Chapter 1
The Billion-Dollar Disruptors: How Digital Natives Are Rewriting the Rules
In a corner of a crowded media party, Sean Parker-the controversial tech entrepreneur portrayed as a villain in The Social Network-surprised me with his gratitude for Forbes' nuanced profile of him. This encounter happened shortly before Steve Jobs' death, marking a symbolic passing of the torch from tech's old guard to a new generation of digital swashbucklers who would transform industries during the Great Recession.
Unlike their predecessors, these new entrepreneurs can't remember life without the internet. They've created unprecedented wealth-Zuckerberg worth $30 billion by thirty, with nearly a dozen self-made American billionaires under presidential age. Their youth has become an advantage rather than a liability, with "digital natives" running companies without adult supervision. What sets them apart is their individualism, embrace of risk, and view of failure as acceptable. As Ashton Kutcher, who's invested in many of these ventures, notes: "The American outlook that you only have to be right once explains why internet innovations spring predominantly from this country."
Chapter 2
The Master Disruptor: Sean Parker's Vision and Volatility
Sean Parker embodies the internet's evolution from hacker playground to wealth machine. After gaining notoriety as Napster's teenage cofounder who nearly bankrupted the music industry, he became Facebook's twentysomething president while making billions. By thirty-one, he had amassed over $2 billion and was bringing Spotify to America while hunting startups as Founders Fund partner.
Parker's extraordinary talent lies in spotting invisible trends years before others. "He can see things most people won't be able to see for a year or two," says Palihapitiya, while Pishevar describes it as "hearing a dog whistle." His focus remains on transition strategies rather than outcomes, carefully selecting universal problems to solve-Napster bridged CDs and MP3s, Facebook created reliable identity in an anonymous world, and Spotify aimed to fix the music industry Napster broke.
His obsessive perfectionism manifests in everything from exhaustive conversations that ignore time constraints (dubbed "Sean Standard Time") to meticulous attention to detail. Parker's Silicon Valley journey began when his father taught him programming in second grade. By high school, he was hacking companies, catching FBI attention at fifteen, and earning $80,000 his senior year instead of attending college.
After Napster's legal troubles forced him out, Parker founded Plaxo, pioneering viral growth techniques later used by LinkedIn and Facebook. Despite another contentious exit, he quickly found Facebook, helping transform it from a college project into a company with a minimalist design philosophy and crucial corporate structure that preserved Zuckerberg's control.
Though portrayed villainously in The Social Network as the person who pushed out Eduardo Saverin, Parker was devastated by the film's release. The movie's depiction cut him deep psychologically, coinciding with knee surgery, weight gain, and personal struggles before meeting his future wife.
Despite his billions from Facebook's IPO, Parker remains a hacker motivated more by disruption than money. He never stopped thinking about Napster, and in 2010 was still searching for a company that could fulfill its promise while paying musicians. After hearing about Spotify, he blindly emailed founder Daniel Ek, outlining his ideal music platform. Ek, a Napster fan, was impressed: "This was someone who had spent more time thinking about this than I had done myself." Parker eventually invested $30 million in Spotify after introducing it to Zuckerberg and helping open doors at major music labels.
Chapter 3
From Hot Pockets to Cloud Billions: Drew Houston's Dropbox Revolution
Drew Houston's business education came entirely from fraternity life at MIT, which proved sufficient for a preternatural coder. Tired of microwaved Hot Pockets and wanting to get rich, Houston just needed an idea-which struck when he was stuck on a bus without access to files stored on another computer. His cloud-based file-sharing solution Dropbox was serving 50 million people by 2011, with Houston worth $600 million on paper at just twenty-six. By 2014, Dropbox had 300 million users and a $9.5 billion valuation, giving Houston a $1.4 billion net worth before turning thirty.
In December 2009, Steve Jobs summoned Houston and his partner Arash Ferdowsi to his Cupertino office. When Houston attempted a demo, Jobs waved him away: "I know what you do." Jobs saw Dropbox as a strategic asset for Apple and made an acquisition offer, but Houston cut him short, determined to build his own company. Jobs smiled and warned they were "a feature, not a product," spending the next half hour discussing his return to Apple and investor advice. Jobs later unveiled iCloud in 2011, specifically targeting Dropbox's limitations. Houston's reaction: "Oh, shit," prompting him to warn his staff about once-meteoric companies that fell to Earth.
Despite this threat, Dropbox's growth was stunning. Though 96% of users paid nothing, the company hit $50 million in revenue in 2011 with just seventy employees-nearly triple Google's per-employee output. By 2013, revenue reached approximately $200 million.
