46-50

*Chapter 46: Role Play*

When Zeta-Jones appeared at the doorway, even Milo, who was already familiar with her, couldn’t help but be slightly moved.

She was dressed in an elegant Victorian lady’s outfit in beige with lace trimmings, a wide pleated skirt falling gracefully to the ground. The outfit was adorned with intricate, luxurious embellishments, with a low neckline that naturally created a deep cleavage.

She wore pristine white, long silk gloves and a wide-brimmed hat with a white feather, looking every bit the distinguished lady about to attend a banquet at Buckingham Palace.

"Wow!"

Milo gasped, at a loss for words, unsure of what to say.

Since his recent incident, the four women close to him had all been scrutinized by the family.

This was one of Kim Aris's tasks since arriving here—to investigate Milo’s associates for any hidden intentions or possible ties to Blackburn's enemies.

Now, with Zeta-Jones here, it was obvious she had passed the inspection.

As she approached, Zeta-Jones appeared noble and graceful.

Her chin was raised just slightly, with a touch of defiance, as if she was unwilling to concede, while her gray-green eyes sparkled with both mischief and allure, making her all the more captivating.

“Good evening, Mr. Blackburn. I’m delighted to see you in my room.”

Zeta-Jones extended her arms, lifted the hem of her skirt, and made a curtsy, both elegant and poised, speaking in an affected British accent, as though this were a lady’s boudoir rather than a room in a Beverly Hills mansion.

“Good evening, Miss Jones. This is your room? Ah, my apologies.”

Though still unclear on what exactly she was planning, Milo, fresh off a call with his uncle, stood up, adjusted his attire, and responded with a British accent and a gentlemanly demeanor.

After all, role play was something he occasionally enjoyed with them.

“No need to apologize; I’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

Zeta-Jones sauntered over to the long table, looking at him with a knowing gaze. “I heard you had a bit of a scare recently, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s behind me now,” Milo replied, slipping smoothly into character. “Compared to that, I find Miss Jones’s beauty much more startling. I never imagined there could be such a beautiful woman in the world.”

“Your words are always so enchanting,” Zeta-Jones said with a flirtatious smile. “I also heard, Mr. Blackburn, that you drove off your enemies with a big gun. They say it’s quite an impressive weapon and that you carry it with you. Is that true?”

She spoke in such refined tones, yet with these innuendos, Milo couldn’t help but draw a deep breath, even with his experience. Zeta-Jones, after a few months together, had clearly learned his preferences.

“I didn’t realize you knew about that too. The gun’s right here. Would you like to see it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I would be most grateful.”

Zeta-Jones tapped the table, then gracefully pulled out a chair and sat down with perfect poise.

Milo approached, sitting on the table before her.

With a delicate smile, Zeta-Jones undid his belt and zipper, reaching out with her gloved hand.

Milo exhaled deeply.

Though separated by the white silk of her gloves, the sensation had an intensity all its own, heightened by the restrained elegance of the scene.

Zeta-Jones lifted her head, gazing at Milo with a proud defiance.

Whoever said English roses lacked acting skills? At this moment, she was every bit the English noblewoman, embodying the poise of her character from Shakespeare in Love.

“What a fine weapon!” she murmured, then leaned forward.

Even in this, she retained her composure, as if attending a society gala, conducting herself with the utmost elegance.

This exquisite contrast—her dressed in grand attire, performing such intimate acts with an unbroken grace—sent a surge of adrenaline through Milo.

The room was silent, save for soft breaths and the faint sound of lips, but the atmosphere was charged with intensity.

Finally, after a while, Milo let out a low groan, his body shuddering slightly. Zeta-Jones, looking up to catch his reaction, paused only when she sensed his release.

After he let out a contented breath, she sat upright.

Even after swallowing as best she could, a bit still escaped her lips.

Keeping her composure, Zeta-Jones delicately wiped her mouth with her gloved hand and adjusted her hat, stray hairs and beads of sweat adorning her flushed face as she looked at Milo.

