Casper cut him off. “I have the opportunity to build something new,” he said. “I just want something that feels like mine, you know? I came on here when you guys already had the beta up and running, and it’s been cool to see it grow but it’s not mine. You know?”
They were both silent for a minute. “Yeah. Yeah, I do know. Listen, Casper—” He suddenly felt very, very tired, but he was going to try for a Hail Mary. “Confidentially, we’re about to close a new round of funding, and—well, look, it would just be really important to me and to the company if you were able to stick around and see this thing through. If you want more money, I can give it to you. If you want more of the company, I can give it to you. I can’t picture TakeOff without you.” Nor do I want to, he thought. “Can you please consider reconsidering?”
As soon as Casper didn’t respond right away, Mack knew that his Hail Mary had bombed. “Mack, I can’t even tell you how much I respect you and what you’ve built here, but I have to say no. It’s just—” He hesitated. “I don’t quite know how to put this, but…”
“Put what? Whatever it is, tell me. This is valuable feedback, Casper.” Even as he said it he could feel himself cringing inwardly. The only truly valuable feedback would be Casper deciding to stay.
“Well…it’s just that the tech problems we’re trying to solve here…” He paused. He seemed to be struggling with whatever he was about to say. “They’re not really interesting enough for me,” Casper finished.
What the fuck, Mack thought. And then before he could help himself, he actually said, “What the fuck does that mean?” And quickly, because he saw Casper’s face: “Sorry. I’m just a little surprised to hear you say that.”
“I like a challenge,” Casper said. “And what we’re doing now—it’s kind of…basic.”
“Basic.”
“Yeah. I mean, we’re essentially just gathering data at this point. From a product and dev perspective, it’s not particularly challenging.” Casper paused. “Congrats on the funding, though, that’s great news.” He stood up. Mack stood up too and stuck out his hand. No sense in burning a bridge. Then again, if ever a bridge deserved to be burned, it was probably this one. Leaving two months before the new beta was supposed to be released! Who did that? Assholes, that was who. Selfish assholes who only thought about themselves and not the good of the company that had supported them, not to mention paid them handsomely.
As Casper shook his hand, Mack said, “Well, like I said, thanks for the feedback. It’s…useful.” The fuck it is, he thought. “Actually…can you just do me one favor?”
Casper looked at him and didn’t say anything.
“Can you stay on for the month? At least help us get the new beta ready to ship.”
Casper sighed. “They want me to start December first, and I was really hoping to take a couple weeks off and go to India. Now that I’m into meditation, there’s this really cool-sounding retreat—”
Mack cut him off. “I get it. I really do. But—and pardon my language, Casper—we are utterly fucked if you leave sooner. I’ll…I’ll give you a bonus if you stay till the end of the month.”
“How much of a bonus?”
“Five grand.” It was a random number that seemed big enough to be enticing but also extremely reasonable, given how much he needed Casper to stay. “On top of your regular salary, of course.”
Casper sighed. “Fine. I’ll stay a month but not a day longer.”
“Thank you.” He simultaneously wanted to hug Casper and throttle him. “So let’s keep this quiet for now, okay? We can tell your team in a week or two and then make a broader announcement, but I don’t want to panic anyone quite yet.”
“Okay. That’s fine.” He turned to leave, stopped at the door, and turned back to Mack. “And, uh, thanks for everything.” He shut the door behind him.
“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Mack said under his breath. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something. But there he was, in his fucking fishbowl of an office, where even if no one was actually looking at him at that precise moment, it felt like everyone was looking at him. The glass had been his idea—he had read in some startup-management book that it promoted transparency. But right now he would have given anything for one of those offices behind opaque, solid walls with a thick door.
This was supposed to be a triumphant—euphoric, even—time for him, the day after a great meeting with Gramercy Partners. He was about to get a shit-ton of money for his company! He was about to be rich! On paper, but still. But no one really understood how hard—and how lonely—it was to be a founder sometimes. Sure, it was exciting to stand in front of a company that you had created and see all those eager faces looking at you, taking in your every word, feeling inspired and motivated. But whenever something like the conversation he’d just had with Casper happened, there wasn’t really anyone he could talk to, no one to whom he could explain how hard it was, day in and day out, to keep a smile on his face and a spring in his step and act like everything was just fine.