Of course, Barbara managed to see Jobs before 2 p.m. Or rather, when Ethan drove the Dino 246 GTS to Jobs' house and told him the story, the guy—busy tinkering with the Apple I—sprang to his feet, ready to jump on his motorcycle and storm over to Atari's front door.
In his mind, the persecution by Nolan Bushnell and Don Valentine was an attack on his brothers. He wanted to show those money-grubbing bastards that even if he had left the hippie circle, his friends were not to be messed with.
If Ethan hadn't held him back—pulling and dragging—he honestly doubted that Jobs, bursting with energy, wouldn't have gotten himself into trouble right then and there.
Still, Jobs' anger turned out to be a blessing. Once Ethan calmed him down and asked for help, Jobs followed him to Stanford without a word, slipped into the law school, and sat down with them to wait for Barbara.
And once the questioning began, Jobs answered everything.
His open, almost reckless honesty gave Barbara a flood of useful information.
For instance, she learned Nolan had started shopping Atari around not long after the lawsuit was filed. She also learned that Disney had offered $20 million for Atari, and MCA had gone as high as $22 million.
That number made Barbara's eyes widen. On paper, Atari wasn't worth anywhere near that amount.
When she pressed Jobs, asking why Disney and MCA would bid so high, he paused, thought it over, then shook his head.
"I really don't know. My friend only told me that the offers were shockingly high. He even asked me if making games was more profitable than making movies."
That answer made Barbara nod slightly. She shot Ethan a look, then smiled at Jobs. "Steve, can you help us dig into that? For example, why would MCA be willing to offer $22 million?"
"Sure." Jobs agreed immediately. Then he asked, "But is this really important?"
"Yes." Barbara's face hardened. She pointed at Ethan. "If we understand why Disney and MCA are willing to acquire Atari at such a high price, then we'll understand what Don Valentine and Nolan Bushnell are really after. And from that, we can deduce their role in this lawsuit."
"Got it." Jobs nodded. "I'll head to Los Angeles and ask my friend directly. But it might take some time, so you'll need to wait a few days."
His words were quick, but his actions were even faster.
As soon as he took on the task, he left Stanford, jumped on his motorcycle, and roared off toward Los Angeles.
Barbara stood at the window, watching his figure shrink into the distance, lips pursed.
Then she turned to Ethan. "Ethan."
"Mm?"
"Don't you think this is… strange?"
"Prof. Barbara, why do you say that?" Ethan tilted his head.
"Because—" Barbara drew out the word, as though carefully choosing her phrasing. After four or five seconds, she finally said, "Because Jobs is just an ordinary employee at Atari. He doesn't have any family connections. So how could he possibly know someone at MCA? And at MCA, the people who handle acquisitions worth tens of millions… aren't they at least general managers? Since when does a kid like Jobs have a friend at that level?"
She faltered, actually stuttering—a rare thing for her.
The sight made Ethan grin. "Prof. Barbara, are you trying to say he doesn't deserve it?"
Barbara blinked and straightened her back. "As a lawyer, I would never insult my client."
"Hahaha~" Ethan couldn't help laughing at her unnecessary formality.
"Oh, Barbara— You're right to worry. But I believe him."
Because his name was Steve Jobs. Barbara was taken aback by Ethan's words. She didn't understand why he had such blind confidence in Jobs.
And honestly… Ethan was bluffing. On the way to find Jobs, when Barbara shifted the focus of the puzzle onto Atari—the company Nolan wanted to sell—Ethan had already been running the news through his head again and again, trying to verify it. If the information wasn't solid, then every conclusion they drew from it would crumble like dominoes.
But when he tried to recall the source using scraps of memory from his past life, he came up empty.
So what could he do? Let Steve Jobs figure it out. It didn't cost him a thing—just faith. But when Ethan placed all his expectations on Jobs, the guy vanished.
He left for Los Angeles at noon on September 17th and didn't return until the evening of the 18th.
Ethan was baffled. When he asked Woz if he knew anything about Jobs' whereabouts, the fat man only shrugged—he hadn't even received a call. That left Ethan with no choice but to wait.
Meanwhile, the press exploded. The San Francisco dailies, the Los Angeles Times that had once hyped up Snake Game, even TV stations in California and New York—everyone was running the story.
"Magnavox sues Atari: Snake Game accused of copyright infringement."
The relentless headlines made Ethan want to smash the radio. Add to that the constant calls and sympathy from Thomas, Linda, Mr. FBI, Chuck Peddle, and others, and his patience was stretched razor thin.
