There were three people in the small office. The gray-haired old man in a suit and tie sat behind his desk, a thick stack of documents laid out in front of him.
Two men—one fat and short, the other thin and tall—stood stiffly before the desk. Their hands were clasped in front of their waists, their tense faces betraying their eagerness for relief.
"I want to know—" the old man's voice was low as he gently closed the file, then tapped his index finger against the tabletop. Tap. Tat. Tat. The sound echoed like a hammer against their hearts, a rhythm that seemed to herald the storm about to break.
"Is this the result of the investigation you brought me?"
His voice rose suddenly, shaking the room.
"Have you even read this report? It says Ethan Jones worked for Magnavox for three years—three years! Yet it also claims he never had access to any of our R&D secrets? That he had no contact with our engineers during that entire time? Do you believe this result? Do you believe it? "
The old man's shout made both middle-aged subordinates tremble. They shook their heads violently like rattles, eyes lowered, trying to show respect.
Finally, the fat man on the left spoke, his voice faltering.
"B-Boss, actually… we don't believe it either. But… this result should be true."
He hesitated, glancing nervously at the old man before continuing.
"After receiving your order for a thorough investigation, we contacted the California branch and asked them to compile a full report on Ethan Jones's work during his years with Magnavox. According to their records, Ethan's first assignment after joining was to assist the marketing department in promoting the Odyssey and drafting guest invitations. It was during that work that he filled out an invitation letter for Nolan Bushnell.
After Atari released Pong, the marketing department in California—and Ethan's supervisors—wanted to distance themselves from responsibility. So they deliberately cut Ethan off from any normal assignments. For the following years, he was only given trivial expatriate tasks. They were essentially waiting for us to punish him before firing him. So…"
The fat man hesitated, lowering his eyes. "Boss, the contents of this report are… embarrassing."
Seeing no immediate sign of fury on the old man's face, he cautiously went on.
"If nothing else comes up, this report should be the final conclusion—and likely the truest one. Snake Game appears to be Ethan Jones's own original idea. His cooperation with Atari seems to be nothing more than coincidence.
After receiving the report, we personally checked the engineering design team's work logs. There was nothing in them resembling Snake Game. Not even a similar idea. So…"
The old man slammed the desk with such force that the documents jumped.
"Oh!!! Sxxt!!!"
He shot to his feet, he blazing as he glared at his subordinates, his voice cracking with fury.
"You mean to tell me Snake Game is a clean game?!" he roared. "Or worse—you want me to believe Ethan Jones and Atari are some innocent collaboration?!"
"I…"
The fat subordinate opened his mouth slightly but no words came out. He simply stood there, frozen, unable to answer.
The old man didn't give him a chance to speak and continued to roar:
"Do you think this result can satisfy me? Or that it can satisfy the board of directors? Or even our parent company?"
"You have to understand—we went to great lengths to suppress Atari! It took enormous effort to strangle their ability to develop new games! We just proved to the market that Magnavox is not to be trifled with! That not everyone can bully us!
"And now what? Nolan Bushnell gets to catch his breath again by licensing a new game?
Worse—this new game was created by one of our former employees?
if that's acceptable… then what does that make us? Clowns?!"
Spittle flew through the air as he shouted. His white hair stood out starkly against his flushed face, veins bulging in his neck.
After several heavy breaths, the old man finally exhaled, his voice lowering—but the menace only grew stronger.
"Do you know what happened after the Los Angeles Times reported on Snake Game? The parent company's leadership called me directly. He asked why Ethan Jones—the inventor of Snake Game—is a former Magnavox employee. Why he produced nothing in three years with us. Why he walked out our doors and immediately created a classic.
He asked me why, three years ago, Ethan Jones contributed to the rise of Atari… and why, three years later, the moment we fired him, he saved Atari from the brink of death.
He said he cannot understand how this is possible—and he refuses to believe it's all just coincidence. Even Hollywood screenwriters wouldn't dare to write such a plot!
So… you understand what I mean, don't you?"
Though his tone had calmed, the pressure in the room only grew heavier. The two subordinates lowered their eyes further, not daring to meet his gaze.
At the same time, they knew exactly what their boss wanted. It was nothing more than this: find the problem—and fix it.
The "problem" was Ethan Jones. This man had invented a popular game right after being dismissed from Magnavox. The fact itself was shocking enough to the company, who suspected immediately that Ethan must have plagiarized internal ideas.
And who could blame them? Magnavox was already suffering from a kind of PTSD—still entangled in over twenty ongoing copyright lawsuits. And now, a recently fired employee suddenly released a hit game? Anyone would see that as suspicious.