“Mr. Blackburn, you are truly unparalleled,” she murmured, her voice a bit thick from the lingering effects.

Her gray-green eyes held no less desire or anticipation.

“You too are unparalleled,” Milo replied sincerely.

“Then let us continue,” Zeta-Jones whispered, bending forward once more.

For Milo, this was the most pleasant moment of his day.

With this release, he felt much of his anger, tension, and forced composure dissipate.

Looking down, he saw Zeta-Jones maintaining her dignified English-lady persona throughout, biting her lips to suppress any sounds during even the most intense moments.

So much so, that she never removed the costume, and Milo thought it suited the mood perfectly.

He recognized this dress—it was one of the most expensive props from Shakespeare in Love.

It was a painstakingly crafted replica of a top-tier Victorian evening gown, costing the production over $20,000.

When filming, Zeta-Jones would often spend about an hour getting into it.

By the end, both the costume and Zeta-Jones were completely disheveled.

But Milo, finally, felt all his stress and anxiety lift.

When he left the room, he was calm and collected.

“Kim, have the results for the other three come back yet?” he asked.

Outside, two meters away, the Blackburn family’s butler, Kim Aris, stood quietly, as though he’d always been there.

“All results are in. The German and Australian women are clear. The Italian woman’s results just came in, and she’s clean as well. She’s being brought here.”

“Good.” Milo nodded. “Is the ‘chicken’ ready for the ‘monkeys’?”

“Ready.”

“Then let the slaughter begin.”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 47: Night in Los Angeles

Tonight, the nightscape of Los Angeles feels particularly enigmatic. This city, once founded by gold prospectors, seems to echo that grand era, continuing its tales of indulgence and revelry.

As for San Francisco, it was merely the first destination and gathering place for early prospectors, earning it the nickname "Golden Mountain."

Later, Australia saw its own gold rush, becoming the new "Golden Mountain," relegating San Francisco to being "Old Golden Mountain."

San Francisco’s official name, of course, is "San Francisco." Without Silicon Valley, its importance in the U.S. wouldn’t be as pronounced. But because it has historically been the city with the highest concentration of Americans, it holds a special place in their hearts.

For Americans, though, the premier city of the West Coast remains the City of Angels, Los Angeles—a bustling metropolis to this day.

Tonight, in every corner of the city—from nightclubs to bars, parties to private events—men and women are entwined in the rhythm of the night. It feels as if the entire city is enveloped in a thick atmosphere of opulence and decadence.

Unsurprisingly, Beverly Hills stands as the epitome of this grandeur.

When Monica was escorted into 9406 Crest Drive, she appeared calm on the surface, but her heart was racing.

The events since noon had left her certain that something significant was unfolding.

On her way here, she noticed LAPD and FBI vehicles everywhere along Crest Drive.

From midday to the afternoon, she had been questioned by various people, some even using strange instruments on her.

She was later told these devices were lie detectors.

Although Monica was unnerved, she had spoken truthfully, and the results verified her honesty, so nothing else happened.

She quietly followed her escort out of the car and into the villa’s grand hall.

Lifting her gaze, Monica took in her surroundings. It was her first time in this part of the hills, even though she had long known Catherine Zeta-Jones lived here, and that Milo often spent the night.

Even at night, the villa’s well-lit interior revealed a spacious and bright hall.

The living room featured sleek, modern lines with large floor-to-ceiling windows that likely invited ample natural light during the day.

The polished marble floors reflected the exquisite furniture and decor, while a grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a soft, elegant glow.

Monica quickly shifted her focus away from the surroundings.

On the sofa, she noticed two women she had only briefly met before—friends of Zeta-Jones who had visited the set of Angels & Demons during her cameo appearance.

She remembered one was named Julie, while the other seemed to be Kate.

Then she spotted the serious-looking Mrs. Solly, who nodded at her and gestured, “Ms. Bellucci, please, have a seat over here...”

