For a while, Syd thought Ann was never going to bed. She had been glued to the new computer since the second Tim had finished setting it up. Ann tackled the world of America Online with the same obsessive enthusiasm she brought to all her projects. She might have come late to the Internet, but she certainly was making up for lost time. With the cordless phone cradled on her shoulder, she called everyone she could think of and had amassed an address book full of E-mail addresses by nightfall. She called Perry and made him go on-line so she could exchange her first instant messages. Like a kid, she was full of wide-eyed wonder and excitement.
“I think I’ll buy some tulip bulbs,” she said at one point, placing her credit card on the keyboard for easy access. “You like tulip bulbs, don’t you?”
“Aren’t your eyes tired?” asked Syd, who desperately wanted her to turn off the machine and go to bed.
“Tired?” she answered. “They’re burning. They feel like charcoal briquettes. But this is so much fun.”
Syd was nervous. Tim had called earlier and said he needed to talk—it was urgent and they needed to talk alone. Tim had never done anything remotely like this before—he was the least melodramatic member of the Newman family. They agreed he’d come by late, after Ann had gone to sleep. But at her current rate, that might be 4:00 A.M. and a dozen books from Amazon.com later.
“Oh, my, did you know you can play hearts with actual people?” said an amazed Ann. “I could do this every day!”
Finally, after a solid hour of playing hearts, Ann signed off.
“I’m exhausted,” she complained. “I can’t imagine why I’m so tired.”
“Hearts can do that to you,” said Syd. “You should go to bed.”
“Are you coming?” she asked.
“I’ll watch a little TV first,” he said. “Maybe one of my Carson tapes.”
With Ann safely asleep, Syd went downstairs to the den and called Tim. A quick twenty minutes later, Syd heard the BMW pull into the driveway.
Tim was sweaty and disheveled. He seemed slightly winded.
“I don’t know how much you know or how much Mom knows, so I thought we better talk privately. I know that you’re being pressured to sell the dealership. But here’s what you might not know. Synergistic Enterprises, the company that owns Hollywood Today, is the same company that wants to buy you out, and, believe it or not, they want me to talk you into going along. It was bizarre. It was like I was being bribed to go against my own father.”
“You might not have to talk me into it,” said Syd. “I might not have a choice.”
“I just want you to know that I don’t care what you do. Something is very fishy here. Simon James is one of the best people I’ve ever met—he’s smart; he’s worked with every good writer in the country. But something’s gone terribly wrong. Either he’s not the guy I thought he was or he’s gone crazy. He said things that creeped me out today. I feel as if I’ve been lied to and used. I have a weird feeling, and I wanted to warn you.”
“It’s an unsavory deal, and it’s been handled in an underhanded way,” said Syd. “Otherwise, I’d probably be in favor of it. I never intended to sell cars forever.”
“You know those stock options I have in Hollywood Today? Simon James claims they’re worthless.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Syd, not bothering to add that that was his suspicion about Synergistic’s stock, as well.
“I kept asking myself, How could that be?” said Tim, pacing around the den. “We have ads on every page—dozens and dozens of ads. We have really high traffic, so we’re delivering eyeballs to those ads.”
“Well, it’s a start-up,” pointed out Syd. “You know how that goes.”
“But it made me curious. So I went back to the office tonight and started nosing around when no one was there. I photocopied these for you.”
He opened his canvas book bag and produced a sheaf of papers, handing them to Syd.
“They’re E-mails, memos, insertion orders, and monthly activity reports.”
“So?”
“Hardly any of the ads on the site are paid for. Some are for other divisions of Synergistic, and Hollywood Today claims the revenue, but it’s money that goes from one pocket of Synergistic
to the other. Other ads are trade-outs. We run an ad for a Web site, and, in exchange, they run an ad for us. All those Lincoln ads, for instance. Lincoln doesn’t pay, but they give Simon a free car lease. Other ads are almost given away, so the site will look healthy. There’s no real money coming in, at least not enough to count.”
“How did you find all this out?”
“Simon told me about the Lincoln ads, and it made me curious. We’ve never had a sales staff the way a magazine does. Everything seemed to be part of the marketing department, and that always confused me. So I went into the office late tonight and snooped around.”
“I don’t want you getting in trouble on my account,” warned Syd.
“Trouble? I have stock options. I’m like a part owner myself. If I don’t have a right to this stuff legally, I certainly do morally.”
“I’ll read these, but I don’t know what I can do with them.”
“Dad, Hollywood Today doesn’t make any money and no one ever thought it would. There are memos that say exactly that. It was created to boost Synergistic stock so that Synergistic would look bigger and could buy up other companies without raising money. It’s like a con game. Maybe all their sites are run the same way. They’ve created the illusion of a company, and shareholders are buying into that. Show these to your partners. Tell them what they’re getting into.”
Tim was so earnest and anxious, Syd wanted to pour him a drink. But Tim was right. If these papers changed only two minds, Syd could keep Newman’s Super Honda from being sold.
“If I show these to my partners, word might get out,” said Syd. “You might get into trouble.”
Tim laughed. “I saw a side of Simon James I didn’t much
like today. And for a while, I saw a side of me I didn’t much like. Besides, do you know anybody who has more experience being unemployed? I’m very good at it.”
It was only then that the full weight of what Tim had done hit Syd. He had sacrificed his job, his stock options, his newfound success. And why?
“This is really amazing,” said Syd. “You’d be an excellent spy.”
“Actually, I was just being a good reporter. That’s what I really want to be. I got a little sidetracked, that’s all.”
“You should spend the night here. I’ll get you a blanket. We can tell your mother everything in the morning.”
“Okay,” said Tim, emotionally spent. He spread out on the couch.
For the first time in how long—ten years, fifteen?—Syd found himself tucking one of his sons in for the night.
“If you lose your job, you must let me help you,” said Syd softly. “You did this for me, and I won’t forget it.”
“We’ll see,” said Tim, yawning. “Just think, Dad, I’ll be an unemployed writer with a BMW. That’s a whole new level of failure for me. I think I should be proud.”