After Ethan looked through the agent's accounts, Nolan Bushnell handed him another document.
"What's this?" Ethan asked doubtfully.
"This is our own sales list at Atari," Nolan said with a smile. "Since this is the second installment of dividends, why don't we just pay them all at once? A one-time payment is much easier than splitting it into batches."
"Yo!" Ethan really liked that line from Nolan. When he examined the papers, he discovered that in the past three months, Atari had shipped 337 Snake arcade machines in the central and western United States, along with 1,528 circuit boards. These corresponded to operating revenues of $404,400 and $611,200 respectively.
Based on the commission rates of 15% and 18%, the dividends Ethan and his sister could receive amounted to $170,676.
Although these figures weren't as shocking as before, they were still impressive. After all, there had already been a sales wave in the central and western regions!
Back then, the dividends Ethan and Evelyn received were close to $400,000. Now, with that earlier $400,000 plus the current $170,000, the total came to around $570,000. Wait—something wasn't right.
Ethan stared at the document several times, trying hard to recall the previous numbers, and then he noticed a problem.
The dividends from Atari's central and western U.S. sales were only $570,000, while the eastern and central regions managed by agents reached $1.2 million. Sure, dealer prices were higher than Atari's, but was the sales gap between the central/eastern and central/western regions really that wide?
That shouldn't be the case! Could it be… that Atari falsified its financial statements?
Suspicion flashed in Ethan's eyes, but when he looked up again, he was smiling."Nolan, I have a question for you."
"Go ahead," Nolan said politely.
"Why do I feel the sales gap between the central and western United States and the central region is too large?"
"Oh, that?" Nolan seemed not to catch the hidden meaning in Ethan's words. He smiled and replied, "It's simple. They're targeting a much larger population than we are—thirty-two states with over 100 million people in total.
Here, even though California and Texas have huge populations—both ranking among the top three in the nation—states like Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, and Wyoming don't account for much. Meanwhile, in the East, New York and Florida each match California and Texas in population. Add in New Jersey and other dense states, and they have far more potential customers than we do."
Since there was a population gap, naturally there was a sales gap. After all, games were made for people to play…
"Is that so?" Ethan murmured. He felt something was off, but couldn't put his finger on it. Because, in his memory, the population gap across the U.S. didn't seem quite that big—did it?
Just as Ethan was frowning over the problem, Nolan Bushnell spoke again. "Oh—Ethan—I called you here today not only to settle the dividends, but also to ask you something else."
His words broke Ethan's train of thought. Ethan blinked, smiled, and said, "Nolan, we're all friends here. If you've got something to say, just say it."
"Oh, I like the way you put that! Yes, we are friends!" Nolan nodded excitedly. Then, with anticipation lighting up his face, he asked, "So tell me—have you come up with any new ideas in the past two months?"
He rubbed his hands eagerly. "You've worked at Magnavox before, so you should know how long the money-making window for video games really is.
The first three months after a game launches are its explosive period. Players, driven by curiosity, pour time and money into the newest titles, and operators—hoping to profit from them—rush to buy arcade machines and circuit boards in bulk.
But after three months, even if the game is still fun and players are still spending money, business demand for new machines declines. They'd rather squeeze more profit out of the cabinets they already have. That's just human greed—like your Snake Game."
Nolan smiled at Ethan. And Ethan understood immediately. he wanted to know if he had a new game.
If he said yes, Nolan would be ecstatic and push for another partnership. If not… well, too bad.
Sorry—he did have one. But he had no intention of working with Atari anymore.
First, Jobs had already told him Nolan wanted to sell Atari, and Ethan had no desire to negotiate with the real capitalists—they were too troublesome. Second, now that he knew his backers were powerful, he wanted absolute profits for himself.
Having seen firsthand how the U.S. arcade market worked in this era, he wasn't about to let others make money off him again.
Dream on.
With that thought, Ethan shook his head and smiled. "Oh, Nolan, inspiration doesn't come so easily. I've just been relaxing these past two months, not thinking about new ideas at all. See? I'm all dried up."
