Part 5 (1/2)

”I don't see a role for you moving forward,” Ev explained. ”If we don't sell Odeo, Twitter will become our main focus, and I don't think we can work together well on it.”

Noah tried to plead, arguing that he wanted to oversee Twitter, but Ev knew it wasn't possible. Everyone was fed up. They had long since reached their limits. And Jack, the most important developer on the Twitter team, would leave if Noah stayed. Ev had already decided, and that decision was the only one that counted. When Noah had agreed to make Ev the CEO in exchange for the early funding for the podcasting start-up, he had also given Ev the ability to make carte blanche decisions. Noah had never antic.i.p.ated that the power he'd handed to his friend and neighbor would be used to fire him, the founder of Odeo, from the company.

Ev gave Noah an ultimatum: six months' severance and six months' vesting of his Odeo stock, or he would be fired and the story would not be pretty publicly. He didn't mention Jack's ultimatum; he didn't even mention Jack's name. ”Take the rest of the week to think about what you want to do,” Ev said.

Noah left the office that evening, sullen and sad, angry and defeated, believing Ev was kicking him out of the company to conserve control of Twitter. Noah needed to douse his sadness in liquor. He met up with Jack and another friend at a nearby club, where they drank and danced late into the night.

As they stood at the bar ordering drinks, Noah told Jack what had happened. Jack appeared dumbfounded by the fact that his friend had been pushed out. He never mentioned that he had handed Ev the gun with which the final shot was fired. As the night came to a close, Noah hugged Jack good-bye and went home alone.

Noah spent the next few days riding his bike around San Francisco trying to calculate what to do. He cycled along the Embarcadero, watching the boats as they bobbed in the bay. He wrote in his journal as he lay in Dolores Park, the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark playing in the background. And he sat along the edge of the world as people played with ma.s.sive kites in the wind. ”Watching colorful parachutes trace the shape of infinity as they fall to earth,” he tweeted.

Ev had expected Noah to battle for power and control of Twitter. But no matter how much Noah wanted to be a fighter, he wasn't. He didn't fight because he didn't know how. When he was kicked by a horse, he just walked away.

Noah didn't fight because he realized it wasn't power that he had been after when he started Odeo. More than fame and more than fortune, he had just wanted friends.

Two weeks later, faced with no other choice and no one in his corner, Noah resigned. He stopped by the desolate office on a Sat.u.r.day afternoon, packed his life into cardboard boxes, and let the beige door slam behind him, no longer an employee of two companies he helped start.

III.

#JACK.

A b.l.o.o.d.y Mess.

Acrimson stream of blood flowed down Jack's cheek, past the drunken grin on his face, turning left onto the crest of his black T-s.h.i.+rt and finally stopping, in small red pools, on the white sheets of the hospital bed. A sour smell of alcohol lingered in the air.

The room swayed a little, moving to and fro like a boat at sea, slos.h.i.+ng around in the countless vodka and Red Bulls Jack had drunk throughout the evening.

It wasn't how the grand public launch of Twitter was supposed to end up: Jack in the hospital at around 2:00 A.M., covered in blood, and Noah, Ray, and a few others still dancing at a rave a few blocks away. But in hindsight, it was as predictable as nightfall that the public debut of this tiny social start-up would end this way.

It had all begun before Noah had been fired from Twitter. One evening, while out drinking and dancing, Jack and Noah tried to explain Twitter to a DJ friend of Crystal's. ”It can be used in clubs, for finding out what your friends are up to or what they're listening to; it was great at Coach.e.l.la,” they said while sipping sake in a dark San Francis...o...b..r.

”Oh, you guys should totally launch it at the Love Parade in September,” the friend replied, excited by his own epiphany. ”I'm throwing a party there and you can set up a booth.”

Although Noah and Jack had been planning to attend Love Parade, the burgeoning techno-music festival that would soon land in San Francisco, Jack was skeptical of the idea, doubting whether the rave was the right venue to use as bait for luring the nontech public to Twitter.

”This is why we built this thing!” Noah told Jack before he was let go from the company. ”For concerts and music shows!” And, as he noted, what better place to launch it than the biggest rave in San Francisco?

