The smell of roasted chicken and garlic bread filled the cozy kitchen. James sat at the dining table with his parents, a rare peaceful evening carved out amidst the madness brewing in Silicon Valley.
His father, Thomas Calloway, a tall man with a strong frame and sharp, commanding features, cut a piece of chicken and pointed his fork at James."So, this company of yours," Thomas began, his voice steady but probing. "Are you serious about it, James? If it really takes off, are you still going to finish college? Or are you going to chase dreams and forget about your education?"
James smiled calmly. His fork twirled lazily through the salad as he replied, "Don't worry, Dad. I'll get my degree. I promised Mom. I'm not backing out."
His memory — his real memory — was sharper than any machine. Every exam question, every lecture, every note from his past life... he remembered them all vividly. Even if Stanford completely changed their curriculum, he could adapt without breaking a sweat.
Thomas leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. "It's not just about the degree, son. It's about commitment. Focus. If you split yourself too thin, you'll end up doing everything halfway."
"I understand," James said seriously, meeting his gaze. "I'm all-in on DoubleClick. The degree will just... come naturally."
Charlotte Calloway, sitting gracefully at the other end of the table, reached out and touched James's hand lightly. Her soft, composed smile brought a small, hidden strength to the room."There's still nearly two months before Stanford starts again," Charlotte said warmly. "Let's take one thing at a time. See where this adventure leads you first."
James gave her a grateful nod. Her faith meant more than she knew.
He relaxed back into his chair, feeling the rare comfort of family — the warmth, the familiarity, the weight of their expectations balanced by their love.
Outside the cozy bubble of home, however, the world was already beginning to shift.
Across Silicon Valley, in a small rented office crammed with computers and empty coffee cups, Ryan, an exhausted web developer, slumped in his chair. The blue glow of his monitor painted his face as he lazily clicked through the Netscape browser.
The page loaded — but something was different.
A large, colorful banner ad stretched across the top of the screen.
YouWill.
Ryan blinked. Curiosity prickled his brain. He clicked.
Suddenly, a whirlwind of crude but fascinating webpages opened: a virtual tour of the Louvre, the Library of Congress, the Warhol Museum. Each page proudly carried the sparkling "YouWill" logo, and at the bottom, the emblem of the Telegraph and Telephone Company alongside a slogan: Technology Creates Miracles!
Ryan leaned closer, a chill running up his spine.
Is this… an advertisement? Online?
This wasn't just a pop-up. This was a portal. An invitation.
Around him, countless developers, gold-diggers, and early Internet pioneers were noticing the same thing. Today wasn't just another day. Today, something new was born.
Wired Magazine was the first to declare it.
Kevin Kelly, the editor-in-chief, wrote in bold, breathless headlines:
"1995: The First Year of the Internet!"
"Netscape and DoubleClick have launched the world's first true digital advertisements, offering a solution to the Internet's biggest question: how to make money!"
"Advertising will transform the Internet from a curiosity into an economy!"
Across newsstands, on computer screens, and inside venture capital firms, a wildfire ignited.
If what Wired said was true, then everything was about to change.
James finished dinner, exchanged hugs with his parents, and headed straight to the DoubleClick office.
When he walked in, the energy was electric. His assistant nearly tackled him at the door.
"James! You're not gonna believe this — Netscape, Wired, Yahoo! They all called!"
Before James could respond, the phone on the desk shrilled again.
His assistant snatched it up, listened for a moment, then turned to James with wide eyes.
"It's Jim Clark. Netscape."
James took a deep breath and grabbed the receiver.
"Jim! Congratulations," James said, keeping his voice light. "The ads are live. The response looks amazing!"
Jim Clark's booming laughter came through the line, rich with satisfaction.
"James, you're part of this win too. DoubleClick did great."
There was a pause. A shift.
Jim's voice lowered, becoming serious.
"Listen, James. Netscape wants to move fast. We need to sign a strategic cooperation agreement between Netscape and DoubleClick as soon as possible."
James's heart thudded — the way Jim said it didn't sound like a suggestion. It sounded like a command.
"No problem," James replied smoothly. "We're ready whenever you are."
Jim wasn't finished.
"And we want DoubleClick's full support with Netscape's advertising push. Our goal is more than $10 million in digital ad revenue next year."
James almost dropped the phone.
Ten million dollars? Next year?!
He struggled to keep his voice even. "Of course. We're all in."
Jim chuckled darkly.
"That's what I like to hear. Oh, and James — be smart with the media. Stick to the script. We don't want any… confusion."
Translation: don't say anything stupid that might screw up Netscape's IPO dreams.
After hanging up, James sat there for a moment, the receiver still pressed against his ear.
He got it now. Jim didn't care if the $10 million target was realistic or pure fantasy.
He wanted a story.
He wanted Wall Street to believe it.
Welcome to the real Silicon Valley, James thought grimly.
Early the next morning, James sat in the kitchen , eating breakfast while the TV blared news.
A CNBC anchor's voice crackled from the screen:
"Wall Street institutions have raised their estimates of Netscape's market value, citing their new digital advertising model!"
"President Barksdale predicts Netscape's ad revenues could exceed $10 million next year!"
"Netscape's estimated market value has now crossed $1.1 billion dollars!"
James sipped his coffee slowly, his mind racing faster than ever.
DoubleClick was no longer just an experiment.
It was the key to Silicon Valley's future — and Wall Street's next gold rush.
And he was standing right at the center of it.
James leaned back in his chair, a small, dangerous smile playing at the corner of his lips.
The Internet would never be the same.
And neither would he.