“It’s 30 minutes away. I’ll be there in 10.”

12:45. The phone rings. “Nathan. It’s your boss.” 

It’s Avi - he’s not my boss, but I wish he were. He’s a successful serial entrepreneur, managing a portfolio of eighteen startups.

“What are you doing for the next 5 hours?”

“Helping you.”

“Right answer. I’m sending David’s number. Call him. Like, now.”

Fifteen minutes later I’m in a cab gulping down a burger and fries, scanning the website of David’s company. He needs a one-pager for an investor at 18:00. It’s almost 13:00.

We pull into East Tel Aviv, turning off the Ayalon freeway in a blur of articulated lorries and screeching motorbikes. The cab judders onto asphalt covered in plastic bottles. 

Someone waves from the fifth floor. I wave back. Pacing up the stairs, I rub ketchup off my fingers with a McDonald’s napkin, to offer David a clean hand. 

“Thanks for coming.”

“Pleasure. Have you seen the movie Pulp Fiction?”

“Sure.” 

“Do you remember Winston Wolf?”

“Mr. Wolf?”

“The Fixer.”

“Of course!”

“Well, I’m Mr. Wolf, the Fixer. I solve problems.”

“Good. We got one. Follow me.”

I slap him on the back, and laughing, we get straight to work.

We’re joined by Reuben, the graphic designer. Low down: the investor needs the pitch tonight; David’s flying to Paris to close the deal on Monday. 

The business is tech-related home-delivery. All their documents are written by Hebrew-speaking engineers. The info is comprehensive, but not comprehensible, and certainly not sexy.

I rattle off my tried-and-tested questions. David replies with long lists of details, facts, figures. He sketches graphs on a whiteboard and mumbles about general market trends. 

We don't have time for this: “David. That's all great. Now tell me: where’s the money?” Silence. In Hebrew they say ‘the token fell’, whereas in English ‘the penny dropped’. 

His eyes light up. The company has been growing 20% per month for the last 6 months. The absolute figures are small, but the rate of growth is rapid. And overheads are tiny. Sounds like they’re already in the black. This is golden.

15:00. I take my laptop to the back room. Orange sundown glints off the vast chrome towers of Ramat Gan. Head down, I redraft and polish. As I put the finishing touches, Maya, the HR manager, invites me to the window. We stand to watch the light turn purple, violet, then for a brief moment, a striking rose red. 

David sidles up. “Beautiful view, huh?” He hands me a black tea. With milk. We sit together, pruning, preening, parsing the one-pager. It’s become quite punchy. Time to phone Avi. He suggests two small changes. We accept, amend. It’s 17:50. 

David smiles. “Thank you, Mr. Wolf.”

Five days later, in Paris, David raises $3m.

On the way out, Reuben claps me on the shoulder.

“I got another client who needs you. It’s urgent. In Netanya. Already told him about you. Can you call right now?”