Mrs. Solly directed Monica to sit near the two women.

Still unclear about what was happening, Monica obediently nodded and chose a spot next to Julie Delpy.

Judging by appearances, Julie, with her sweet smile, seemed easier to get along with than Blanchett.

The atmosphere was odd; no one spoke, and Monica wasn’t sure if she should break the silence.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before she saw the familiar Catherine Zeta-Jones, descending gracefully from the stairs in a silk robe.

Monica frowned inwardly, wondering if Milo intended to confess his relationship with her to his girlfriend tonight.

Otherwise, why had he summoned her here?

And what was the deal with the LAPD, FBI vehicles outside, and the many professional-looking bodyguards inside?

Was he afraid she would start an argument or a fight with the others?

But surely, that wouldn’t require such a spectacle...

Monica felt increasingly uneasy.

As Zeta-Jones approached, Julie and Kate stood up, greeting her with warm smiles.

“Here you are. How is he?”

“Catherine…”

Zeta-Jones nodded at Julie and Blanchett but kept her mesmerizing gaze fixed on Monica.

“Hello, Monica. Good evening. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

She extended a hand. Monica, still clueless about the night’s purpose, managed a polite smile and shook hands.

“Good evening, dear Catherine. The pleasure is mine.”

Monica caught a hint of Zeta-Jones’ scent—a mix of shower gel and perfume.

Freshly bathed, thought Monica.

As a fellow mistress, she instinctively sensed that this British woman had recently been intimate with their shared man.

Even a bath couldn’t hide those subtle traces.

Is this some sort of power play?

Monica felt a twinge of discomfort.

“Take a seat; Milo will join us shortly,” Zeta-Jones said gracefully, exuding the demeanor of a hostess. “What would you like to drink? Coffee, tea, or something else?”

“A glass of water, please. Milo once told me it’s best not to have coffee or tea at night—it might disrupt sleep,” Monica replied with a smile.

“Alright.” Zeta-Jones smiled back, then turned to Mrs. Solly. “Madam, could you please bring two glasses of plain water? One for Ms. Bellucci and one for me. Thank you.”

Julie and Blanchett exchanged glances; they were sipping coffee.

“Of course,” Mrs. Solly nodded.

Suddenly—

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang bang! Bang!  

The abrupt burst of sharp, continuous sounds shattered the stillness of the villa.

Any true American, particularly one raised on the streets, would instantly recognize that as gunfire.

But among the four women present—an Englishwoman, an Australian, a Frenchwoman, and an Italian—none were American.

Nor had any of them lived in the U.S. long enough to discern the sound of gunfire.

The longest resident, Julie Delpy, had been in the States for only five years.

Startled by the noise, the women jumped to their feet but calmed down when they saw Mrs. Solly and the other staff unfazed.

Soon after—

“Ah, you’re all here!”

A figure appeared in the hallway leading to the backyard—Milo, his face beaming as he walked toward them.

The women, who had just sat back down, rose again to greet him with smiles.

“Milo!”

“Darling, you’re here…”

“Is everything settled?”

Their overlapping voices created a slight commotion.

Milo raised a hand, signaling for silence.

“I have something to tell you all. Please, take a seat.”

Obediently, they sat down, all eyes on him.

As they did, they noticed the damp, reddish stains on Milo’s white shirt beneath his suit.

The stains were unevenly scattered and still dripping.

Sitting closest, Julie caught a whiff of something.

She pointed hesitantly. “What’s that, Milo? Did you spill something?”

Milo glanced down, then chuckled nonchalantly.

“Oh, nothing—just some chicken blood. Got splattered while watching someone slaughter chickens earlier.”

(To be continued...)  

*Chapter 48: Let’s Step It Up*

Milo enjoyed his morning workouts because they brought numerous benefits. After a full night’s rest, the body’s functions return to peak condition in the morning.