It was the summer of 2006 and Twitter was just a speck of dust at the time, a small town in a big city of bigger start-ups. Barely 4,500 people had signed up for the site since Noah had first announced it a few months earlier at the hoedown-a smaller portion of whom were actually tweeting on a daily basis. It was a bare-bones operation too-still a vestige of Odeo, which had been reduced to a half a dozen employees.

Although it wasn't an official company yet, Twitter had been growing slowly over the summer with a lot of ”firsts.” There was the first tweet of a car crash. (Not to worry, everyone was okay.) A blogger announced that he had been fired from his job. (He soon found new employment.) In August, Ev tweeted that he had asked Sara to marry him. (She said yes!) And there was a lot of egotistical banter among the Twitterers. People had been sharing their lunches, dinners, and breakfasts. Cappuccinos, sake, and wine. Uncouth first tweets about s.e.x, masturbation, bathroom schedules, drunk epiphanies, and several other topics flew out of people's phones and into plain sight.

But still, this repartee hadn't moved beyond the tech nerds. So Jack followed through on Noah's suggestion and decided the Love Parade would be the perfect venue to bring awareness of Twitter to the music-loving mainstream.

The group quickly set to work.

Ray, the young designer from Odeo, who had been spared in the layoffs, made a flyer that they would hand out to the ravers providing instructions on how to sign up for Twitter. Jeremy and Blaine prepared the servers, ensuring that the site could handle the flood of new sign-ups. On the day of the event, Jack procured a large folding picnic table that he set up near the entrance of the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium, home of the main Love Parade dance party. As night started to fall, Ray, who had donned a black top hat with his white T-s.h.i.+rt for the occasion, hooked up his laptop to a pathetically dim projector that would show people's tweets using a little animated character called Celly. Jack rushed back and forth to a liquor store around the corner to buy cheap bottles of vodka and plastic cups.

Although Noah no longer worked for Twitter, or even what was left of Odeo, he was still friendly with some of his former coworkers and was happy to help in any way he could. But on that night he was there more for the rave than for Twitter and dressed appropriately, looking as if he had just walked out of a haunted house, wearing pink bands around his wrists and neck and painted black stripes across his lips.

When everything was almost set and ready to go, Jack pulled his phone out of his pocket and tweeted: ”At the love parade after party setting up the twitter booth!”

The plan was to give out free drinks, along with the Twitter flyers, to get people to sign up for the service. Their first tweets would be proclamations that Ma.s.sive Attack, Junkie XL, and DJ Shadow were currently playing music at the Love Parade. Exactly what Twitter was originally designed for. But the idea soon turned into a disaster.

Strangely dressed and half-naked ravers, many tripping on various drugs-mushrooms, ecstasy, acid-twirled by the Twitter booth, grabbing free drink concoctions that Jack mixed, in exchange for a Twitter flyer being thrust into their hand. But that was about as far as the transaction went. The few people wearing enough clothes to actually put the flyer somewhere likely lost it during the night. The flyers given to others, some wearing nothing more than underwear and large platform boots that raised them off the ground nearly a foot, ended up scrunched into tiny meteors on the floor of the theater.

Every time Jack looked up at the computer to see how many new people had started tweeting, he saw barely a trickle of sign-ups. The evening wasn't going as planned. Still, he continued to mix drinks, hand out flyers, and check the screen.

While Jack played bartender, a raver wandered over to Ray's computer, dancing and watching the animation of Twitter on the projector, then b.u.mped into the table and accidentally poured an entire c.o.c.ktail onto the computer's keyboard. Fade to black. The computer was dead. Ray was distraught, and after friends tried to console him, he wandered outside to cool off, only to find that his brand-new bicycle had been stolen.

Then things went from bad to worse to f.u.c.king terrible. Jack had spent most of the day running around setting up the grand Twitter unveiling, and as he had been doing all of this on his own, he had been exhausted and fl.u.s.tered. To calm his nerves, he had downed one vodka and Red Bull after another. Later in the evening, when Jeremy arrived to help hand out flyers, Jack was so drunk he was wobbling.

