TUNA LIFE by Erik Hamre Read Free Book Online

banks. The companies therefore mostly based themselves on loans from friends and family, and what little savings they could scrape together. The huge game changer was that you didn’t need a fortune to launch a mobile service. You could easily develop a website or a mobile app for a few hundred bucks. If the product was good enough, the market and the capital would eventually find you. And this was the biggest game changer, and the real reason for all these new successful mobile app companies on the Gold Coast: The money had successfully found the companies. Risky money was being injected into these new companies at an ever-increasing rate. Whereas it was impossible to get investors to fund any real estate developments or traditional retail opportunities on the Gold Coast, the money was flowing freely into the mobile app companies.
    It appeared that someone hadn’t read up on the history of the Gold Coast, and its less than stellar reputation for investment returns, Vesna thought. She had grown up hearing the white shoe brigade story every time there was a new boom on the Gold Coast.
    The white shoe brigade was a collective term used to describe a group of real estate developers from the Gold Coast in the 1980s. Equipped with the gift of the gab and a pretty ordinary fashion sense they had conducted some pretty dodgy deals with the Queensland government that left a sour taste in the mouth of the nation, and tarnished the reputation of the Gold Coast as a safe place to do business for decades.
    Let’s hope this is not another white shoe brigade we are witnessing the contours of, Scott Davis had written as a conclusion in his interview. He had been referring to the shiny white sneakers all the founders of Martini.com were wearing. It was the only sentence Vesna Connor had deleted from the article.
    There was no need to bring up old stories.
     
     
     

11
    Frank Geitner’s basement reminded Andrew of a university lab. The walls were covered with white boards, mathematical equations scribbled everywhere. Multiple flasks and decanters lay scattered around the room. For a moment Andrew wondered whether he had walked straight into a methamphetamine factory, Walter White’s little dungeon. Frank assured Andrew that he only used the equipment to perfect his vodka production. Ken’s eyes lit up when he heard the word vodka .
    After having been given a quick tour of the basement they sat down in a couch, and Frank started up his laptop. “What I’ve developed is a technology that enables you to use your own laptop camera to take a picture of your pet. This, for example, is a picture of my cat Jazz. If I want to buy a collar or a basket for Jazz, then I only have to surf the internet, locate the product I am considering buying, copy it over to my program, and kaboom, in an instant I can see how Jazz will look wearing her new merchandise.
    Andrew and Ken looked at each other, unsure whether Frank Geitner was joking or not. “Is this your product?” Andrew asked.
    Frank nodded. “To be honest I developed it for myself. But it has now become part of my daily routine. Isn’t that the definition of a successful product?” Frank asked.
    “But who’s the market? I can’t really envision a massive market for people wanting to see what their cats look like with a new collar.”
    “The market for pet accessories is huge,” Frank replied. “I spend a fortune on Jazz every year. She needs bathing products, special combs for her fur. And don’t even get me started on her eating habits. I brought her down to Peppers Resort in Kingscliff last March. After that trip she only eats tiger prawns from Hervey Bay.”
    “But this isn’t about you,” Andrew interjected, “You’re not representative for consumers. We need to develop a product for the masses, not for the weirdos.”
    “Weirdos? What the hell do you mean by that?” Frank asked, raising his voice.
    You could feel the tension in the room when Ken asked a simple question.