The corridors of DoubleClick pulsed with a new rhythm.
For two days straight, James had been a man in motion — not in the high tower, not behind closed doors, but on the floor, sleeves rolled up, whiteboards filled with looping diagrams and bullet points. He moved between teams like a current — fast, invisible, and powerful — pushing the company's pulse forward. Everyone could feel it.
In Conference Room B, the newly-formed Education & Training team sat wide-eyed as James paced in front of a screen lit up with the AdNova dashboard. Diagrams of campaign funnels, client onboarding flows, and integration routes were scribbled in blue and green ink behind him. He didn't use slides. He didn't need them.
"AdNova ET," he said, tapping the letters on the whiteboard. "This isn't just a dashboard. This is the brain — the enterprise core. With this, a media conglomerate in Chicago can run a national print, radio, and web campaign from a single platform. Optimized. Tracked. ROI-fed. And with no human bottlenecks."
He paused, looking each team member in the eye.
"Now flip it."
He spun on his heel and pointed to another word on the board: SS.
"AdNova SS. Self-Serve. Small-business magic. A bakery in Des Moines can push a Sunday newspaper ad, a morning AM-radio slot, and a banner on Netscape — all from their laptop. No agencies. No jargon. No delays."
Someone raised their hand — a woman from the onboarding team.
"But how do we get them to trust it? Local businesses don't exactly love new tech."
James nodded, almost smiling.
"You don't sell them the tech," he said. "You sell them time. You sell them results. You walk in and say, 'You want more foot traffic next Friday? Use this. Ten minutes, and you'll own every eardrum and eyeball in town.' Then you show them. Not slides — outcomes. Testimonials. Demos. That's how you win."
The team scribbled frantically. A junior designer was already sketching out a new tutorial flow on their tablet. Someone else jotted phrases on a sticky note: "No agencies. Just results."
James walked over to the training schedule on the wall.
"I want webinars. Twice weekly. Real stories. Real clients. Bring in a radio host, a station manager, a shop owner. Make AdNova feel like a door, not a wall."
There was a knock at the glass door. It opened, and Marcus stepped in.
He didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, grinning, holding a folded packet of papers in one hand.
James raised an eyebrow. "Good news or more questions?"
Marcus stepped forward, the grin widening. "James… they all agreed."
James froze. The air in the room shifted.
"Westwood One. Gannett. Interpublic Group," Marcus said, ticking them off with his fingers. "Signed off. Full agreement. All of them. We're in."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then the room exploded in cheers.
Someone actually clapped. A woman near the back threw her hands in the air. The junior designer let out a whoop. Even James couldn't hold back the rush in his chest. He didn't smile often — not fully — but now his lips curled slowly, as if the gravity of the moment was catching up to him one breath at a time.
"Then let's give them something worth believing in," he said softly.
Marcus nodded. "We'll schedule the signing conference for later today. The press teams are already prepping. And the execs want you suited up — something sharp."
James chuckled. "Sharp is subjective."
"I'll handle wardrobe if I have to," Marcus said, already backing out of the room.
The mood was electric. People returned to their desks buzzing with energy, firing off emails, finalizing press kits, adjusting product copy and tutorial decks. Screens lit up with new client flows, animated guides, and onboarding tools. The company had moved fast before — but now, it felt like it was flying.
James stood quietly for a moment, watching it all unfold. This wasn't just momentum. It was ignition.
The engine was roaring. And the road ahead was wide open.
As cheers still echoed through the halls of DoubleClick, James stepped away, the noise fading behind him. Victory had momentum — and momentum needed direction. The next step wasn't in the boardroom. It was at home where the roots ran deep.
James stepped out of the company car, the old sidewalk warm beneath his shoes. His parents' house stood exactly as he remembered it — white-trimmed, with the faded blue shutters and a stubborn rose bush that never bloomed quite right. For a moment, he just stood there, letting the familiarity settle into his bones. After all the meetings, code, and calculations, this was still the only place where time seemed to pause.
His mother opened the door before he could knock.
"There he is," she said, wiping her hands on a dish towel, a smile breaking across her face. "The conquering son returns."
"Not quite conquered yet," James replied, stepping inside, "but we're close."
His father looked up from the living room couch, newspaper folded in his lap. "I saw the market buzz. Gannett. Interpublic. Westwood One. Big fish. You finally reeled them in?"
James nodded, walking toward them with a grin that was half pride, half disbelief. "All three. They signed the agreements this morning. Press conference is in a couple of hours."
"Well, I'll be damned," his father muttered, standing to shake his hand. "You actually did it."
James gave a small chuckle. "Not yet. But we will, once we deliver. This press conference isn't a victory lap. It's the opening ceremony."
He made his way upstairs to his old room — smaller now, full of memories and posters from another life. He opened the closet, thumbed past outdated sweaters and jackets, and pulled out a sleek, dark gray suit he had kept there — one of the last ties to his previous life's ascent.
Back downstairs, his mother fussed with the collar while he buttoned the cuffs.
"You look like you're about to run for President," she said, smoothing his lapel.
James smirked. "Something like that. It's a campaign for the future of media."
As the car pulled up again to take him downtown, his father clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't let them rattle you. Speak like you already own the room."
James stepped inside, adjusting his tie with a steady hand. "I do. They just don't know it yet."
—At exactly 3:00 PM, the representatives from Westwood One, Gannett Company, and Interpublic Group arrived at the DoubleClick press hall. The room had been transformed — banners for AdNova lined the stage, press booths buzzed with the low hum of reporters, and television crews ran final checks on their lighting.
James entered through the side entrance and was immediately greeted by Marcus and a few key team members. Cameras clicked. Flashbulbs flared. The energy was electric.
The lawyers took the stage first, reading out the agreements clause by clause — base license fees for AdNova ET, per-outlet support, optimization access, and the golden key: equity in DoubleClick. 2% for Westwood One. 3% for Gannett. 5% for Interpublic. With full termination clauses if performance fell short.
And yet none of them blinked.
One by one, the representatives stepped forward and signed.
James stepped to the table last, letting the moment hang in the air before he pressed his pen to paper. As he signed, the room erupted in applause.
Then came the podium.
Reporters surged forward, cameras rolling. Marcus gave a brief opening before inviting James up. He adjusted the mic and scanned the room, catching the eye of a reporter in the front row from the San Jose Mercury News.
She leaned forward, recorder raised. "James, DoubleClick is known as a web ad company. Why move into old-school media — TV, radio, newspapers? Isn't that going backwards?"
James smirked slightly. "Only if you think advertising is a medium. I think of it as a system — and systems don't care where they run."
He paused for effect, letting the silence stretch.
"We've built AdNova, the first AI-driven platform that treats print, radio, web, and TV like a single network. With AdNova ET, our enterprise engine, we're powering the big players — automating how they run national campaigns, optimizing their inventory, and increasing yield."
He gestured to a screen behind him where graphics of local businesses flashed. "At the same time, AdNova SS brings that same power to Main Street. A bakery in Wisconsin can now run an optimized radio and print campaign in under five minutes. No reps. No agencies. Just results."
The reporter scribbled quickly.
James leaned in slightly, voice even and resolute.
"And our AdNova Alliance — well, that's the secret sauce. We've partnered with the media itself. They give us access to their inventory; we give them revenue, performance, and tech they could never build on their own."
He let the next line drop like a stone in water.
"So no — we're not going backwards. We're building the only bridge that lets advertisers cross every medium, from AM radio to the World Wide Web. And we're the only ones who control both sides."
The cameras clicked, flashes lit the air, and in that moment, James wasn't just announcing a partnership — he was carving his name into the history of media.