Morning exercise accelerates metabolism, kick-starting the body’s systems like high-quality oil lubricating an engine, ensuring smooth operation and optimizing physical condition.

When done well, a great morning workout can set the tone for the entire day, leaving both men and women in a good mood and better equipped to handle stress.

It’s also a great alternative to running for fitness.

Of course, the caveat is that men need enough stamina. If it’s less than thirty minutes, the workout’s value diminishes significantly.

In short, after pulling back the curtains and soaking in the morning sunlight, sharing a high-quality workout with a woman—or women—can be the perfect way to start the day.

For someone like Milo, who enjoys mixing a little fun into his workout, it’s even better for mental and physical well-being.

For instance, right now, he was seated on a custom-made chair with his eyes closed.

Four stunning faces, each with their unique charm, surrounded him.

“Excellent, Catherine. You’re amazing,” Milo said casually as he enjoyed the moment.

---

Laughter echoed. After the night they’d shared, the atmosphere had become much more harmonious.

For a brief moment, even Milo found himself catching his breath repeatedly.

By noon, Milo had left 9406 Crest Drive.

The four women, who had seemed to be getting along so well earlier, suddenly found themselves on opposing sides.

Monica stood alone, while the other three subtly formed their own alliance.

“So, it seems no one plans on leaving?” said Monica, the most experienced and likely the smartest of the group, breaking the silence first.

“Not stupid, I see. I thought at least one of you might back out,” she added.

After finishing her shower, Catherine Zeta-Jones appeared, wearing a blue-and-white striped shirt with a black vest over it, white trousers, and her long hair draped down. A few bangs framed her forehead. She looked every bit the seductive beauty she was known to be.

“I can tell he likes you,” Zeta-Jones suddenly said.

“Last night, the time he spent on you was just as much as he spent on me.”

Julia and Blanchett, who had been about to chime in and side against Monica, were momentarily stunned by Zeta-Jones’ comment.

They thought, You even kept track of that?

Monica chuckled and said, “I think we should have a talk.”

“I think so too,” Zeta-Jones nodded.

---

While the women began their private conversation, Milo’s convoy was leaving Beverly Hills, heading to Los Angeles International Airport.

Milo’s travel arrangements had upgraded from one or two cars to a full convoy due to yesterday’s shooting incident.

The Blackburn family had significantly increased his security detail. Previously, Milo had just two bodyguards, David and Kenny. Now, that number had jumped to eight.

Additionally, with assistants and personnel needed for his trip to San Francisco, the group now numbered over twenty. Two cars were no longer enough, so five identical Cadillac sedans were used.

The convoy had already rearranged its formation several times since leaving the estate. Security measures were now at least ten times stricter than before.

Milo sat in the second car, gazing through the privacy glass at the Los Angeles suburbs speeding past.

Even though only 24 hours had passed, Milo felt like a completely different person.

Yesterday, he had been naïve. He believed that, with his family background, no one in Hollywood would dare provoke him as long as he didn’t stir up trouble. All he wanted was to make movies, write novels, and enjoy the women he fancied.

At most, he thought he’d support his father and family in media ventures as they grew.

Yesterday, he basked in the privileges his family afforded him without considering the responsibilities.

But the reality was clear: to wear the crown, one must bear its weight.

You can’t just take without giving back. That’s not how the world works.

After yesterday’s incident, Kim explained the situation to Milo.

It boiled down to someone back in New England feeling pushed too far by the Blackburn family and retaliating by sending a message through Milo’s attempted shooting. It was their way of saying, Push us too hard, and we’re willing to go down fighting.

Kim didn’t go into detail, and neither did Milo’s grandfather. They only reinforced his security.

Still, it was enough for Milo to understand that his lineage didn’t make him invincible.

In fact, his family background made him a bigger target.

Unless the Blackburns were willing to become figureheads like certain families, or if Milo himself wanted to live a life of mediocrity, the danger was inevitable.

His grandfather and father wouldn’t accept that. The Blackburns weren’t a family to bow down.

