James Calloway leaned back in the creaky plastic chair of the dingy café across the street, staring at the glossy brochure in his hand. "Skyline Business Plaza," it announced proudly, in fancy fonts framed by photoshopped blue skies and smiling models pretending to enjoy office life.
He sighed, shoving the pamphlet into his jacket pocket. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.
Across the table, Lillian stirred her coffee with exaggerated patience. "You sure about this one? It's not exactly Silicon Valley glam."
James grinned, the kind of grin that had once gotten him into trouble more than once. "Hey, don't knock it. It's got running water, real walls, and even windows. We're upgrading, baby."
Across the street, nestled between two slightly more respectable towers, the Skyline Business Plaza stood like an eager middle child desperate to prove itself. The unit James had toured was modest — a third-floor space tucked into the heart of SoMa. Not prime real estate, but clean and professional, with enough grit to feel authentic.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a narrow, awkward view of Market Street. If you craned your neck just right, you could even catch a glint of the Bay Bridge shimmering in the distance.
Inside, James had wandered the empty rooms, envisioning desks, computers, whiteboards bursting with dreams and caffeine-fueled plans. It wasn't the gleaming glass tower he'd once doodled during boring college lectures — but it was his.
The building manager, Carl — a balding man with coffee-stained teeth and a crooked tie — handed him the lease agreement with a grunt. Lillian combed through it like a hawk.
"Standard one-year lease," she finally announced. "No hidden grenades... except the cleaning fees. Those are criminal."
James barely hesitated. He gripped the pen, heart thudding a little harder than he liked.This was it — no safety net. No turning back.The ink dried almost before he realized he'd finished signing.
Carl shook his hand enthusiastically. "Congratulations, kid. Welcome to Skyline. Watch out for the elevators — they like to die on Fridays."
James chuckled. "Good to know. Maybe I'll install a fireman's pole."
Carl cackled. "At these prices? You're lucky if the bathrooms don't stage a revolt."
James jingled the keys like a victorious knight.
"We have a headquarters," he declared.
"Congratulations, Mr. CEO," Lillian said dryly. "Where's your overworked secretary?"
James sighed theatrically. "You're looking at her."
They toured the space: a dozen small rooms, a half-decent conference room, and a corner office that James claimed immediately. The carpet was musty, the lighting uneven — but it smelled like possibility.
"It's perfect," James said.
"It's empty," Lillian shot back.
"And that's what the shopping spree is for," James grinned.
The next few days were a caffeinated blur.
James stormed every electronics store and office supplier from Palo Alto to Oakland. They hauled back cheap but sturdy computers, a battle-scarred printer that sounded like it had tuberculosis, and enough Ethernet cables to wrap around the entire building.
The IKEA trip nearly broke them.
James sat cross-legged on the office floor, glaring at a desk kit like it had personally insulted him.
"Are you sure this isn't just modern art?" he barked.
"Follow the instructions," Lillian said coolly, assembling chairs at terrifying speed.
James waved a bent metal rod. "Is this a leg or a booby trap?"
"Depends how bad your temper gets," she shot back.
By week's end, the hollow shell of an office had transformed into a breathing organism. Desks wobbled under chunky monitors. Ethernet cables snaked across the carpet like vines. The faint smell of new plastic and coffee grounds filled the air.
James collapsed into a cheap chair, surveying the chaos like a king after battle.
"We're official," he said.
Lillian tossed him a $1 clearance bin nameplate: JAMES CALLOWAY, CEO.
He slapped it on his desk with pride.
"Now," James said, stretching, "we need people."
James posted ads in the Chronicle, slapped flyers on coffee shop bulletin boards, and even bribed baristas to "mention us to any smart people."
Resumes poured in.
Unfortunately, so did disaster.
One guy kept checking his Rolex, barely answering questions. Another spent ten minutes explaining how the Internet was "just a fad." One candidate suggested DoubleClick should pivot into fax marketing.
James slumped into his chair after yet another terrible interview, head in his hands.
"If I hear 'synergy' one more time," he groaned, "I'm going to synergize myself off a bridge."
"Maybe you should just start interviewing Uber drivers," Lillian joked.
James wasn't laughing. The dream felt fragile — like the wrong hire could puncture it before it even took off.
Three desperate days later, Marcus Reyes walked in.
He wasn't flashy. His suit was clean but worn, his briefcase battered. But his handshake was firm, his posture sharp. His eyes — those were alive. Calculating. Curious.
"Mr. Calloway," he said, extending a hand. "Thanks for the opportunity."
They sat across the battered conference table — little more than two desks shoved together — and started talking.
Marcus's resume was solid but not flashy: UC Berkeley, seven years in radio advertising, voluntarily left after management refused to adapt.
But the real magic wasn't on paper.
The interview with Marcus Reyes began simply enough.
"Tell me about yourself," James said.
Marcus nodded. "Born and raised in Oakland. Paid my way through UC Berkeley — Business Administration, with a focus on Marketing."
"Worked through college," he continued, "selling ad space for a local radio station. Started small. Birthday announcements, local car dealerships, that sort of thing."
James listened carefully. Unlike the others, Marcus wasn't trying to sell himself with buzzwords. He was telling a story.
"About two years in," Marcus said, "I started seeing it. The radio station was losing money. Not all at once, but... the energy shifted. Advertisers were pulling back."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes intense.
"TV was killing radio the same way radio killed newspapers. It wasn't about better or worse. It was about attention moving somewhere else."
James felt a flicker of recognition. He leaned forward too.
"And now?" he asked.
Marcus smiled slightly, voice steady with conviction."The Internet isn't just another player," he said. "It's the next empire — and it's already laying siege to the old ones."
He took a breath, as if committing himself.
"It sounds ridiculous, but I think the Internet is the new king. It's already sharpening its sword against newspapers, radio, TV. I want to be part of that. I need to be part of that."
James sat back, tapping his pen thoughtfully against the table.
"You realize," he said, "that Internet advertising isn't like selling airtime. It's not like selling newspaper inches. It's... different."
Marcus met his gaze without flinching.
"Maybe not. But selling has always been about one thing: putting the right thing in front of the people who want it most. The medium changes. The need doesn't."
James couldn't help it — he grinned.
This guy got it.
They talked longer than James intended — about targeting, about user behavior, about why click-through rates mattered more than impressions.
Marcus wasn't just good; he was passionate. Smart, but not reckless. Hungry, but not desperate.
Exactly what Double Click Advertising needed.
"I can't offer you a lot yet," James finally said, laying it out plain. "Startup salary. Stock options. A hell of a lot of work."
Marcus smiled again. "That's what I'm looking for."
James stood and extended his hand.
"Welcome to Double Click, Marcus."
Marcus rose and shook his hand firmly. A deal sealed in the best way possible — on belief, not just paper.
After Marcus left, James sat back in his chair and stared out the window.
Lillian appeared in the doorway, holding two mugs of coffee.
"Good feeling?" she asked, handing one to him.
James nodded. "Very good."
She leaned against the doorframe, studying him.
"You're not just playing at this," she said quietly.
James looked at her, surprised.
"You're building something," she added. "Real."
He smiled, feeling a strange warmth in his chest.
"Stick around," he said. "It's gonna get interesting."
She smirked — but this time, there was a glint in her eye that James hadn't noticed before.
"Maybe I will," she said.
As James watched her walk away, he realized that Double Click wasn't just attracting outsiders like Marcus.
It was pulling in the people closest to him, too.
Not just family.
Partners.
James turned back to his desk, a fire lit inside him.
The future was coming.
And he was ready for it.