As the last of the leaflets were thrust into people's hands, the vodka bottles now pouring out mere drops of liquid, Jack and his merry group of ravers moved inside the theater. A solid day's work complete, they danced to the repet.i.tive beats of techno, their arms reaching toward the sky, hoping to touch the laser lights that melted like drunken stars in the air above them. More vodka, more Red Bull, the digital music sounding like a tempo for each drink. Jack was more drunk than he had been moments earlier. More drunk than he had ever been before in his life.

As they danced, a girl walked up with sloshed excitement and placed her arm around Jack. Disoriented, he threw his arm around her in response. And just like that, they both came tumbling down to the ground, Jack cracking his head on the concrete floor as he gave a drunken bow.

When he finally got up, blood was pouring from his brow. He laughed as everyone stared at him, their mouths agape. His coworkers had never seen Jack ”let go” like that before. He beamed as Ray snapped a quick picture of the blood streaming down his cheeks.

Noah, who was also wasted beyond comprehension, immediately came running over. ”Lay down! You have to lay down,” he yelled at Jack in a slight panic, ”You might have damaged your head.” He rushed off to get a medic. In a matter of minutes Jack was placed in a neck brace on a stretcher and rushed out of the theater, into an ambulance, and off to the hospital. Red lights flashed on the windows like the laser lights on the walls at the rave a few minutes earlier.

It might have turned out differently if a more seasoned manager had supervised the grand unveiling of Twitter. But instead it had just been Jack, Ray, and a couple of other very junior employees.

Biz was not a fan of techno music, so had chosen to stay at home in Berkeley with Livy and their rescued pets. They were also completely broke, as credit-card debt had started to pile up again, forcing them to break into a coffee-can piggy bank they used to collect change. Florian was in Germany, held back by delays with his work visa. Crystal was at a wedding, dressed as a bridesmaid with flowers in her hands. Most of the other employees who had originally been hired to work at Odeo had since been laid off.

Ev was finally taking some time off from work and had set off with Sara on vacation. And Twitter wasn't top of mind for him. He was in the process of off-loading some of his remaining Google stock so he could buy out the Odeo investors. The prospect of a sale to Mys.p.a.ce or RealNetworks, two of the companies interested in buying Odeo, had gone from freeways to dead-end streets. In the end Ev opted to buy the start-up back from the investors with millions of the dollars he had made from the sale of Blogger-mostly with the hope of preserving his name.

Earlier in the month, at a Web conference, he had publicly admitted that Odeo had been a terrible mistake and said that he had been lured into the podcasting company by outside forces that would boost his self-image, including an offer to give a talk at TED, one of the world's premiere technology conferences, and the temptation of being included in a front page business article in the New York Times. ”I got sucked in for numerous reasons, including my own ego,” Ev had written in a blog post.

But as he noted, he wasn't buying Odeo back to spin off Twitter. Instead he planned to begin a start-up incubator called Obvious Corporation, an idea factory for someone with too many ideas. He didn't want investment money, he said, because he believed that in such a setting, where he was throwing sloppy ideas against a wall, investors would only get in the way.

”It may be stupid. It may be naive. It may be selfish and undisciplined. And, frankly, it may not work,” Ev wrote on his blog. ”All I know is I'm more excited about work than I've been in a long time. And from excitement and bold moves, great things often happen.”

But such ”excitement” diverted his attention from something that was already on its way to greatness, which left young Jack Dorsey, with no management experience or leaders.h.i.+p skills, in charge of Twitter. The same Jack Dorsey who was now lying on a hospital bed getting five st.i.tches across his right eyebrow as blood flowed down his face onto the white hospital sheets.

As the clock neared 2:00 A.M., Jack emerged from the emergency-room doors onto the sleeping streets of San Francisco, his head throbbing. Although the alcohol had now started to wear off, the caffeine in the Red Bull had not, and he was wide awake, his adrenalized heart pounding. So he wandered back to the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium in a daze and walked back inside, past the slapdash Twitter booth he had set up earlier in the day.

Crystal had since arrived at the show, shedding her bridesmaid dress for an almost-naked outfit of raver clothes. ”What the h.e.l.l happened to you?” she said to Jack as everyone rushed over to hug him. Jack started to offer his version of the story, then Noah jumped in with his view of the events. Before long, they were quarreling about where, why, and how Jack had fallen.

”Boys! Boys! Enough!” Crystal said, interrupting them both. ”You're bickering over the same little details.”