If they wouldn’t let him waste away, then Milo had to step up.

---

At San Francisco Airport, Milo stepped off the plane and clenched his fist.

As his group exited the business passage and reached the terminal entrance, they were greeted by Wendy and a team of assistants waiting in front of five identical black SUVs.

Wendy hurried over to greet him.

“Boss…”

“No need to explain. It wasn’t your fault. Let’s go.”

Wendy nodded repeatedly but couldn’t help noticing her boss asking, “Why are there so many reporters and paparazzi at the airport today?”

“It’s for Michael Jackson’s world tour stop in San Francisco,” Wendy replied.

Milo nodded nonchalantly. MJ was undoubtedly a cultural icon and global pop legend. Despite his controversial image, his private life was surprisingly clean, and he was known for his integrity.

However, Milo thought, MJ was already being targeted by certain financial and political groups.

In America, a Black person could rap, act, or play sports. They could even earn fortunes and live in Beverly Hills.

But if they tried to leverage their fame into real political or societal power, trouble was inevitable.

---

Milo slipped on his sunglasses. His bodyguards cleared the way, and the group swiftly navigated past the reporters, boarding the cars outside.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 49: San Francisco*

In the car, Milo opened a bottle of mineral water, took a few large gulps, and then screwed the cap back on.

Smiling at Wendy, he asked, "How’s Yahoo doing now?"

“I don’t understand much about the internet,” Wendy replied with a smile, “but our advisors tell me that Yahoo has enormous potential. I can’t speak to its potential, but I do know it’s incredibly valuable now! This morning, news came from Wall Street that an investment bank has given Yahoo a $500 million valuation!”

This was rather outrageous, as the company hadn’t even been around for two years.

In just over a year, it had burned through nearly $10 million with zero profit to show for it. Yet, its stock was now in high demand.

Milo chuckled, “Seems Jerry Yang and David Filo are doing quite well.”

"Those two are very talented, but they’re a bit impatient. Now, they’re eager to take the reins—something they weren’t trying a few months ago," Wendy said with a slight laugh and a shake of her head.

Milo could only smile knowingly.

Many successful internet giants have founders with that kind of attitude. When they seek funding, they’ll be as humble as possible. But once the company starts performing, they become as arrogant as they can.

Most, in the end, are brought to heel by capital. Those who don’t bow either get pushed out or end up becoming capital themselves. There’s no other way.

Soon, the car arrived in Santa Clara, San Francisco, stopping in front of a five- or six-story building.

David stepped out first, followed by Kenny and others quickly moving into position. About ten seconds later, David came over and opened the car door for Milo.

Milo was dressed in a tailored black suit, a white shirt, and a deep blue striped tie. Though tall, his custom-fit attire made him look sleek rather than bulky.

As he got out, he saw four or five people in front of the building, surrounding two young men.

Jerry Yang had the typical intellectual look, wearing glasses and looking very refined. David Filo, on the other hand, looked like he’d fit right in among America’s redneck crowd if he had a sunburned neck. And that was quite true, as David Filo was a Louisiana native and a Tulane University graduate—a classic Southerner.

Seeing Milo, tall, young, and charismatic, get out of the car, Jerry Yang and David Filo were surprised by the entourage. Milo hadn’t arrived with so many people last time.

As Milo approached, the two young men led their group down the steps, and the groups quickly converged.

"Dear Mr. Blackburn, welcome back to Yahoo!" David Filo greeted him warmly before Milo could say a word.

Milo didn’t know these two all that well in this life or his previous one. Before he was reborn, he only knew Jerry Yang was one of Yahoo’s founders. He hadn’t even been aware of David Filo’s existence—

However, Milo sensed that David Filo was more proactive now, handling most of the conversation.

“Hello, David, Jerry. The weather in Santa Clara is beautiful today,” Milo said, shaking hands with them both.

After exchanging greetings, the two took Milo into Yahoo’s offices.

