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News that they had a "Video Game and Training Device" license may have leaked from Disney!
And Disney leaked the news? Nolan Bushnell slammed his hand on the sofa beside him. "It's really for entertainment! they can't keep any news!"
Ethan Jones felt a surge of excitement—he realized he still had a channel to obtain information.
As Don Valentine said, Vinton Cerf is a senior researcher at the Stanford Research Institute, which maintained a close working relationship with Disney year-round. For example, the Institute handled site selection and design for Disneyland in Anaheim, California, and later guided the establishment of Disneyland in Orlando, Florida.
That relationship had been built during Walt Disney's era and, in many ways, was even more reliable than Steve Jobs' channels.
But that wasn't important anymore. If the result was right, that was enough. And now—
"The advantage is mine!"
Looking at the faces, Ethan Jones laughed. "Admit it, right? Are you tired of wearing that mask for so long?"
Hearing the humiliating words, Nolan Bushnell could no longer smile.
And Don Valentine—the guy who had been playing the fool—suddenly picked up the hint from Ethan Jones.
He crossed his legs, adjusted his posture, and a trace of ridicule appeared on his face.
"Ethan, what if you knew everything? Yes, we obtained the patent authorization for Video Games and Training Devices before signing the contract.
Yes, we knew from the beginning that Snake Game was infringing.
Yes, we had every way to avoid Magnavox's prosecution.
But we didn't. Because we wanted to get the rights to Snake Game from the start."
Don Valentine spoke each word deliberately, a proud smile on his time-worn face.
"Ethan, I can tell you everything you want to know now.
But does it make any difference to you? Nothing is left for you.
You know it's too late. When you signed the licensing contract, your fate was already sealed.
You can fight, but your fight will only make me withdraw my last mercy."
Don Valentine laughed, revealing a sinister plan.
"You don't have to sell Snake Game to us.
We can also refuse the second installment of dividends and increase our claim. Go raise the money, kid. Next, we'll claim ten million from you.
You could hire Barbara Babcock and Edward Williams to help, but after Magnavox sued, there was no way you could win.
Even if the court awards only a few million instead of ten, it doesn't matter.
We don't care about the money—we just want to watch you cry and beg buyers to purchase your game."
Now that Ethan Jones knew everything, Don Valentine faced a problem of his own.
"I can't get Snake Game? Doesn't matter. I can't get the money? Doesn't matter.
More importantly, you, Ethan Jones, don't even have to worry about holding the copyright.
The situation has been laid out. No matter what, we have to fight with a knife! Otherwise, wouldn't Atari have been sued by Magnavox in vain?"
Just as Don Valentine assumed the matter was settled and beyond repair, Ethan Jones, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly leaned forward. He put his elbows on his thighs, picked up the cup on the coffee table, and began to play with it.
"Don, Nolan, have you ever been to jail?"
The question made the already tense Don Valentine and Nolan Bushnell frown.
Before they could speak, Ethan continued: "The prisons in our country are notorious—full of torture, abuse, cruelty, and humiliation. Everyone who goes there experiences inhuman treatment. Some people even consider it paradise and feel enlightened when they arrive.
I don't know which is true, but I'm ready to go and find out for myself."
"Ethan, what do you mean?" Nolan Bushnell asked, confused.
Don Valentine squinted, a doubtful look on his face.
"What do I mean?" Ethan Jones asked, laughing, as he shook the cup in his hand and looked at the two men before him.
"Boy, have you forgotten something? I, Ethan Jones, am a former employee of Magnavox, California, Marketing Division. I once wrote an invitation letter to Nolan Bushnell for the new product launch of the Magnavox Odyssey—and personally received him at the conference.
This matter was never publicized because it was a secret between Nolan and me.
That was two years ago. I told Nolan that table tennis was the game that received the best response from Magnavox."
Nolan Bushnell's pupils constricted. Don Valentine frowned, his face fierce. "Ethan—you!"
"Don't get excited," Ethan Jones said softly, placing the cup on the table. "Industrial espionage is too common in business, right?
Last time, when Magnavox sued Atari for plagiarism, they criticized Professor Ralph Bear's intervention. The settlement was very unsatisfactory. Because what they really wanted was to strangle Atari to death. It's a pity they didn't succeed. But it doesn't matter—I'll give them a chance now.
I will tell Magnavox that I did help you back then. As for the method, it's simple. Nolan, don't you live in Los Gatos? We can communicate in person, right?
I know commercial espionage could get me prosecuted federally. Fifteen years in prison, five hundred thousand in fines—so what? That doesn't matter. I'll pay six million anyway. Or more—it doesn't matter, I can't afford it anyway. If I have to stay outside and work off debts, I might as well just go to jail!"
He paused, his gaze hardening. "As for you—it's miserable. Atari is worth twenty million to Disney, and MCA would pay twenty-two million—but you won't get a penny. Why? Because you want to come to jail with me."