And for Boston Peptides. It has a promising drug for Parkinson's, and BioOne has the muscle to see it through.'

I sighed. I could see the commercial logic.

'They're making a presentation this afternoon,' said John. 'You coming?'

'You bet.'

'It's at their offices in Kendall Square at two.'

'Their offices?'

Daniel grinned. 'Yeah. Enever said he didn't have time to come over here.'

It was unheard of for companies to make presentations to the partnership anywhere else but our offices. They came on time fully prepared. We showed up late, or cancelled the meeting. But in the case of BioOne, the balance of power had long ago shifted from investor to investee.

'Are you going?' I asked Daniel.

'Of course. I've been running all the damned numbers.'

'So if there are any mistakes, I know who to ask.'

'You do and you're a dead person,' Daniel said.

Despite his considerable mathematical ability, he had a tendency to transpose numbers, turning a 586 into a 568, for example. John and I delighted in waiting for the moment of maximum embarrassment to point them out.

I would keep my eyes peeled.

'Oh, Simon,' Daniel said. 'Art asked me to tell you to go see him first thing this morning.'

About BioOne?'

'I guess so.'

Art was in his habitual position, leaning back in his leather executive chair, one hand pressing the telephone to his ear, the other clasping a can of Diet Dr Pepper. Art spent even more time on the phone than the other partners at the firm. It was the kind of work he liked. It involved talking, not thinking. You could easily spend a twelve-hour working day on the phone and not actually do or decide anything.

He beckoned for me to sit down. I perched on the small chair on the other side of his desk. I knew he wouldn't hurry on my account, and he didn't. He cut an imposing figure. He was a big broad man in his fifties with grey hair cropped close to his head. He exercised regularly, and most of his size was muscle, rather than fat. He had served in the Marines, as he had reminded me on many occasions, and he still affected a tough-guy attitude. He liked to tell it like it was.

Pride of place on his desk was given to a photograph of a young man in the uniform of one of the Midwestern football colleges. He looked like a younger but beefier version of Art. It was Chuck, Art's son. Art was almost as proud of him as he was of BioOne.

Ten minutes later, he finally put the receiver down. 'I guess you heard. We're buying Boston Peptides.' By 'we' Art meant BioOne. He identified himself so closely with that company that in his eyes he was indistinguishable from it.

'Congratulations,' I said neutrally.

'Now, BioOne is a public company, and we're not quite ready to make an announcement yet. Also, we've been negotiating with Boston Peptides' VC backers, Venture First, directly. The management knows nothing about the deal. Are you with me?'

'But you'll need management support,' I said. 'Without Henry Chan, Boston Peptides is worth nothing.' And it's not worth much without Lisa, I could have added.

'Oh, they'll get a sweet deal. We just want to keep them out of the loop for the moment. So, it's very important that you don't tell any of this to Lisa.'

'I understand the importance of keeping price-sensitive information private,' I said. 'But it's OK to tell my wife, surely?'

'No, it is most emphatically not,' said Art, leaning forward. 'Particularly not in this case. Not only would it be extremely unprofessional, it would be disloyal to the firm. I've spoken to Gil about this case specifically, and he shares my concerns.'

I swallowed. 'OK,' I said. 'I understand.'

Art leaned back in his big chair. 'We're going to try to keep you out of this deal as much as possible, Simon, but in such a small office it's impossible to keep you entirely in the dark. Besides, that's not the way we work here.' He smiled briefly 'But anything you do hear, you keep to yourself, OK?'

'I understand,' I repeated. I noticed he hadn't mentioned the presentation that afternoon. Well, if he wasn't going to, neither would I.

'Good. And can you tell Daniel to come in and see me, please?'

So dismissed, I left Art's office.

BioOne's building was a small, gleaming, high-tech block just behind its big brothers, Genzyme and Biogen, and within shouting distance of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Kendall Square was a prestigious location for a biotech company. Art, Jerry Peterson, and Enever had thought it money well spent. Daniel, who had crunched the numbers, said the rent played havoc with BioOne's expenses. But no one cared. Once BioOne had a treatment for Alzheimer's on the market, the dollars would flow in from all over the world.

John and I had made our way there together, and we were a couple of minutes late. The security was conspicuous: uniformed guards in the entrance lobby, a card-reader on every door, and fearsome signs announcing restricted access to just about everything. We were issued with temporary ID badges and ushered through to a reception area where a small group of people was waiting. There was Gil, Art, Ravi, Daniel and a small prim woman of about forty with short dark hair and very large glasses. Lynette Mauer, the firm's largest investor.

Like many other venture capitalists, Revere Partners didn't invest its own money, but managed a series of funds, each one of which was supposed to last ten years. We had finished investing the first three, and we were planning to raise a fourth fund in the new year. The money for these funds was raised from institutional investors such as insurance companies, pension funds, or family foundations. Revere charged an annual fee for the work and took a twenty per cent cut of any profits. Lynette Mauer was Chief Investment Officer for the Bieber Foundation, a substantial family trust that was the biggest investor in our funds. Gil had no doubt brought her along to see our star investment at first hand.

When Art saw me he frowned. He whispered something to Gil who was sitting next to him. Gil glanced at me, and the two of them had a brief exchange of words, Gil's hand resting on Art's arm. I stood in the middle of the reception area not knowing what to do. Gil noticed my confusion.

'Hello, Simon, John. Take a seat. We're just waiting for Jerry Peterson and Dr Enever. You've met Lynette Mauer. Lynette, John Chalfont, Simon Ayot, two of our excellent associates.'