Options: The Secret Life of Steve Jobs Read Online Free Page A

get angry. The crazier they get, the more I go Zen. It drives them nuts.To be honest I’m about this close to just getting up and leaving, because the last thing I need on a Sunday morning is to be sitting here getting sprayed with spit and seeing my own boardroom—which I designed myself, as a personal homage to Walter Gropius—being polluted by the stink of Windows laptops. Moreover, everyone here knows that Sunday morning is my Ultimate Frisbee league and nothing, I mean noth ing, messes with my Ultimate. It’s sacred. To show that I am here under protest, I’m wearing the uniform of the Apple Ultimate Frisbee team—black shorts, black socks, black shoes, and a black mock turtleneck T-shirt with a tiny black Apple logo silk-screened on the shirt, a half shade darker than the shirt itself, so that you can barely see it. In other words, classy.
    Also here under protest is Lars Aki, our head of design, who is wearing a wet suit and little rubber booties to remind everyone that he’s supposed to be kite-boarding right now. He’s sitting in an Eames chair with his leather-bound sketch pad, looking out the window at the trees bending in the wind and no doubt thinking how awesome the chop is up on the bay today and getting more and more bummed out.
    Will MacKenzie, who’s on the board because he’s my pal, jumps in and says he agrees with me that we shouldn’t let this options business become too big a distraction to our product development. Some other guy who’s on the board and whose name I can never remember—he’s about ninety years old, and runs a clothing company, or a chain of clothing stores, something like that—says he agrees with Will MacKenzie.
    Al Gore, who’s joining by videoconference using our incredible iChat AV software, pipes up and says in his stupid drawl, “Say, if you folks don’t mind, I’d like to talk a little bit about what Apple can do regarding this climate change crisis that we’re facing.”
    “Request denied,” Tom says.
    “What’s that?” Gore says. “I’m sorry, I missed that.”
    Tom mutes the computer with Gore’s face on it and turns his attention to Zack Johnson, the only member of the board who hasn’t spoken yet. Zack was our CFO when this accounting stuff took place. He left last year to run a hedge fund, but I kept him on our board because he always does whatever I tell him.
    “Zack,” Tom says, “I expect you’ll get involved here, and work with Paul Doezen and help him find any information that’s needed. And Sonya, I’d like you to make sure that Charlie and his team get all the support they need.”
    That’s when Sonya drops the bombshell. “Actually,” she says, standing up, “since the company has gone against my recommendation and decided to retain outside counsel, I’m going to resign. Effective immediately.”
    She slides a letter across the table. Tom looks at the letter.
    “You can’t quit in the middle of an SEC investigation,” he says.
    Sonya doesn’t bother to respond. She looks at Sampson and says, “If you need anything from me you can call my lawyer.”
    “You’ve hired a fucking lawyer?” Tom says. He looks like smoke is going to start pouring out of his ears. “Where do you think you’re going? Sit back down, lady. Did you hear me?”
    Sonya walks out. After that the meeting breaks up. I’m halfway out the door, hoping to catch the end of the Ultimate game, when Tom grabs my arm, tight enough that it hurts, and says, “Hold on. I need to talk to you.”
    “Kid,” he says, in a low voice, “it’s just you and me here now, okay? So I need you to tell me the truth. People get greedy. It happens. It’s human nature. These guys, Charlie Sampson and his guys, they’re good. If there’s a problem, they’re going to find it. So tell me. Are they going to find something?”
    We’re in the conference room, alone, with the door shut. He’s leaning close to me. I can smell his Old Spice, which makes me queasy.
    “This