At this point, Ethan Jones chuckled, madness flickering across his handsome face. He raised his chin and looked down at the two of them.
"How about it, Nolan? Shall we go eat prison food together?"
That's right. Threatening Atari with commercial espionage—that was Ethan Jones' magic.
As a former Magnavox employee, he knew better than anyone how desperate they were to crush Atari. Whether mid-level managers or senior executives, they wanted someone to blame for Atari's rise—over and over again.
It was a pity Ethan Jones was too clean, too careful. They had no clue.
This fact had frustrated Magnavox. Before today, Ethan had found their groundless suspicion unpleasant. But now? Now he thought the leaders at Magnavox had given him a brilliant idea.
Nolan Bushnell and Don Valentine had set a trap to destroy him through legal means—fine, then he would flip the table, and everyone would go down together.
Didn't Magnavox want to accuse him of spying on their competitor?
He would!
Ethan Jones would voluntarily admit to handing Magnavox's business intelligence to Nolan Bushnell. Confirm his identity as a commercial spy. Make Nolan Bushnell an accomplice.
He believed that as soon as he spoke, the little guys at Magnavox would dare to arrest him. And when that happened—did they think they could still sell Atari? Dream on.
Since they refused to make things easy and wanted to crush him, they could all go to hell together!
"Ethan Jones!!!" Nolan Bushnell was stunned. "You're slandering!!!"
"I didn't hire you to steal Magnavox's business information! I'm doing business honestly!"
"Who cares?" Ethan Jones spread his hands and smiled. "No one cares whether you're honest in business.
The judge only knows that Magnavox filed a lawsuit against us. Magnavox will accuse you of instigating me to steal their trade secrets. I admit my crime, and you'll become the subject of a police investigation.
I know Magnavox, and I know Atari. I'll tell the judge we're all dealing face to face. Because of our close relationship, when I left Magnavox, I handed over the game I invented directly to Atari for distribution."
Nolan Bushnell's neck veins bulged, and his cheeks flushed at Ethan's calm words.
"Ethan Jones—"
"The judge won't believe it!" Nolan shouted.
Before he could finish, an angry Don Valentine chimed in: "Ethan! Stop playing such little tricks! It's useless! Your testimony alone won't save you! Not only that, it'll drag you into a whirlpool of false accusations!"
"Oh? Really?" Ethan laughed. "That's the same thing—who cares?"
Then, suddenly, his face hardened, and he shouted: "No one cares about that fact!
Except you! So what if it's a false accusation? All I want is for you to stand in court! Didn't MCA offer you twenty-two million for patent licensing?
Doesn't Disney also want to acquire you for holding the patent license?
But what if you're caught in a whirlpool of stealing Magnavox's trade secrets? Do they still dare to acquire you?
And after you go to court for stealing trade secrets, the court will halt Atari's normal production!
Why? I don't think I need to explain it again, right? Magnavox will seize the opportunity and destroy your production capacity!
Aren't you thinking about my copyright to Snake Game? Can I'll make it impossible for your company to sell
You don't want me to live, do you? Then let's all die together!!!"
Ethan spread his hands, and a rogue, almost predatory aura radiated from him.
Yes. Ethan knew that accusations of stealing trade secrets were flimsy—but that wasn't the point.
Magnavox, seizing the opportunity, would punish Atari to death. They might not hate Atari endlessly, but they would strangle Ethan Jones, without mercy.
And now, with Ethan himself handing the knife to Magnavox, Nolan Bushnell and Don Valentine still dared to dream of selling the company at a high price? Cashing out? Dream on.
Don Valentine and Nolan Bushnell clenched their fists. Their lips trembled; Their breathing quickened, their elbows tensed—and yet they were powerless.
Ethan raised his eyebrows, a sarcastic smile creeping across his face. Leaning forward, he looked level with them and teased:
"Nolan, the purchase price of twenty-two million… that allows you to take ten million, right?"
"But now… I'm sorry, you can't get it~"
"You!" Nolan Bushnell's eyes blazed.
"Don, I heard you invested all your savings over the years? Wow~ A forty-year-old man is penniless—how pitiful"
"Ethan Jones—" Don Valentine gritted his teeth.
"What? You look sad?" Ethan said with a smile. "If you're sad, then don't live it!"
Don Valentine's features twisted. He closed his eyes and pondered for a long time. When he opened them again, all that remained was compromise.
"Okay, I give up. What do you want?"
"Ouch!" Ethan Jones grinned, enjoying the sight of Don Valentine. Not because he wanted to injure his opponent unnecessarily, but because he loved seeing someone finally defeated after exhausting all their tricks.
There was no way around it—he was just a common man. And since the other party had chosen to compromise, then—
Ethan Jones said: "I'll give you forty-eight hours to pay me the dividends from Snake Game."
"Okay," Don Valentine nodded.
"The cooperation on Snake Game is terminated. No problem. You need to bear the lawsuit compensation that Magnavox brings to you, the distributor, and me."
"This is impossible!"
Before Don Valentine could speak, Nolan Bushnell shouted: "Even if the three-party compensation can be negotiated, it will cost two million! There's no way we can afford this! Ethan Jones! Don't go too far!"
Don Valentine fell silent, a sign of grudging approval. Ethan moved closer to Nolan and stared directly at him.
"Nolan, do you know why I dared to play the commercial espionage card? Because I have a way to make the judge believe it. We're in this together.
Do you remember our discussion about the second installment of dividends a few weeks ago? Let me ask you: why is there such a big gap between Snake Game sales in the Midwestern and Western regions versus the Central United States? You told me it was because of population distribution, right?
I didn't object at the time, but now I want to tell you: I don't believe it.
Want to take a gamble with me? Bet on whether the IRS will accept my report. I'll tell them that Atari manipulated Snake Game sales to pay less tax, and I can produce documents showing the discrepancy. Snake Game sold more than seven million units in the Central region—but sales in the Midwest didn't even reach 3.5 million.
Do you think, after the IRS gets involved, they'll believe your population distribution theory?
Even if the IRS only demands back taxes the first time you evade them, it doesn't matter. When tax problems arise, I'll use the IRS investigation report to prove to the judge that I'm telling the truth: it was you who instigated me to steal trade secrets, and you lied. Do you think the judge will believe you—or me?
A word of caution: judges are human too."
Ethan Jones winked at Nolan Bushnell. The next second, he heard the sound of swallowing. Under his gaze, Nolan clenched his fist, and slowly, word by word, emerged from between them:
"Ethan Jones… you are a devil…"
The title made Ethan laugh. Picking up the documents on the table, he patted Nolan's face and said with a smile, "Thank you, I like this title."
Then he stood, squinting down at the two men.
"Now, it's your turn to raise money. Good luck."