If that were all, perhaps it could be dismissed. Their own investigation had found no connection between Snake Game and Magnavox's engineering logs—it really did seem like an accident.
But what forced their hand was the publisher behind Snake Game.
The fact that Ethan Jones had "coincidentally" partnered with Atari was a coincidence far too neat for anyone to ignore.
The string of coincidences was so absurd it bordered on mockery.
they fired the employee, and he released a hit game. they crushed a competitor, and he immediately bounced back with a hit game.
And worse—these two men did it together…
When such outrageous events align, who would believe there was nothing suspicious?
Yet the investigation yielded nothing. No clues, no evidence. Nothing that could be used. That was what made the situation unbearable.
The fat man and the lanky colleague exchanged glances. Finally, the tall one drew in a breath and spoke:
"BOSS… we understand what you mean. But it's nearly impossible to make Ethan Jones carry the blame for mismanagement.
Yes, we can suspect that Ethan and Atari colluded. But who will believe it? Not even we do. After all, when Odyssey was launched, no one—neither us, nor IBM, nor Motorola—believed home game consoles could ever be a product for the masses.
So, even if we accuse Ethan Jones of being a spy Nolan Bushnell planted inside Magnavox—because, after leaving us, he gave his new game straight to Atari… well, maybe the court would accept the case. But once it's in trial, the judge and jury will think we've gone mad."
He stopped there, his eyes flickering uneasily toward the old man. For a long moment, the white-haired leader said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"You're right."
Relief softened the subordinates' But it didn't last long. Because the old man went on:
"I know Ethan Jones may truly have no problem. But we must make him have a problem. These coincidences are too perfect. The parent company no longer believes in coincidence.
The board already suspects that Odyssey's failure was not a matter of the product, but of our promotion strategy and management.
If there is nothing wrong with us, then why could Atari succeed with a plagiarized idea? And why could a fired employee succeed with his own ideas?
If this happened once, I could call it an accident. Twice, maybe. But three times? The board sees no accident. They see inevitability.
And so, in order to prove to the board—and to the parent company—that we are not the problem… Ethan Jones must become the problem. This is not about truth. This is about survival. I trust you understand?"
The weight of his words pressed down on the room. Both men stiffened, their expressions taut with tension. At last, the fat man took in a deep breath—the kind that came only after reaching a decision.
"BOSS," he said carefully, "may I ask something?"
"Go ahead."
"What exactly must we achieve to prove we are blameless? Is it enough to initiate a lawsuit? Must we win it? Or… do we only need the other party to come crawling with a settlement?"
The question gave the old man pause. He tapped the desk with a finger, thinking. Finally, he said,
"Although I know our chance of winning is near zero… to erase every last doubt the board holds against us, there is only one path."
"We must win the lawsuit."
"Okay, BOSS. I understand."
The fat man nodded firmly. "Then there's only one path left—we sue Ethan Jones and Atari for patent infringement."
"...?" The old man narrowed his eyes. "Patent infringement? When did that happen?"
The fat man's expression didn't waver. His tone was smug: "As long as we're willing to sue, they can be infringing at any time."
The cryptic words made the old man frown. But before he could ask again, the lanky man suddenly blurted out, his voice cracking in disbelief:
"You—you're not suggesting we use the 8480 patent Sanders Industrial licensed to us, are you?! To drag him into court on that?" If we do this… our reputation will be in ruins!"
"So what?" the fat man shot back without hesitation. "From the perspective of that patent, Ethan Jones and Atari have already crossed the line.
Remember—our goal isn't truth. Our goal is to wipe away the board's suspicion. If the lawsuit succeeds, does it matter how the world looks at us?"
The tall man's Adam's apple bobbed nervously. His lips parted, but no sound came.
The old man sat in silence, his brows drawn tight. He didn't understand every detail, but that no longer mattered. His subordinate's unwavering tone gave him the answer he wanted.
"Very good."
For the first time all day, the elder's grim face softened into satisfaction. "So you do have a solution. I'll leave it in your hands."
"No problem, BOSS." The fat man inclined his head with confidence. "I'll coordinate with Legal and file the suit no later than September. You'll hear good news within a month after that."
The old man nodded approvingly, though a hint of confusion lingered.
"September? But it's June now. Why such a delay?"
The fat man chuckled. "Simple, BOSS. Snake Game isn't popular enough yet. We need to wait until it spreads across the country. That way, when we strike, the damage to them—and the profits for us—are maximized.
After all… if we're already sacrificing our reputation, shouldn't we make sure to earn something extra while we're at it?"
In the dim light, his round face blurred into shadow. But his words made the old man's grine.
"Not too much at all," the old man murmured. "In fact… it's quite correct."