“Because...” He leans back and smiles. “Their offer is contingent on primary control. They won’t just buy out your part. And I’m not gonna take that deal, ever,” he says. “That’s over.”

“I thought we were still discussing what we’re gonna do,” I say. The world starts to spin. We weren’t done talking about the offer—how could it just be over?

He shakes his head. “I won’t sell. I decided in the last few days. Not just to him, but to anyone. I want to build this thing, and I’m not giving it up. If you want out, it’s this money or nothing.” He stares me down. “You can stay and keep working on this for the next few years hoping to build something big. And when we eventually monetize, maybe a few years after graduation, you might start to make an income.” He pauses, as if letting me picture the time passing. Three plus more years of bills and budgets and international call limits and pain. “But I have a feeling you’re already sick of this app, and I do not want people with that sort of mind-set on my team. So while I won’t let us sell the shares to a third party, I would be happy to buy your portion from you. If you want, if you need money now, this is the only shot you got.”

Part of me is furious at the way he says need. Like I’m some sort of addict and he knows he can control me by waving my fix, a thing that controls me and not him, in front of my face. Something he knows limits my choices and options for action. A worry he’s always been free of.

It’s infuriating that not only is money so different for him than it is for me, but that he knows it, and knows he can use it to make me do what I might not want to.

But is leaving this company really something I don’t want to do?

I think of my parents, of electric bills and medical bills and plane tickets and immigration attorney fees that have never really even been an option. I think about how long it would take to make this much money.

It’s kind of a perfect deal for me. I get to walk away with a life-changing amount of money for a class project I spent a couple of extra months perfecting. Sure, it’s less than Thatcher Bell offered. But if that’s really off the table, this deal might be the most pragmatic thing for me.

But why would he want to pay me?

“So you’re gonna pay me almost a quarter of a million dollars just to stop coding for you?” I narrow my eyes.