The employees were already aware that one of the company’s main investors was visiting, but they continued with their work, uninterested in the commotion.

Walking side by side with Milo, Jerry Yang and David Filo seemed to have an unspoken division of roles, at least when dealing with Milo. Jerry occasionally chimed in, while David took the lead in conversation.

David gave an enthusiastic tour, showing each department. Milo asked questions here and there, and the conversation flowed smoothly.

Compared to his calm and reserved demeanor last time, Milo seemed far more engaged now. During his last visit, he’d stayed for just half an hour, signed some documents, and left with his shares in hand.

This change puzzled David and Jerry, who attributed it to Yahoo’s rising valuation.

But, in truth, Milo’s outlook had changed since he was nearly shot yesterday.

As they continued walking, staff members noticed the friendly rapport between their bosses and the investor, which brought smiles to their faces.

Jerry and David initially assumed that a young, wealthy writer and rumored aspiring director wouldn’t care much for the dry IT work environment and would quickly lose patience.

But they saw Milo listening intently, even with a thoughtful expression, clearly interested in all things Yahoo—not just pretending to be.

David Filo, who spoke quickly and had a slightly jumpy train of thought, had started off a bit dismissive. Though he would occasionally respond to Milo’s ideas, there was a hint of disdain in his tone, as he likely viewed Milo as an outsider. Although Milo spoke from a user’s perspective, sharing his experience and feedback, he also deliberately threw in some internet-related concepts and ideas he’d prepared to engage Yahoo’s founders.

While many ideas aligned with what Yahoo was already working on, a few were completely new concepts that hadn’t yet crossed their minds.

So, as the conversation progressed, even Jerry Yang, who usually spoke less, joined in.

“Milo, these are some great ideas. No wonder your books are such a hit—it’s fantastic!” David no longer called him Mr. Blackburn, addressing him by his first name instead.

Outwardly, Milo responded with a modest smile, but internally, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

The ideas he shared were variations on ones he’d seen copied in his previous life. Yet, here, they were seen as groundbreaking—and now, they were his original thoughts.

For instance, he casually mentioned the concept of a search function, which hadn’t yet become mainstream. If Yahoo developed it, who knows if Google would even get a chance to rise in a few years?

"Heh, I’ve written down the complete thought process for these ideas. They’re ready and with my team’s lawyer. If you and Jerry are willing to offer some benefits, I think those documents won’t disappoint you!" Milo teased with a playful glint.

He didn’t trust this industry to play fair.

No one in the internet world has principles; those with principles simply wouldn’t succeed.

Milo knew that if he hadn’t warned them that he’d protected these ideas, Yahoo might start coding right after he left.

In the past, he might not have cared. But now, since Milo intended to make a mark in the internet industry, he wasn’t about to give away his ideas for free.

Acting this way and throwing out numerous hints were all just steps in his strategy.

(End of chapter)

*Chapter 50: You Wouldn't Dare to Copy Even If I Let You*

David Filo couldn’t help but twitch at the corners of his eyes after hearing Milo’s comments. His expression turned awkward, and he exchanged a glance with Jerry Yang.

Milo had it figured out—if he hadn’t mentioned that these ideas were already protected, these two would undoubtedly plagiarize them as soon as he left. But with the ideas under protection, the situation changed dramatically.

Even though internet-related legislation wasn’t fully clear at the time, the United States had always been the global leader in copyright and patent protection.

Especially considering that both of them knew this young tycoon before them was tied to the powerful Boston Consortium.

If Yahoo were to steal his ideas, and if those ideas were indeed pre-registered and protected, Yahoo wouldn’t be able to withstand the ensuing legal onslaught.

Milo watched their reactions closely, feeling a twinge of satisfaction. Seeing these brilliant minds caught off guard was a rare joy.

“David, Jerry, don’t worry,” Milo said with a smile. “The small ideas I just mentioned are just some thoughts I came up with from the Yahoo experience. The truly valuable ideas are right here. I think you’ll love them, gentlemen.”

