The Last Days of Night(23)

The younger Serrell had cut his teeth on Edison’s own early patent work. Boasting a keen eye for talent, Serrell had signed up the twenty-three-year-old Edison and composed all of the prodigy’s early telegraph and telephone patents. Not long after, Edison had decamped for Grosvenor Lowrey’s more prestigious firm.

The summer sun warmed the black-dyed maple of Serrell’s desk. Serrell and Paul took seats directly across from each other in high-backed leather chairs. Serrell removed his jacket in a sign of familiarity. Despite the heat, Paul kept his on.

“I spent two years working on the A/C patents with Nikola,” said Serrell in a genial tone. “They were sent back at first with a demand for more specificity, if you can believe it. But of course, dear Nikola wouldn’t give up, so we refined both his device and the language of the claim. You’ll see they’re quite airtight.”

“That’s why my client would like to purchase them.”

“Yes, yes,” said Serrell. “Purchase…”

Serrell turned in his chair to gaze out the window. This was not Paul’s first negotiation, and he knew the move well. He’d guessed, when he’d received Serrell’s note, that as the more experienced attorney, he would elect to play the bully in negotiations, all bluster and ballast. An Edisonian strategy. But Serrell had adopted the role of the thoughtful moderate. A kind of disinterested third party who wanted only for Tesla and Westinghouse to reach a fair arrangement. So much the better for Paul’s afternoon, he reasoned, though he would certainly appreciate it if Serrell would get on with things.

“So you’re Westinghouse’s young prodigy,” said Serrell as the light from the grand window framed his bearded face. “Such responsibility on such young shoulders. You know he approached me about your position, before he offered it to you.”

Paul could not afford to show his surprise. To allow that Serrell knew more than he on the subject of Paul’s own client would be a disaster.

“Well, of course,” lied Paul coolly. “I assumed he’d discussed the job with many men in town. You know George. He never likes to make a decision without examining all the possible choices.”

“Have you ever asked him about it?”

“About what?”

“About why he chose you.”

Paul looked Serrell dead in the eye. Politeness was not going to work.

“Sir,” said Paul, “not to be indelicate, but I’ve been intimidated a lot recently. And quite a bit more forcefully than this. If you’re trying to scare me, get on with it. If you’re not, you might want to tell me how much more money you’d like my client to pay your client in exchange for his patents and then we can both find other ways to spend the remainder of our afternoons.”

Lemuel Serrell smiled.

“My goodness, Mr. Cravath. You really haven’t been long at this, have you? There’s this lawyerly code of conduct—well, we just prefer our threats unspoken, if we can help it. You understand. Needling each other under cover of pleasantry, that sort of business.”

“Apologies.”

“You’re a better fit for Westinghouse than I would have been.” Serrell took a piece of paper and wrote down a relatively simple financial formula. “Mr. Tesla is not going to sell you his patents. Calm down, calm down, don’t give me that look. He’s not going to sell them. But he will license them to you. A combination of cash, stock, and per-unit fee. Look over these numbers, talk through them with Westinghouse, and then let’s chat again. I’d tell you I need an answer within twenty-four hours, or some such ticking-clock tactic, but I suspect you wouldn’t respond well to it.”

Paul glanced down at the paper as Serrell handed it to him. The numbers were exceedingly generous to Tesla. But certainly negotiable.

“A pleasure to meet you,” said Paul as he placed the folded paper into his jacket pocket and rose from his seat.

“My best to Mr. Carter and Mr. Hughes,” said Serrell. “Oh, and…I hope you don’t think it impolite, but if you’ve ever a mind to leave your firm, we have quite a few clients here who would love to know that they’re cared for by the same hands that handle George Westinghouse’s business.”

“I’m happy with my position. And Mr. Westinghouse is content at our firm. But thank you.” Paul stood in the doorway. There was a thought he couldn’t shake.

“Out of curiosity,” said Paul, “why did you turn it down?”

“Hmm?”

“The job that Mr. Westinghouse offered you.”

“Oh.” Serrell looked down, tapping his fingers together as if their rhythm might instruct him how best to phrase his answer.

“More-experienced attorneys, like myself, we’re done no good by taking on a losing case. But someone like you…a young man, starting out. Your career will still benefit from having your name in the papers. And I’m sure you won’t be blamed personally for losing a case that no one could win.”





We’re not going to be the first to this party, but we’re going to be the best.

—STEVE JOBS



THE DEAL WAS finalized by July. Tesla would get a total of $70,000 up front, two-thirds of which would be in Westinghouse stock and one-third of which would be in cash, as well as $2.50 per horsepower sold on all machines utilizing Tesla’s alternating-current technology. However, Tesla would work for his money: He would join the Westinghouse Electric Company as a consultant, moving his own laboratory to Pittsburgh. Westinghouse had concerns about Tesla’s ability to work in the more rigid confines of his corporate environment. He expressed these to Paul as the two entered his study on a sweltering morning in the first week of July.