Three of the venture capitalists had turned us down cold. Henry Broughton-Jones at Orchestra Ventures had agreed to see us, but not for another week. And we were still waiting for replies from the two others. Even if Orchestra or one of the others did show interest, it was extremely unlikely that they would be willing to invest within our ten-day deadline.
We needed Torsten.
I pestered Guy. He called Torsten repeatedly at the office with no response, or rather a string of implausible excuses from his assistant. I could see Guy’s confidence in his friend evaporating before my eyes. I suggested we wait until eight o’clock, nine o’clock his time, and call him on his mobile. Torsten might hide at work but, knowing him, he would want to make himself available during his leisure hours for his friends. He wouldn’t risk any parties taking place without him.
Guy dialled Torsten’s mobile number and I leaned forward to try to catch what was going on. We had arranged our desks so that they faced each other, and I could see the tension on Guy’s face as he waited for an answer. It was five to eight, but everyone was still in the office working, even Michelle, whose hours officially ended at five-thirty.
‘Ja?’ I could just hear through the receiver in Guy’s hand.
‘Torsten? It’s Guy.’
I could only hear one side of the conversation. But from Guy’s face I could tell it was bad news. Very bad news. It was quick, too. Torsten couldn’t wait to get rid of his friend.
Guy slammed down the phone. ‘Shit!’
I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds, then opened them. ‘Did he say why?’
‘Not exactly, but I can guess.’
‘What?’
‘Daddy. Herr Schollenberger doesn’t want his little blue-eyed boy investing money in me.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I know Torsten. He tried to make out it was his decision, but it wasn’t. Torsten knows where his bread and butter come from. His father says “jump”, he jumps. His father says “no” and...’ Guy held up his hands in a gesture of hopelessness.
‘Any chance of him changing his mind?’
‘None. Absolutely none.’
I exhaled. Suddenly I became aware of all those people beavering away around us. People who had given up well-paid, promising careers to join us. And within a couple of weeks we were going to tell them, sorry, it had all been a big mistake. You know that two million quid we said we were getting in soon? Well, that was just a joke. Game over.
And what about my father? I had known all along he might lose his money, but never had I assumed he could lose it in less than a month. What kind of idiot would he take me for? And my mother? He had kept the investment from her. At some point he would have to tell her that he had given it to sonny-boy David, who had pissed it away in three weeks. Boy, would she be angry. And with some justification.
I looked across the desk at Guy. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘I have no idea.’ He met my eyes. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’
We decided to tell them straight away. They had all put their trust in us, and we couldn’t let them think we were hiding anything from them.
Guy walked out into the middle of the office. ‘Listen up, everybody.’
Everybody listened. I watched their faces as Guy told them the news. Shock. Bewilderment.
‘How much cash do we have?’ Amy asked.
Guy glanced at me.
‘Twelve thousand, six hundred and thirty-four pounds,’ I answered. ‘That will only keep us going for the next ten days. We have no chance of meeting the salary payments at the end of the month.’
‘What if we put in some of our own money?’ said Michelle. ‘I’ve got two thousand saved. I was going to use it for a trip, but that will wait. I’d like to see this through.’
Guy gave Michelle his broadest smile. ‘Thanks, Michelle. But we’ll need more than two thousand.’
‘I reckon I can get my brother to put in a few thousand,’ said Neil. ‘He fancies himself as a savvy businessman.’
‘I can put in another ten,’ I said, to my surprise. I had been careful to leave a portion of my savings on one side in case Ninetyminutes hadn’t worked out. And now Ninetyminutes wasn’t working out, here I was committing it. Sod it. It was only money.
‘And perhaps we can take a minimum salary this month?’ said Amy. ‘Just enough to live on.’
Guy looked round the group. The enthusiasm had returned. ‘Excellent. That should buy us enough time to get some serious money from somewhere. David will talk to all of you about how much you can put in, and he and I will work on a plan to raise more finance. And I promise we will keep you informed all the way.’
We broke up.
Over the next few days and the weekend everyone became fund-raisers. They were good at it. On Monday morning I had cheques totalling sixty-seven thousand pounds. Amazingly, Neil had come up with twenty, most of it from his brother in Birmingham whose pest-control business was doing very well. Then there was my ten, seven more from Owen, which just about cleaned him out, two from Michelle, three from Gaz, ten from Amy, five from Sanjay and even ten from Mel. I did a series of complicated calculations to ensure that each person got a slice of equity commensurate with their investment. It was difficult, but they all seemed happy with the result.
We had to slash costs. We followed Amy’s suggestion; everyone agreed to take only five hundred pounds pay that month. The site had to be up and running for the start of the new football season in August. That would still be possible on our reduced budget, but the advertising and PR we had been planning would have to be cut way back. Too far back. If we wanted ninetyminutes.com to be anything more than just a revamp of Gaz’s Sick As A Parrot site we would need more cash. Very soon.
Two more rejections came in from the venture capitalists. Five down, one left.
The day came for our meeting with Henry Broughton-Jones. Orchestra Ventures was a relatively new fund, set up by three partners who had left a more established venture-capital firm three years previously. Henry had been one of their first recruits and had recently been elevated to the position of partner. He had his own glass-encased box, complete with armchairs and conference table. He welcomed us genially and encouraged Guy to talk.
Guy gave the twenty-minute pitch and he gave it well. He had me convinced yet again, and I was hopeful that he would convince Henry. Afterwards Henry asked the right questions, which Guy answered confidently. Henry touched on management, and Guy admitted his own lack of experience, but pointed out that Amy, Owen and I all had relevant backgrounds.
When our hour was up Henry showed us out, promising to call us with his initial reaction.
He did. The next day.
It was a no.
I cursed to myself, counted to three and asked him why.
‘It’s got a lot going for it. The idea makes a lot of sense to me. Especially if you really can sell clothing over the web. The way the Internet is developing, on-line retailers will need good content to sell their products and good content will need some way of making money out of visitors, so this is a neat combination. The real problem is the management.’
‘The management?’
‘You know how venture capital is supposed to be about management, management, management? Well it’s all true. Especially at our shop. Guy Jourdan talks a good story, but he’s never managed anything remotely like this before. Neither have any of the rest of you, although you all have good technical experience. I’d like to help, but I know if I took this further my partners would shoot me down in flames.’