Chapter 67
(Late June 2007 – Los Angeles)
---
Wednesday – FaceWorld HQ – 9:12 a.m.
The morning sun poured through the conference room's glass walls, turning the long polished table into a runway of light.
Jake Harper stood at the head of it all—charcoal hoodie, clean sneakers, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Flanked on either side were Callum Knox and two senior engineers, both looking slightly buzzed on caffeine and adrenaline.
Behind Jake, the massive screen pulsed gently:
> FaceStore Developer Portal — Live
Jake let the silence linger a moment longer, feeling the room settle around him.
"Today," he said, voice even, "we let the world in."
No press conference. No big announcement.
Just a quiet, deliberate launch—targeted invites through elite developer forums, hidden corners of university mailing lists, and whispered recommendations among top coders.
It wasn't about making noise.
It was about making history.
Callum tapped the tablet in his hand and added, "We've onboarded fifty external devs in the last forty-eight hours. All high-signal, no noise."
Jake nodded once.
"Good. Keep the bar high. No knockoff slot machines. No vibrating cat GIFs."
A ripple of laughter moved through the room, but Jake didn't smile.
He wasn't kidding.
"We're not building a landfill," he said, voice sharp. "We're building the core of the next decade."
The laughter died. Heads nodded.
Everyone got it.
---
Wednesday Afternoon – Private Lab Wing – 2:03 p.m.
Jake walked alone through the secured floor beneath FaceWorld HQ—the heartbeat of the company's real future.
Biometric scanners and silent cameras tracked his steps as he moved through the private corridors.
He entered the FacePad chamber and paused.
There, in the center of the minimalist white room, the prototype rested on a smooth pedestal, bathed in soft light like a museum artifact.
Jake approached slowly, heart kicking up a little faster despite himself.
The FacePad was awake, the display hovering in standby mode, the UI clean and vibrant. A notification floated on the glass:
> Developer submission: SketchPro — Stylus input supported.
Jake's fingertip brushed the screen.
The app opened instantly—no lag, no hesitation.
He grabbed the stylus prototype from the docking bay and started sketching.
The line followed his hand perfectly, no jitter, no delay. It felt... natural. Like drawing on paper, but smarter. Smoother.
Jake set the stylus down carefully and smiled.
The FacePad wasn't just coming together.
It was already better than anything the world had ever touched.
And the FaceStore would be its beating heart.
---
Wednesday Night – Malibu – Charlie's Beach House – 8:36 p.m.
The black town car dropped Jake at the end of the driveway. The ocean whispered in the background, the salty breeze tugging at his hoodie as he stepped onto the weathered wooden deck.
The house was mostly dark. Just one low lamp in the living room casting a tired pool of yellow light.
Jake knocked twice, out of habit, then let himself in.
The place smelled like old takeout, beer, and worn leather furniture. Familiar. Heavy.
He walked past the empty kitchen and down the narrow hallway to the guest room.
The door hung open.
Inside, Alan lay curled up on the bed, facing the wall, wrapped in a blanket burrito. The room smelled faintly of pizza and something sadder Jake didn't want to name.
Jake stood in the doorway, watching his dad for a long moment.
No jokes. No smartass comments. No sitcom one-liners.
Just silence.
"Hey, Dad," he said quietly.
Alan mumbled something into the pillow—half-words, half-sighs.
Jake shifted his weight, feeling awkward and too old all at once.
He thought about saying more—something clever or hopeful or wise.
Instead, he just said, soft as a whisper, "It'll get better."
Alan didn't answer.
Jake didn't wait.
He turned and walked out, the floorboards creaking beneath his sneakers.
The ocean crashed quietly outside, like the world breathing.
---
Thursday – FaceWorld HQ – 10:47 a.m. – Private Theater
The private theater under FaceWorld HQ smelled faintly of new leather and steel.
Thirty rows of plush black seats faced a sleek, empty stage framed by spotlights. The projector screen above it stood blank and silent, like a secret waiting to be told.
