The drive to Netscape's campus felt longer than it was.
James drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, feeling the nervous excitement churning in his chest.
Outside, the morning sun reflected off the glass towers of Silicon Valley, but it was the buildings of Netscape that seemed to hum with a different energy—an electric urgency that James could feel the moment he stepped onto their grounds.
Everywhere he looked, Netscape employees buzzed like bees in a hive.Some in suits, some in hoodies and jeans, all moving with singular purpose. Phones glued to their ears, laptops clutched to their chests. Conference rooms crammed full, projectors flickering.
James smiled slightly.No wonder people called Netscape the heart of the Internet boom.
As he walked past a glass-walled conference room, a roar of anger exploded inside. James turned his head just in time to see a tall, silver-haired man—face flushed, hands chopping the air—berating a table full of executives.
Clark, James thought, catching just a glimpse before his escort tugged him along.James H. Clark himself.
It was only a momentary glance, but it left an impression.Clark radiated force — like a general rallying his troops before a major battle.
James was led into a waiting room.He sat alone for nearly half an hour, the seconds dragging like hours.
When the door finally swung open, a stout, sharp-eyed man in a polo shirt and jeans entered — Mike Homer, Netscape's newly minted head of marketing.
"James Calloway, right?" Homer said, shaking his hand with a firm, no-nonsense grip.
"That's right," James answered smoothly, standing up to meet his gaze.
Without much small talk, James pulled out a neatly prepared folder and placed it on the table between them.
"I'll get right to it, Mr. Homer. DoubleClick Advertising is already working with several major corporations—IBM, AT&T, Volvo. What I'm offering is simple: I want Netscape to be part of the future of digital advertising."
Homer chuckled — a short, dismissive sound.
"I'm sorry," he said, flipping through the folder half-heartedly."No offense, kid, but you've got the look for Hollywood, not Silicon Valley."
James smiled politely, unbothered.He was used to being underestimated.
"I'll take that as a compliment," he said. "But I'm serious, Mr. Homer. This is real."
Homer tossed the folder onto the table, unimpressed.He leaned back, arms crossed.
"You want Netscape to clutter its pristine browser with ads?" he said, incredulous. "You want us to piss off users just so we can squeeze a few bucks out of banner space?"
He laughed again, shaking his head."Sorry, son. Netscape sells software. Premium product. Fifty bucks a license. We're not some cheap sideshow."
James leaned in, lowering his voice.
"You won't be able to charge fifty dollars forever," he said."The competition is coming. And when they get desperate enough, they'll do the unthinkable — they'll give browsers away for free. Just to kill Netscape's market."
Homer's laughter faltered slightly, but he quickly masked it.
"I believe," Homer said stiffly, "that customers know quality when they see it. They'll pay for the best."
James pressed on.
"Even IBM thought it was invincible once. So did Kodak. So did RCA. Now look at them."
He tapped the folder lightly.
"Advertising is not about cluttering Netscape. It's about power. Free software...funded by ads...dominates markets."
Homer didn't answer immediately.For a moment, his fingers drummed on the table.
But then he shook his head again, more forcefully.
"Look, it's not my call," he said, standing. "I'll pass this to Jim Clark. But don't get your hopes up."
James caught the faint hesitation in his voice — that slight crack in certainty — and seized on it.
"And tell him," James said carefully, "that this proposal comes from Calloway."
At the name, Homer paused, a flicker of recognition in his eyes.
James smiled inside.Got him.
Ten minutes later, James was ushered through the glass corridors again, toward a small private office.
Inside, the energy was different.He could hear the hum of low conversation — the murmured voices of investors, engineers, executives. The atmosphere thick with money and ambition.
James H. Clark, the founder of Netscape and former king of Silicon Graphics, sat at the head of the room, flipping through documents.Beside him lounged a younger man with wild blond hair and the rumpled look of someone who lived out of a backpack — Marc Andreessen, the wunderkind who had built the original Mosaic browser while still at college.
Both men turned as James entered.
For a heartbeat, nobody said anything.Then Jim Clark's face split into a broad, familiar grin.
"Calloway!" Clark boomed, standing and clapping James on the shoulder."Little James! I met you at Charles's birthday party. How's your old man doing?"
James smiled warmly.
"Both he and Charles are doing great. Send their regards."
"Good, good," Clark said, motioning him to sit."Now...what brings you here, besides family ties?"
James sat, taking a breath.
"In short," he said, "I want Netscape to lead the next revolution — not just in browsers, but in how the Internet makes money."
He laid out his pitch — calmly, precisely, confidently.
How DoubleClick's AdNova system worked.How it could insert targeted ads into web pages.How online advertising would one day eclipse even television and newspapers.
Marc leaned forward, interest sparking in his eyes.
"So it's...automated?" he asked.
James nodded. "Fully automated. Lower costs, better targeting, real-time analytics. We can cut traditional media costs by a third — maybe even half."
"And you're sure the tech works?" Marc pressed.
James didn't flinch.
"We're already running early pilots. And we're improving every week. AT&T, IBM, Volvo — they're all testing with us."
Clark thumbed through the folder silently, absorbing the numbers.
Then he looked up, eyes narrowing slightly.
"James," he said, voice dropping into something harder, sharper, "why do you think anyone would dare challenge Netscape?"
James held his gaze.
"Because they have no choice," he said. "Once you dominate the market, every competitor — Microsoft, Apple, Sun Microsystems — they'll all be gunning for you. Some will throw money. Some will throw lawyers. Some will throw free software."
He let the words hang.
Jim Clark said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly — the way a poker player acknowledges a good hand without revealing anything.
Marc spoke up instead, voice thoughtful.
"Free browsers funded by ads, huh...?"
"You don't have to do it tomorrow," James said. "But when the time comes, you'll have the infrastructure ready."
There was a long pause.
Finally, Jim Clark closed the folder.
"You make a good case," he said, smiling faintly. "Hell, you almost make me believe it."
James stayed silent, letting the words speak for themselves.
Clark tapped the folder once against the table.
"Netscape will participate," he said at last. "But on one condition."
James leaned forward.
"Netscape must be the center of this network," Clark said. "We carry the banner. You build the army."
James nodded immediately.
"Agreed."
He would have agreed to anything in that moment.Winning Netscape was everything.
Clark stood and offered his hand.
"Welcome to the revolution, Calloway."
James stood, clasping it firmly.
"Thank you, Jim."
He could feel it already — the gears of history turning.