San Jose, California.
The afternoon sun was harsh, warping the air above the asphalt. The red Cadillac pulled up in front of a Taco Bell at the end of Charleston Road. The giant purple sign looked faded, and the parking lot was dotted with oil stains.
Sandy Lerner pushed open the greasy glass door.
"Come on in," she said, glancing back at the two Asian girls who looked like they belonged in a palace, not a fast-food joint. "The coffee is terrible, but the tacos are filling."
Satsuki stepped inside, her white dress dazzling against the backdrop of plastic tables and the smell of fried corn chips.
Fujita Tsuyoshi immediately stepped forward. He produced a pristine white handkerchief and vigorously wiped down a red plastic table by the window three times. Only after confirming it was spotless did he pull out a chair.
"Young Lady, please."
The local truck drivers stopped mid-bite, staring with their mouths open at the display of high-society service in a taco shop.
Len Bosack plopped down opposite them, his chair letting out a screeching groan.
"Three beef tacos, extra hot sauce, and a large Coke!" he shouted toward the counter. His fingers were already tapping out the rhythm of code on the tabletop.
"Alright, Miss Saionji," Sandy said, arms crossed. "This place is quiet enough. Tell me, how do you plan to help us?"
Satsuki remained calm. She gestured for Emi to sit.
"Before we talk business, I want to clarify something," Satsuki said. "Emi, tell Ms. Lerner and Mr. Bosack: in your eyes, what exactly is that ugly box sitting in the garage?"
Emi took a deep breath. She gathered the pepper shakers and ketchup packets from the table.
"Current computer networks are like isolated islands," Emi said, placing a ketchup packet on the left. "This is IBM; it speaks SNA. This pepper shaker is DEC; it speaks DECnet. There's AppleTalk, UNIX... they are all smart, but they can't understand each other."
Emi pointed to the empty space in the middle of the table.
"That box is the bridge. It's a translator fluent in all languages. It takes the IBM dialect, repackages it into the TCP/IP universal language, and sends it to DEC."
Her voice trembled with excitement.
"This is the nervous system that turns all the computers in the world into one supercomputer. Information will flow like water. That is the significance of that box."
Bosack was entranced. Condensation from his Coke dripped onto his pants, unnoticed.
"Nervous system..." he murmured. "Exactly. That's the word. Only you saw its soul."
"An excellent explanation," Satsuki clapped lightly. "Now, from a business perspective, this is more than just a bridge."
She extended a slender finger, drawing a line between the 'islands.'
"It's a toll booth."
The air went quiet. Sandy's eyes lit up like a lioness catching the scent of blood.
"If every company, every university, and every household eventually needs this connection," Satsuki continued, "then whoever controls the box controls the throat of the internet. For every data packet that passes through, a gold coin must be left behind. You aren't selling hardware; you're selling the Right of Way."
Satsuki looked Sandy dead in the eye.
"Do you think the people at Sequoia Capital see the gold mine, or just the pennies? They want to replace you with a 'professional manager' to sell boxes. I want to build a kingdom."
"What's the difference between you and them?" Sandy challenged.
"Patience," Satsuki replied, leaning back. "The Saionji family doesn't need you to go public tomorrow. I can give you the time to build. And..." she leaned in, "I heard you're having trouble with chip procurement?"
Bosack nodded painfully. "The factories won't take small orders. We're delayed by months."
"I have personal relationships with the executives at Toshiba and NEC," Satsuki said. "Starting next month, the best Japanese memory chips and processors will arrive at your garage door at the best prices. I can even open the Japanese market with NTT."
This was the killing blow. Capital, supply chain, market, and—most importantly—respect.
"What do we have to give?" Sandy asked.
"I won't interfere with management," Satsuki held up one finger. "I will always vote with you, even if Sequoia tries to kick you out. All I want is a 30% stake and exclusive distribution rights for Japan."
Sandy looked at her husband. Bosack was chewing a cold taco, dazed.
"I think it works," he mumbled. "If we have Japanese chips, I can double the processing speed."
Sandy reached out a hand still dusted with corn chip crumbs.
"Deal, Miss Saionji."
Satsuki didn't hesitate. She extended her hand, clad in an expensive sheepskin glove, and firmly shook Sandy's hand.
As the Cadillac drove away, Emi was still in a daze.
"Saionji-san... is that box really worth that much? The check you gave them..."
Satsuki took off her hat, letting the wind blow through her hair.
"Remember this, Emi. The most expensive thing in this world is 'connection.' Railroads created the powers of the 19th century. Telephones created AT&T. This box connects human brains. We are occupying the future before anyone else has even reacted."
Satsuki smiled, her pupils reflecting the California sunset.
"Soon, the name Cisco Systems will be more famous than Coca-Cola. And we are its earliest shareholders."
Emi lowered her head and wrote in her notebook:
April 1988. San Jose. In a taco shop, we bought the world's nervous system.