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We were waiting for investors to come through, and until they did, the company was surviving off a line of credit. And getting perilously close to maxing that out. If we didn’t get an infusion of cash soon, I had no idea what I’d do.
“Let me make this very clear,” he said. “If you do not come up with the money I’m asking for, I will make sure all your current and future investors know you committed the felony of defrauding the INS. That will speak volumes about your character, and no one will touch your company with a ten-foot pole. And, I will not make it easy to divorce me.”
He paused for effect.
“So, darling, what will it be?”
The migraine was no longer circling. It had landed with a crash, feasting on my poor little brain. Eyes closed, I rummaged through my desk for a pill, the only thing that would save my day. But it’s hard to find things with closed eyes.
I said slowly and steadily, “I do not have ten thousand dollars. And if you ruin my company or me, there is even less chance that I ever will. You know that. You’d be sabotaging yourself.”
It seemed he was thinking, due to the momentary silence.
“I want that money. I’ll give you a month. I don’t care how you get it. Take a cash advance on one of your credit cards, for god’s sake,” he said.
A movement caught my eye, and I turned toward the opening of my office-that-was-really-a-cubicle.
Joi—my best friend, founding partner, and chief financial officer—stood in the doorway.
Like the rest of us, she wasn’t getting paid much either, so she spent most of her days chasing after investors so that she someday would. I held up a wait a minute finger and turned back to my call.
“Simon, I have a meeting to run to. We’ll continue this conversation later.”
“I wouldn’t wait too long—”
I hung up on the asshole.
No, I could never have hated someone more.