He tapped his temple and gave them a playful wink.

“Oh, Milo, you’re already one of the company’s biggest shareholders. Shouldn’t you be thinking about Yahoo’s growth? The stronger the company, the greater your benefits!” David Filo tried to appeal to Milo emotionally.

Milo merely chuckled. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s head to the conference room. Let’s wrap this up quickly—I’ve got other places to be!”

The two groups gathered their leaders and headed to Yahoo’s conference room, which had already been prepared. Each seat had a bottle of mineral water placed neatly on the table.

Once everyone was seated, the meeting began.

This meeting was originally scheduled for the day before, but Milo’s shooting incident had delayed it until today. Yahoo had invited Milo primarily because its two founders were starting to get ambitious.

Not long ago, David Filo and Jerry Yang had invited representatives from Sequoia Capital for a meeting, which turned out to be a success.

Encouraged, they decided to invite Milo next.

The intention was clear—they wanted power.

Milo and Sequoia Capital each held 35% of Yahoo’s shares, while Jerry Yang and David Filo together held only 30%.

Back then, there hadn’t been the myth of Netscape’s IPO success, and Yahoo wasn’t in great shape—it was burning through cash at an alarming rate.

Yahoo wasn’t worth much then, and Milo and Sequoia had been able to secure such a large stake in the company.

But times had changed. With Netscape’s successful IPO, the internet boom was just around the corner.

Yahoo’s valuation had soared nearly tenfold in just a few months, drawing attention from numerous investors eager to negotiate with Yahoo and its founders.

However, most of Yahoo’s shares weren’t in the hands of Jerry Yang and David Filo.

If the founders wanted to cash out, they’d have to sell a significant portion of their shares, leaving them as mere employees.

Some suggested they could cash out and start another company like Yahoo.

But this was unrealistic. Non-compete agreements would bind them, requiring them to stay with Yahoo for several years.

So their only option was to try to wrestle for more power within Yahoo, leading to today’s meeting with Milo.

Before the meeting, Milo had already discussed strategy with his think tank. He planned to stick to the plan and reveal all his cards.

By dropping hints about valuable ideas during his company tour, Milo was adding leverage to his position.

Even though the ideas weren’t the most revolutionary features Yahoo would implement in the future, they were enough to significantly improve Yahoo’s current platform.

Yahoo’s current valuation rested on its first-mover advantage as a portal site, a concept later emulated by sites like Sina, NetEase, and Sohu.

But competition was brewing. Silicon Valley entrepreneurs were already creating rival sites inspired by Yahoo’s model.

Milo knew Jerry Yang and David Filo wouldn’t give up these ideas easily. If Milo chose to back a rival company, these concepts could boost that competitor’s chances against Yahoo.

For example, Microsoft had invested in the Surfer directory site six months earlier. Though Surfer failed in the original timeline, Jerry and David didn’t know that.

Microsoft, led by Bill Gates, was a giant, and Yahoo saw Surfer as a looming threat. Milo’s think tank used this fear as leverage in the negotiations.

As for Yahoo copying ideas, Milo wasn’t worried.

He wasn’t just some regular employee or an unknown figure. He was a bestselling author and a well-known public figure tied to the Boston financial elite.

Yahoo wasn’t yet the post-IPO juggernaut it would become, and without strong backing, Jerry Yang and David Filo wouldn’t dare take such risks.

With lawyers present on both sides, Milo even welcomed them to try. It would make things far more interesting—and disastrous for Yahoo.

Of course, this was just a passing thought. Milo wasn’t looking for a one-time deal.

With Yahoo’s proven potential, he had no interest in exploring alternatives like Surfer.

Jerry Yang and David Filo were far more approachable than Microsoft’s corporate behemoth.

The future of Yahoo was what Milo cared about most.

Thus, the negotiations began, heated and intense from the start.

(End of Chapter)