"Really?" Nolan pressed, still not entirely convinced.
"Really not," Ethan said firmly.
Nolan sighed, visibly disappointed. "Alright then." After a pause, he added, "Since we're friends, if there's ever another chance, we should work together again. As before, your dividend will be paid within two weeks."
"Okay." Ethan nodded with a smile.
They chatted a little longer before Ethan finally left Atari.
As he walked out, Nolan closed the office door behind him.
The moment he turned around, someone stepped out from the office lounge. It was Don Valentine, the founder of Sequoia Capital and one of Atari's investors.
"Did you hear that clearly?" Nolan asked, raising his brows. "He said he has no new ideas."
Don Valentine did not respond immediately. Instead, he slipped his hands into his pockets, walked to the window, and gazed down at the street from above.
From there, he watched Ethan Jones drive away from Atari in his Chevrolet. Only then did he turn back and ask, "Do you believe him?"
Nolan nodded—then shook his head. That contradictory gesture didn't make Don Valentine suspicious, but it did sharpen the look in his eyes as he studied Nolan.
Nolan met his piercing stare with a wry shrug. "Oh, brother—do I just believe something like that? Do I believe Ethan has inspiration? Of course. But does he have inspiration now? If I could predict that, then I might as well believe I'm the master of the world."
His words carried complaint. Don Valentine gave a slight nod and said calmly, "If that's the case, then let's proceed with the plan."
Nolan narrowed his eyes. "Are you really going to do this?"
"Of course." Don Valentine's tone was firm. "Roy Disney said it himself: if we secure the copyright to Snake Game, Disney will consider acquiring Atari for forty million."
"You know the offer they gave us before was only twenty-two million."
Don leaned closer. "Since they're willing to pay eighteen million more for one little snake, why wouldn't we try? That extra eighteen million means eight million more for you personally—or even a direct path into Disney."
His smile turned cold. "If eliminating Ethan doubles our profits, why wouldn't we?"
Nolan pursed his lips at that. The two men locked eyes for a long moment before Don gave a decisive nod. "Then it's settled. Delay the dividend payments. Within two weeks, we'll have results."
He added casually, "The New York Times or the Washington Post?"
"The New York Times," Don replied without hesitation. "I checked—Ethan's sister Evelyn at Stanford is very close to Barbara Babcock, the law professor. And Babcock's mentor was Edward Williams. If we involve the Post, there's a chance of complications."
Nolan's expression hardened. "Edward Williams? How did he get involved? Do you want us to litigate against him? We can't win!"
Don gave him a reassuring smile and shook his head. He stepped to Nolan's side, patted his arm, and said, "Don't be so nervous, brother. This lawsuit is already ours to win. Ethan is the one violating the law. If he can wriggle out of this, then every game company in America could sue Magnavox, right?
Besides, we're not the ones who have to fire the first shot. Magnavox has to file the suit. All we're doing is leaking the kind of news that will make their hearts race."
He smiled again, almost cheerfully. "So tell me—what's there to be nervous about?"
Nolan couldn't say whether it was Don Valentine's soothing words or Disney's promise of a fortune that swayed him. But with Don's hand on his arm and his reassurance still echoing in the air, Nolan finally moved back to his desk.
He stroked the phone for a moment, then dialed resolutely.
"Hello, please connect me to The New York Times."
After a pause, he smiled and said, "The reception desk of The New York Times? This is Nolan Bushnell, CEO of Atari. I'm calling today because I have an important piece of news to share. According to our confirmation, nationwide sales of Snake Game have exceeded ten million units. Could you send a reporter to San Francisco for an exclusive interview?"
"Yes, what you're hearing right now is exclusive. I haven't told anyone else before this."
"You'd like to meet the inventor of Snake Game? Oh—what I really want to share is the story of Ethan Jones. He's a genius, the most imaginative person I've ever met. At the moment, he isn't accepting interviews since he's busy polishing new ideas, but I can tell you more. For example, our first meeting—it was at the launch of the Odyssey…"
"Yes, yes, we've known each other since his time at Magnavox."
"Alright then. See you tomorrow."
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