Chapter 9 – First Encounter with Elon Musk
Mr. Tuohy didn't waste time. By 10 a.m. the next day, he had already scheduled a meeting for Ron with none other than Mr. Elon Musk himself. Clearly, that kind of efficiency was a big part of why the man had done so well in life.
Ron, for his part, wasn't sitting idle either. He took the opportunity to call his father—still serving as the head coach of the Texas Longhorns—and filled him in on Mr. Tuohy's newly adopted son. He also gave a brief report on Sheldon's situation.
The latter part, of course, was mainly for Mary.
"Ron," Mary said disapprovingly, "Sheldon is your brother. He may seem cold at times, but I know he loves his family deeply. You should try to support him more."
Ron sighed. No doubt Missy had already sent her that embarrassing photo of Sheldon with bare legs.
"Don't worry, Mom," Ron replied, exasperated but sincere. "I am his brother, and I do look out for him. In fact, the guy who bullied him already got what was coming to him—from me."
"Ron! I don't recall ever teaching you to solve problems with violence!" Mary shrieked.
There was just no getting around it. As a devout Baptist, Mary had always believed in the gospel of conquering hatred with love.
George, on the other hand, chuckled and chimed in, "Mary, don't forget—your son isn't just a Baptist. He's also a Texan. And a good Texan always knows when to knock some sense into a fool."
To avoid escalating into a full-blown family dispute, Ron quickly clarified:
"Mom, I didn't really use violence. It was more of a mutually agreed-upon… friendly sparring match."
Ron swore he wasn't lying. Sure, that idiot Doug had taken a serious beating during their "friendly spar," but it was totally voluntary. He had video evidence to prove it.
"Alright then, may the Lord bless you both." Mary was about to hang up when George snatched the phone from her.
"Ron, I'm curious about that new kid you mentioned. Maybe you can bring him down to Texas this weekend. We're really short on quality fullbacks these days. Every college program is hunting for talent—we need to make our move early."
"No problem, Dad."
After ending the call, Ron checked the time: 9:50 a.m. Perfect. He tightened the strap on the child-sized notebook tucked into his briefcase and walked into the headquarters of Space Exploration Technologies Corp.
SpaceX had been founded by Elon Musk in 2002 to pursue his dream of colonizing Mars. That was precisely why Mr. Tuohy had referred to him as a "bubble-brained lunatic" and was deeply concerned about Ron working with him.
There's no direct English equivalent for the Chinese term Mr. Tuohy had used, but from the tone and context, "bubble-brained lunatic" was a pretty close translation.
Last year, in 2006, the Falcon 1 had already had its maiden launch… which ended, unsurprisingly, in a fiery explosion.
Aside from giving the American public a fresh dinner-table story, the failed launch had also incinerated $6.9 million in funding.
Unlike in the original timeline, Musk hadn't yet shown any interest in reusable rockets. He was focused instead on cost-cutting from other angles.
Ron was confident the notebook in his briefcase would pique Musk's interest.
"Mr. Cooper, Mr. Musk is waiting for you in his office," a beautiful secretary said with a smile, opening the door politely for him.
"Hey there, young man," Musk greeted him with open arms, half-joking. "I heard from Sean that you work with the IRS. Before I give you a hug, can you assure me you're not here for an audit?"
Without hesitation, Ron stepped into the hug. "Even if I was here for that, I doubt you'd throw me out, would you?"
He smirked. "Besides, I imagine someone as clever as you would be smart enough not to leave us any solid evidence, right?"
Ron didn't beat around the bush—he called out Musk's probing question directly.
"Haha, just kidding," Musk laughed. "If the IRS really wanted to audit me, I doubt they'd bother going through mutual friends just to set up a meeting. You guys probably know where I am at all times."
"Exactly," Ron agreed calmly. In fact, someone of Musk's profile was always under at least passive observation by the IRS.
"So let me guess," Musk continued, "You're not just here out of the blue. I'd wager this meeting was arranged on behalf of a certain someone. I've heard you're quite close to that big name."
With a dramatic flourish, Musk mimicked a cowboy cracking a whip. "Yeehaw~"
Ron was slightly surprised. He hadn't expected Musk to be so well-informed about his most powerful backer. Then again, it made sense—no titan of industry ever succeeded without being sharp.
Still, he kept his composure.
"I assume you mean Mr. Francis? Relax, I'm not here on his behalf. Just like Mr. Tuohy told you, I'm here to discuss a potential partnership. Nothing more."
Musk raised an eyebrow. Ron's repeated denial seemed to be working—he was beginning to shake the assumptions Musk had started with.
"So what exactly is it you want to partner on?" Musk asked. "A tax agent arranging a private meeting through mutual connections… I have to admit, I'm a little puzzled."
Ron didn't answer right away. Instead, he found a comfortable seat on the office couch, leaned back, and cut straight to the point.
"Mr. Musk, I'll be blunt. I want a stake in your company."
"You'll want to head over to the stock exchange, then," Musk replied dryly. "Last I checked, SpaceX shares were $7.85 a pop. I'm sure you can afford a few, kid."
Ron shook his head. "No. You know that's not what I mean. I want more—and I'm not planning to pay for it."
Musk smirked. "Let me guess—you've got some so-called 'evidence' of tax evasion in that briefcase of yours? Planning to blackmail me, huh?"
He shrugged, feigning surrender. "Alright, kid. You win. Leave the briefcase, and I'll cut you a check big enough to make you smile."
Ron didn't move. Instead, he smiled playfully.
"And then your legal team sues me for extortion and abuse of authority, right?"
Standing up, Ron pointed casually at the decor in Musk's office.
"I'm guessing the evidence would be in there… and there?"
He gestured at a cat-shaped ornament on Musk's desk and then at the vase on top of the filing cabinet.
This time, Musk's expression shifted slightly. He stood up, clapped his hands, and handed Ron a cigar—a sign of respect.
Ron didn't light it. He just twirled it in his fingers, relaxed.
"No wonder even Francis calls you his best agent," Musk said, clearly impressed. "When did you spot the cameras?"
"The moment I walked in," Ron replied. "To be honest, the placement is clever, but also way too obvious. You might as well have stuck a label on them saying 'I'm a camera, look at me!' My training makes it impossible not to notice."
Musk lit his own cigar, finally dropping all pretenses.
"Alright, as you wish. No more tests, no more games. Let's talk straight—what is it you really want?"
Ron opened his hands again, expression unchanged.
"I told you already. I want a share in your company. And I'm still not planning to pay for it."