One Billion Dollars

“So you're the guy who can write our investor pitch?"

"Sure."

"Great. Meet us tomorrow. We need a KILLER pitch."

"I'll do my best."

Sacha is grumpy. At first I couldn't find his office, tucked deep in a maze-like industrial estate. Immaculately clad in a plaid brown suit, his gold signet ring and Gucci shoes seem out of place against in a sea of Israeli jeans and flip flops.

"Eh? You're the killer writer?" He holds my gaze far longer than normal, as if searching for some innate talent in my face. I smile back, following Sacha into the sprawling office complex. Clunky elevator doors open onto a bevy of panicked workers.

"You want tea?" he asks, then barks at the receptionist:

"Hadas - tea! With milk - he's British!”

The conference room is mid-sized, comfortable. No paintings, simple cork drink-holders on the table. I meet Vladi, the CTO, decked out in a demure chequered shirt. He offers a limp handshake. We sit.

Sacha launches straight in:

“The investors need to know we're a billion dollar company. One billion!”

I’m reminded of Mini Me, a comic baddie who holds the world to ransom for “One Million Dollars”. Aides inform him that, actually, a million dollars isn’t much, so he revises his demand to a billion.

Sacha stares me up and down. I must look unimpressed. “Are you taking notes?” he mutters. Before I can answer, he leaps up, disappears from the room and returns with a pad of paper and a pen. “Here, take notes.”

“Sacha. Thank you. Truth is, we don’t need notes. Not yet. Actually, what you’ve said so far may not work.”

Stony silence. Vladi, lifeless, says nothing, peering out from under half-moon glasses.

“What do you mean? Isn’t that exactly what investors need to hear? We’re going to be the next big thing, a billion dollar company, bigger than Intel.

Write that down - bigger than Intel!”

We have a tough customer. I leave the pen untouched.

“Sacha, you sent me company projections. Based on your own numbers, in five years’ time you may reach revenues of $27m. That’s great, but it’s a long way off $1 billion. If we contradict ourselves, what are investors supposed to think?”

I continue: “Guys, with all due respect, you’re a start up. You seem to have great technology here, but so far, not a single paying customer. Any other numbers are purely conjectural.”

Sacha has the face of an injured cocker spaniel. His big brown eyes pucker. I’ve upset him. Better change tack.

“Of course we know one day, you'll be a billion dollar company. That'll be wonderful. For now, though, you’re a team of brilliant technologists - with a vision.

Why don’t we flatter the investor’s ego? Let him make the tricky calculations – all by himself. When he figures your true potential, he’ll feel clever, and he'll like you even more.”

Sacha stares intensely at the table. Vladi’s head shakes slightly, he almost opens his mouth, then sinks back in his chair.

“So, Nathan, what should we write in the investor pitch? What do we do?”

Good. We’re making progress.

“We’re going to lead with your strengths. And tell the truth. You’re a young company, you don’t have a lot of cash - and that’s fine.

You’ve got a great product. A talented team. A vision. Let’s celebrate that, be proud.

Of course we’ll share projections - an 8-figure company in 5 years - that’s an impressive target. Given where you are now, it's also credible."

Sacha has softened. The corners of his mouth turn up, ever so slightly.

Unexpectedly, a murmur emerges from the far side of the room. Very, very softly, Vladi is starting to speak...

“We’re running pilots at two of the largest banks in Israel. We’ve just received the first meaningful data set, information from thousands of banking customers…”

Now it’s my turn to smile.

I nod my head, encouraging this new voice of reasonableness. As realistic information flows, and Vladi finds his groove, I pick up the pen and start to take notes.