He hated this state—comforting family and friends while waiting for the axe to fall.
"MFxxk, what is this guy doing?!"
He scratched his head in frustration. If Jobs wasn't coming back yet, fine—but couldn't he at least pick up a phone?
Ethan was pacing, torn between sitting tight or driving down to L.A. himself, when a loud roar ripped through the night.
He opened the door and there he was—head to toe in black: jacket, pants, shoes. A sight straight out of a biker movie.
"Oh, Fxxk! Why the hell are you dressed like that?!" Ethan blurted. Jobs definitely hadn't left dressed like this.
"Don't talk. I've been busy these past days."
Jobs parked the motorcycle in Ethan's place, walked inside, opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and downed it in big gulps. The chill made him shiver, but he didn't care. Instead, he pulled an envelope from inside his jacket and waved it.
"Want the news?"
"What do you think?" Ethan snapped, reaching for it.
But Jobs, anticipating the move, yanked it back.
"???" Ethan froze, stunned.
"I'll give it to you," Jobs said, "but you've got to promise me something first."
"What?"
"When this is all over, get me a signed Snake Game arcade machine. I want one."
"That's it? Easy. Not just one—I'll sign you a hundred."
"Deal."
Satisfied, Jobs finally handed over the envelope. Impatient, Ethan ripped it open on the spot. Inside was a single sheet of folded white A4 paper.
And on it—one clean, cutting line of text that made his blood surge:
[Atari has the patent authorization of 'US3728480 A'.]
"Where did this news come from?! Are you sure?!"
He stared at Jobs in disbelief. Jobs nodded firmly. "I'm sure. My friend told me face-to-face—Sidney Sheinberg himself told him this."
"Then how did Atari get this authorization?" Ethan's eyes widened, his voice trembling. "Did it happen before we met?"
"Yes." Jobs took a deep breath, pointed at the sofa, and said, "I know you're in a rush, but can we sit down and talk?"
"Okay." Ethan practically dove onto the sofa.
Clenching his fists to suppress the shock boiling inside him, he listened as Jobs recounted what he had learned on his trip.
And the more he heard… the more Ethan's fury burned.
Because— "Ethan, according to my friend, there's a clause in the settlement agreement between Magnavox and Atari over Pong. To let Atari sell video games without interruption, Magnavox granted Atari a patent license for 'US3728480 A.'
"The deal was: for every video game machine Atari produced, they'd pay Magnavox a 3% royalty on sales—for twenty years, the full natural term of the patent."
Jobs paused, watching Ethan's expression tighten.
"Magnavox didn't notice the problem at first. The deal had been settled under Professor Ralph Baer's mediation, so they didn't scrutinize the terms. But later, when Magnavox began suing others, they realized the issue—this license was far too long and far too cheap.
Now, whenever Magnavox sues other companies, they demand at least 8% royalties, with licenses limited to one to three years, renewable on expiry.
But Atari? Atari has the golden ticket. A decades-long license at a rock-bottom rate. It makes them untouchable."
Jobs leaned back into the sofa. "That's why, when Nolan Bushnell sold Atari, MCA and Disney were offering tens of millions. They realized this license meant they could develop games freely, without ever fearing an injunction strangling them like everyone else."
Still, Jobs had one last thing to say. "Ethan, my brother… I know you're furious, but listen. According to my friend, even before we met, Bushnell had already sold the patent license of 'US3728480 A' as Atari's core asset. Even if the settlement with Magnavox wasn't finalized yet, Bushnell was already using that license as leverage to court MCA and Disney.
My friend also said this: Bushnell and the others must have known from the start that Snake Game infringed. They even had a way to avoid it—if they'd written into the license agreement that you were only handing them production rights, instead of leaving the entire arcade machine under their roof. But he never told you."
Jobs spread his hands, his lips forming silent words. Ethan didn't need to hear them—he already knew. Copyright.
"MFxxk! "Ethan roared, flipping the coffee table and sending it crashing to the floor.
"Son of a bitch, Atari! I'm going to kill you!"
Note:
① Sidney Sheinberg – Jewish, President and CEO of MCA, and President of Universal.② The most valuable thing about Atari was its video game patent license. The reason Atari could keep making consoles—even after the company collapsed—and remain the only one in North America still insisting on producing them, wasn't because their technology was great. It was because the license they had obtained in the early days was dirt cheap. Unfortunately, once Warner took over, it was doomed. A bad film: whoever gets involved ends up ruined.