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Mr. Tuohy's efficiency was impressive—by 10 AM the next day, he'd already arranged a meeting with Musk. Maybe that's the secret to his success: getting things done fast.
Ron hadn't been idle either. He'd found time to call his father back at the University of Texas, where he was head coach of the Longhorns, to fill him in about the Tuohys' newly adopted son and give an update on Sheldon.
The latter was mainly for Mom's benefit, of course.
"Ron, Sheldon is your brother, and even though he can seem pretty cold sometimes, I know for certain that he loves his family deeply. You need to look out for him more."
Mary sounded somewhat displeased, and it was obvious that Missy, that little gossip, had definitely shown her those photos of Sheldon in his underwear.
Ron sighed. "Don't worry, Mom. I'm his big brother—of course I'll take care of him. Actually, I already gave that jerk who was picking on Sheldon a good talking-to."
"Ron! I don't recall ever teaching you to solve problems with violence!" Mary shrieked.
There was no getting around it. As a devout Baptist, Mary had always believed in that whole "conquer your enemies with love" philosophy.
"Mary, don't forget—your son isn't just a Christian, he's also a Texan. And a good Texan should've cracked that punk's skull open," George chimed in.
To avoid starting a family war, Ron had to explain his actions: "Mom, I wasn't violent. Actually, we just had a friendly sparring session—completely consensual."
Ron swore he wasn't lying. Sure, that idiot Doug had gotten his butt kicked, but it was totally consensual, as the video evidence would show.
"Alright, God bless you." Mary was about to hang up when George grabbed the phone away.
"Ron, I'm real interested in that kid you mentioned. Maybe you could bring him back to Texas this weekend. Good offensive linemen are hard to come by these days. All the colleges are hurting for talent, and we need to get a jump on recruiting."
"You got it, Dad."
After hanging up, Ron checked his watch. It was exactly 9:50. He tucked the notebook into his briefcase and walked into the SpaceX building.
This was the company Elon Musk had founded in 2002 to make his dream of colonizing Mars a reality. It was exactly this kind of thinking that made Mr. Tuohy call him a "complete nutjob" and express concern about Ron doing business with him.
The sentiment was clear enough, even if Mr. Tuohy had put it more diplomatically. Sometimes English just doesn't have the right words to capture what you really mean.
Last year, in 2006, the Falcon 1 rocket had launched and, as expected, put on quite a fireworks show.
Besides giving Americans something new to talk about, it had also burned through $6.9 million in funding.
Unlike in the past, Musk now had no plans to launch a reusable rocket, instead focusing on other ways to cut costs.
Ron believed the notebook in his bag would definitely catch Musk's interest.
"Mr. Cooper, Mr. Musk is waiting for you in his office," the attractive secretary said, leading Ron to the door and politely opening it for him.
"Hey there, young man. Sean told me yesterday that you work for the IRS. So before I give you a hug, can you assure me you're not here for a tax audit?"
Musk asked half-jokingly, opening his arms. Ron stepped right into the embrace. "I figure even if I were here for that reason, you wouldn't just kick me out, right?
Besides, I'm betting a smart guy like you wouldn't leave us enough evidence to nail you for tax evasion anyway, would you?"
Ron, naturally, didn't hold back—he called out Musk's fishing expedition immediately.
"Ha! Just pulling your leg. I suppose if you folks at the IRS were planning an audit, you wouldn't need to go through Sean to set up a meeting with me, right? You could probably reach me anytime you wanted."
"Exactly," Ron didn't deny it. The truth was, the IRS kept tabs on powerful figures like Musk around the clock.
"So let me take a wild guess. You coming to see me—that wasn't your idea, was it? From what I understand, you seem to have a pretty cozy relationship with a certain very important person."
Musk made a lasso motion with his hand. "Yee-haw!"
Ron was mildly surprised. He hadn't expected Musk to know so much about his biggest benefactor. Sure enough, no successful entrepreneur gets there by being naive.
But he kept his cool.
"I think you're talking about Mr. Francis? Don't worry—it wasn't his idea for me to come here today. You don't need to sweat it. Like Mr. Tuohy said, I'm just here to discuss a business opportunity with you."
"Well then, I'm stumped. What exactly do you want to partner with me on?" Ron's repeated denials finally shook Musk's initial assumptions. He couldn't figure out why a tax agent would suddenly want to meet with him through a mutual friend.
Ron didn't rush to answer. Instead, he found a comfortable spot on the office couch and cut straight to the chase: "Mr. Musk, I'm not someone who likes to beat around the bush. I want shares in your company."
"Then you should head to the stock exchange. Tesla's trading at $7.85 a share today. I'm sure your salary could buy you plenty, kid."
Ron shook his head. "No, you know that's not what I'm after. I want more than that, and I don't plan on paying for it."
"So I'm guessing you've got some so-called evidence of tax evasion in that briefcase, and now you're here to blackmail me?" Musk spread his hands in resignation. "Kid, you got me. Leave the briefcase, and I'll write you a check that'll make you very happy."
Ron didn't budge, just smiled knowingly.
"And then your legal team would nail me for abuse of power and bribery." Ron stood up. "The recording equipment's right there and there, isn't it?"
Ron pointed at the decorative eagle on Musk's desk and the vase on top of the filing cabinet. Musk's expression finally shifted, and he stood up applauding, offering Ron a Cuban cigar.
This was his way of showing respect for Ron, but Ron didn't light it—just turned it over in his hands.
"As expected from the best agent that even Francis has praised. When did you spot them?"
"Soon as I walked in. I gotta say, while your camera placement is pretty clever, it's way too obvious. You might as well have put signs on them saying 'Hey, I'm a camera, look at me!' My professional training kicked in immediately."
Musk lit his own cigar. "Alright, you win. The games are over. Now you can tell me what you really want, right?"
Ron spread his hands. "I already told you—I want shares in your company, and I don't plan on paying for them."
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