Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

‘Even though that was what we set up Ninetyminutes to do?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘There’s no other way.’

‘And there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?’

‘No.’

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Yes.’

Guy was silent. For a moment he looked uncertain, almost sad. Then he seemed to come to a decision.

‘You’re fired,’ he said quietly.

‘I’m what?’

‘You’re fired,’ he said more clearly.

‘What!’ I looked around. No one else had heard. The bustle of Ninetyminutes continued as if nothing had happened. I couldn’t believe it. ‘You can’t do that.’

‘Of course I can. I’m CEO. I set the strategy. You’ve just told me that you insist on doing something that will permanently cripple that strategy. You won’t be talked out of it. You’re fired.’

‘Silverman won’t let you.’

‘He will. We discussed it last night.’

‘And he went along with it? Clare went along with it?’

He nodded. I had been stuffed. Outmanoeuvred. I couldn’t believe how persuasive Guy could be. ‘We should talk about this.’

‘We have.’ For a moment his eyes softened. ‘Do you want to reconsider your recommendation?’

Did I? If I did, he might keep me on. If I did, then our friendship might remain intact.

But I had gone too far. Guy was wrong. I had told him many times and I believed it with all my soul. I couldn’t go back on that.

I shook my head.

‘We’ll pay you your month’s notice,’ said Guy. ‘And I’ll get Mel to arrange an emergency resolution of the board to remove you as a director. But I suggest you leave today. There’s not much point in hanging around.’

He was right, there wasn’t. I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to say goodbye to anyone. I opened my case and stuffed my few personal possessions inside it. Then I closed it up and headed for the doors.

I passed Ingrid’s desk.

‘David!’ she called. I slowed. She leapt up and fell in step beside me. ‘David. What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve been fired.’

‘You’ve been what ?’

‘He’s just fired me.’

‘He can’t do that.’

‘He just has.’ I looked at her. I had lost Ninetyminutes to Guy. At that moment I wanted to know if I had lost Ingrid as well. ‘Are you coming?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, are you coming? With me?’

‘I’ll talk to Guy,’ Ingrid said. ‘I’ll get him to change his mind. I’m sure you two can sort something out...’

I turned on my heels and walked out the door.

I went home. Home in the afternoon on a weekday was a strange place to be. I felt angry. Deeply angry.

I resisted the temptation to get plastered, and went outside again instead. I headed for Kensington Gardens and walked. Walked and thought.

I remembered the moment when I had read Guy’s plan for Ninetyminutes and decided to drop everything and go for it. The delicious feeling of resigning from Gurney Kroheim. Guy’s enthusiasm as he talked Gaz round into joining us. The first day in our new office in Britton Street. The excitement of launching the site. The thrill of seeing it succeed. The sense of achievement in creating so much from nothing.

It was a warm afternoon, the warmest of the year so far. I found a shaded bench and sat on it. A large family of Italian tourists walked past, arguing. They frightened away a squirrel that an old lady on the bench next to mine had been trying to tempt with a piece of bread. She frowned in momentary annoyance, and then held out the bread again, making clucking noises. She had all day.

Where had it all gone wrong? Of course part of it, probably a large part, had nothing to do with Guy or me. It was beyond our control. We were unlucky the market had crashed just before we raised the forty million instead of just after. We were unlucky that the internet bust had been quite so vicious. But Guy and I working as a team could have dealt with that. And even if we had failed, it wouldn’t have seemed quite as bad if we had failed together.

I was reminded of that flight up to Skye. I had trusted Guy in the storm, almost trusted him for too long as he had flown up that glen. I had wrested the controls from him with seconds to spare. This time, he had hung on to them.

Ninetyminutes had meant so much to me. It had been my chance to prove to myself that I was more than a risk-averse accountant. But in the end, was I? I had failed as an entrepreneur. At the last minute the accountant in me had tried to rescue things, but that had been too late. I was out of my depth. I should face facts. There was nothing special about me after all.

I was sure Ninetyminutes was going bust. I would lose my investment. That I could handle. I would have to try to find another job, probably in a big bank. That would be true defeat. And, of course, I would have to tell my father that I had failed him. That he had been foolish to back me with everything he had. That he now had nothing.

I left the bench and the old lady, who by now had become good friends with the squirrel, and wandered for another hour or so. When I got back to the flat I turned on the TV and watched rubbish. I cracked open a beer, but just one.

Then the bell rang.

It was Ingrid.

She stood in my doorway. ‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hi.’

‘I’m leaving Ninetyminutes.’

Something melted inside me. I smiled.

She opened her arms and we held each other tight.

‘Why?’ I said.

She plopped down on to my sofa. ‘Can I have a glass of wine or something?’

I opened a bottle of white and poured us both a glass.

She took hers eagerly and drank from it. ‘Mmm, that’s good.’ She answered my question. ‘It was when you asked me to come with you and I didn’t give you an answer. I waffled on about reaching some kind of compromise with Guy. Well, once you’d gone, I knew I was wrong. I knew I was hiding from the truth.

‘You know how determined I’ve been to make Ninetyminutes succeed. I’m proud of what I’ve achieved there. I suppose I thought Ninetyminutes was like a test. I was under pressure and the important thing was to try harder and not give up. And to support Guy. And then I saw you walk away from him because you believed he was wrong, and suddenly I saw things differently. I know Ninetyminutes is in deep trouble. I know Guy isn’t going to get us out of it. And, well...’

‘What?’

She looked embarrassed. ‘I thought for once I’d rather go with you than go with Guy.’ She smiled shyly at me. She ran her hands through her chestnut hair. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m doing the wrong thing.’ Then she smiled again. ‘But it feels right.’

‘I think it is right,’ I said.

‘I’ll tell him tomorrow.’

‘You haven’t told him yet?’

‘No. He left early. I only really decided on my way home. So I came here instead.’

‘I’m glad you did.’

We sat in silence, drinking our wine.

‘Some more?’ I asked her.

‘Sure.’ She held out her glass and I refilled it. ‘You know, I’m not sure Ninetyminutes ever could have worked.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, Guy got pretty close to achieving his aim, didn’t he? A few more months of growth and Ninetyminutes will be the number-one soccer site in Europe. Most people know the brand name now. Lots of people want to buy the clothing and the merchandise.’

‘That’s true.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘The problem is we haven’t got any cash and we aren’t likely to make any any time soon.’

‘Precisely,’ Ingrid said. ‘And that matters. Now. It didn’t seem to matter a year ago. A year ago the Internet was a gold rush, a land grab. Once you’d got the eyeballs gawping at your site, the money would roll in. Advertising, e-commerce, no one knew exactly how it would happen, they just knew it would happen. If Ninetyminutes had reached the stage we’re at now a year ago, we’d all be worth tens of millions.’