[Current Status: Pre-Seed] [Personal Balance: $388.42 (Spent $23.76 on a "business lunch" of bodega sandwiches)] [SyncNet Valuation: $0.00 (Theoretical)]
The handshake felt like a circuit closing. As soon as Kael's hand met Lyra's, the air in the basement seemed to shift from stagnant to pressurized.
"First rule of the game, Kael," Lyra said, already pulling up a sleek, minimalist slide deck on her tablet. "We never mention the basement. We never mention the student loans. And for the love of God, stop talking about 'optimization.' VCs don't want to hear how efficient your code is; they want to hear how inescapable it is."
"But the efficiency is why it works," Kael protested. "SyncNet reduces data latency by 40%. That's the selling point."
Lyra looked at him with a mixture of pity and professional hunger. "No. The selling point is that if a shipping giant doesn't use SyncNet, they lose 2% of their margin to their competitors who do. We aren't selling a solution, Kael. We're selling a Standard. We're building a toll booth on the information highway of global trade. Now, stand up. We're going to buy you a suit that costs more than your car."
"I don't have a car," Kael muttered.
"Exactly," Lyra replied. "Which is why we're putting the suit on your last remaining credit card. It's called 'Investing in the Narrative'."
Two days later, Kael stood in the lobby of Aethelgard Ventures, a firm located on the 44th floor of a glass-and-steel monolith that seemed to pierce the very clouds. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the city that made the cars below look like blood cells moving through an artery.
Kael felt like a fraud in his new charcoal wool suit. His skin felt itchy, and his tie felt like a velvet noose. Lyra, however, looked like she had been born in this altitude. She was scrolling through her phone, her face a mask of calm indifference.
"They're late," Kael whispered, checking his watch for the fifth time. "It's been twenty minutes."
"They're not late," Lyra said without looking up. "They're 'evaluating our desperation.' If we look annoyed, we lose. If we look bored, we win. Sit down and look like you have ten million dollars waiting for you in another room."
Finally, a glass door slid open with a hiss of pressurized air. A man in his late fifties with silver hair and a smile that didn't reach his eyes gestured them in. This was Marcus Thorne, a man who had made a fortune betting on "disruptive" technologies before they even had a name.
The conference room was a temple of minimalism. No paper, no pens—just a long obsidian table and a holographic display.
"SyncNet," Thorne began, leaning back and interlacing his fingers. "I've read your brief. Predictive logistics. High-frequency supply-chain nodes. It's a crowded space, Lyra. Why should I put two million into a pair of unknowns?"
Kael opened his mouth to explain the recursive logic of his algorithm, but Lyra's heel clicked sharply against the floor—a silent command for him to stay quiet.
"Because we aren't here for the capital, Marcus," Lyra said, her voice dropping an octave into a tone of pure silk. "We have NebulaCloud credits to handle our dev-cycle for the next year. We're here because SyncNet is the first platform that creates Predictive Collateral."
Thorne's eyebrows shot up. "Collateral? You're a software play, not a bank."
"Every shipment currently in transit is a promise," Lyra continued, standing up to activate the holographic display. "A promise that $50,000 worth of grain will arrive in Rotterdam on Tuesday. But until it arrives, that promise is 'Dark Debt.' It's risky. It's unpriced. SyncNet turns that darkness into data. By predicting the arrival with 99% certainty, we allow banks to lend against those goods while they are still at sea."
Kael watched Thorne's face. He realized Lyra wasn't talking about code at all. She was talking about Financial Engineering. She was telling Thorne that SyncNet wasn't a tool for truckers; it was a tool for the people who lent money to the truckers.
"You're talking about increasing the velocity of trade credit," Thorne mused.
"I'm talking about manufacturing trust where there is currently only silence," Lyra corrected. "We want a $10 million post-money valuation. $2 million for 20% equity."
Kael's heart nearly stopped. $10 million? They had $388 in the bank. They hadn't even finished the API documentation.
"A bit rich for a seed round, don't you think?" Thorne asked, a small smirk playing on his lips.
"It's a bargain for a company that will eventually underpin the interest rates of the Atlantic trade routes," Lyra countered.
Thorne looked at Kael. "And the architect? Does the code actually handle the 'Hot Potato' of recursive data updates?"
Kael took a breath, remembering Lyra's coaching. "The system doesn't just update," Kael said, his voice steadier than he felt. "It self-corrects based on the 'Trust Score' of the carrier. If a carrier has a history of rolling over their debts, the system flags the shipment as high-risk. We don't just track the goods; we track the credibility of the entities moving them."
Thorne sat in silence for a long time. The only sound was the faint hum of the building's HVAC system.
"I'll do $1.5 million at an $8 million valuation," Thorne said.
"Two million at ten," Lyra repeated instantly. "Or we take the meeting with Valkyrie Capital at three o'clock. They're very interested in the collateralization aspect."
Thorne laughed—a dry, rattling sound. "You're a shark, Lyra. Fine. Two million. My lawyers will send the term sheet by tonight."
As they stepped out of the elevator and back onto the rainy street, Kael felt dizzy. He leaned against a lamp post, the cold rain soaking into his expensive suit.
"We just... we just made ten million dollars?" Kael asked, his head spinning.
"No," Lyra said, pulling out a cigarette she didn't light. "We just created a Valuation. There is no ten million dollars, Kael. There is only a $2 million deposit that we are now 'obligated' to turn into a $100 million exit."
"The Third Deduction," Kael whispered, the realization hitting him.
"What's that?" Lyra asked.
"Valuation is a fictional story that two people agree to believe. Thorne didn't buy my code. He bought your story about the code. He gave us $2 million because he believes he can sell his 20% to someone else for $20 million in two years."
"Welcome to the game of Hot Potato," Lyra said, finally lighting her cigarette. "We've just handed Thorne the potato. Now we have to make sure it keeps getting hotter."
Kael looked at his phone. A notification from his bank had just popped up.
[Notice: Monthly Student Loan Payment of $412.00 is due in 3 days.]
He had $388 in his account. He was theoretically the CEO of a $10 million company, and he was still $24 short of his minimum debt payment.
"Lyra," Kael said, looking up. "The two million. Can I use it to pay my rent?"
Lyra laughed, a sound as cold as the rain. "Absolutely not. That money belongs to SyncNet LLC, a separate legal entity. If you touch a cent of it for personal use, Thorne will have you in a cage before the sun sets. You're the CEO of a unicorn, Kael. But as a human being? You're still a pauper."
Kael stared at the glowing screen of his phone. The paradox was complete. He was a king in the world of shadows, and a beggar in the world of bread.
[SyncNet Status: Funded] [Corporate Balance: $2,000,000.00] [Personal Balance: $388.42] [Next Step: Hiring the 'Sacrifices' – Building the team while the market freezes.]