Jake stood near the back, hands shoved into his pockets, scanning the room.
This was it—the staging ground for the next revolution.
Callum entered from the side door, tablet in hand, a satisfied look on his face.
"Invitations sent," he said. "NDAs attached. Everyone signed."
Jake didn't turn.
"What's the reaction?"
Callum grinned.
"Half of them think it's a PR stunt. The other half are already rearranging their calendars."
Jake smirked, but it was a small thing, almost invisible.
"Perfect."
They didn't need hype.
They needed the right people in the right room.
People who would understand what was about to hit them.
---
Thursday Afternoon – FaceStore Uptick – 2:22 p.m.
Jake ducked into his office between meetings, sliding into his chair with a sigh.
He cracked open his dashboard.
The numbers spilled across the screen like fireworks:
278 developer accounts activated
92 apps submitted
12 apps already approved
Top downloads by a landslide:
JumpBot
SketchPro
Bit Racer
He scrolled through early reviews:
"Clean, intuitive, addictive."
"Feels like the future."
"Apple's gonna have a heart attack."
Jake smiled for real this time.
FaceStore wasn't just alive.
It was thriving.
And Apple—still months away from their own app marketplace—had no idea the world had already changed under their feet.
---
Midday – Private Call: Harvey Specter – 3:07 p.m.
Jake answered the call without checking who it was. Only one person rang his private line without warning.
"Jake Harper."
Harvey Specter's voice came through like a shot of espresso—fast, sharp, no filler.
"Your hunch about Hulu was right," Harvey said. "Their licensing is a dumpster fire. Half their contracts aren't even enforceable. Mobile rollout's a joke."
Jake stood up, pacing to the window overlooking Brentwood's green sprawl.
"Can we move on it?"
"We're already moving," Harvey said. "Jessica's sweet-talking the execs. I'm handling the boardroom egos. We should be ready to drop an offer by next Friday."
Jake smirked. "Try not to enjoy it too much."
"No promises, kid."
Jake hung up feeling the familiar rush—the high of the next big move clicking into place.
Hulu wasn't just a steal.
It was a slingshot.
---
Later That Evening – Private Video Call: Jessica Pearson – 6:45 p.m.
Jake sat in the office at his Brentwood house, the lights dimmed, the projection screen casting Jessica Pearson's crisp image across the room.
No pleasantries. Jessica got straight to it.
"We have another opportunity," she said, folding her arms.
Jake leaned forward. "Bigger than Hulu?"
Jessica smiled thinly. "Different. Potentially... bigger."
Jake's heart rate ticked up a notch.
"Major telecom is restructuring. They're sitting on patents—compressed video transmission, mobile bandwidth optimization. Tech nobody in their boardroom understands yet."
Jake's mind exploded with possibilities.
3G tech. Video streaming. FacePhone expansion.
Global domination on a silver platter.
Jessica saw the lightbulb go off and nodded once.
"Think FacePhone. Think global reach."
Jake didn't hesitate.
"Send me everything."
Jessica's smile sharpened.
"Already did."
The screen went dark.
Jake sat there, staring at the city lights outside his window.
If Hulu was a slingshot...
This would be the nuclear launch.
---
Late Thursday Night – Brentwood – 11:27 p.m.
Jake sat out on the balcony, the night air cool against his skin.
His legs were pulled up into the chair, his laptop balanced against his knees.
Notifications scrolled endlessly across the screen.
FaceStore bug reports.
FacePad hardware revisions.
Hulu acquisition status updates.
Jessica's telecom dossiers.
It never stopped. Not anymore.
Jake barely noticed.
He stared out over the ocean of lights, Los Angeles sprawled out beneath him like a living thing, restless and shining and hungry.
Thirteen years old, and somehow he felt a hundred.
He wasn't tired exactly.
Just... stretched thin.
Like a wire pulled too tight.
Jake closed his laptop slowly, letting the silence settle around him.
He rested his head back against the chair and stared up at the stars.
The future was coming fast.