When "Dropbox" became a verb, Silicon Valley took notice. In August 2011, Houston invited seven elite venture firms to visit over four days, demanding offers by Tuesday. The resulting $250 million funding round valued five-year-old Dropbox at $4 billion, with Houston's 15% stake worth $600 million.
Houston's coding journey began at age five on an IBM PC Junior. His librarian mother made him learn French, socialize with jocks, and spend summers without computers to ensure he developed normal social skills. By fourteen, he was hired as a networking programmer for an online game after finding security flaws. At MIT, Houston spent most of his time coding until reading Daniel Goleman's Emotional Intelligence convinced him "smarts weren't enough" to run a company.
The idea for Dropbox came in late 2006 on a bus to New York when Houston forgot his USB drive. Four months later, Y Combinator's Paul Graham insisted he find a cofounder before applying. Houston met Arash Ferdowsi, an MIT computer science student and son of Iranian refugees, and they "got married on the second date." Ferdowsi dropped out six months before graduating.
With $15,000 from Y Combinator, they rented an apartment and Houston spent twenty hours daily reverse-engineering to make Dropbox work across all platforms. Their solution addressed the growing problem of data scattered across multiple devices: "Devices are getting smarter-your television, your car-and that means more data spread around. There needs to be a fabric that connects all these devices. That's what we do."
Chapter 4
Elon Musk: Inside the Mind of Iron Man
Elon Musk may be the greatest entrepreneur of the twenty-first century. By thirty-two, he had cofounded and sold two wildly successful companies, including PayPal, which eBay bought for $1.5 billion in 2002. His second act targeted two massive industries: automobiles and space travel. With Tesla Motors, he sought to create a viable electric car company, while SpaceX aimed to privatize space exploration.
In his 20,000-square-foot Bel Air mansion converted into a bachelor pad, Musk spent ninety minutes playing BioShock with journalist Hannah Elliott before work, explaining the game's Hegelian dialectics while effortlessly multitasking. Despite owning a sprawling property with tennis court, pool, and massive library, the house felt eerily unlived-in-leased furniture, empty shelves, no personal photos except one of Musk and his second wife Talulah Riley watching an eclipse. The mansion was merely a way station, not a home.
Driving his burgundy Tesla Roadster to SpaceX headquarters, Musk revealed both his robotic precision and encyclopedic mind. His mother Maye recalled finding young Elon absorbed in bookstores, having memorized the Encyclopedia Britannica at age eight or nine. Growing up in Pretoria, South Africa, he alienated schoolmates with his blunt corrections of their factual errors, resulting in bullying. His sister Tosca acknowledged his brutal honesty: "He's not trying to be mean... he appreciates honesty in return."
Despite his rational reputation, Musk also cultivated a playboy image-dancing in Afro wigs, closing down Russian clubs in New York, and attending Burning Man. Young, handsome, and self-made, he met the 23-year-old Riley at a London club in 2008, beginning a relationship that would face challenges. After three weeks of silence over the holidays, Musk announced his second divorce from Riley via Twitter: "It was an amazing four years. I will love you forever." Though Riley filed the papers, Musk confided the split was emotionally difficult: "Essentially, I fell out of love, and it's kind of hard to get back."
At Tesla's SUV launch party, Musk appeared relaxed despite the pressure. The event featured Foster the People and drew 2,000 guests including Chris Evans and California governor Jerry Brown. Taking the stage in a midnight-blue velour blazer, Musk awkwardly joked about fracking while promoting the "falcon wing" SUV as combining minivan practicality, Audi Q7 style, and Porsche 911 performance. With Tesla's $3.6 billion market cap but only 2,000 Roadsters sold, he needed a hit-yet he seemed confident with waiting lists for both the SUV and upcoming sedan.
Chapter 5
Instagram: Zero Revenue, Billion-Dollar Valuation
What does $1 billion look like in the new tech era? For Instagram, it meant fourteen twentysomethings working in a small San Francisco office, building a company that went from idea to billion-dollar acquisition in just twenty-two months-with zero revenue and no revenue model. Many called Facebook's 2012 purchase a bubble sign, but it proved one of the internet's greatest deals, with Instagram likely worth $10 billion by 2014. The platform's 200 million active users sharing 60 million daily photos gave Facebook a seamless mobile path at a critical time.
Kevin Systrom's path to founding Instagram began with a fateful decision in 2006. While working as a barista at Palo Alto's Caffe del Doge, he encountered Mark Zuckerberg, who had previously tried recruiting him from Stanford to develop a photo service for Facebook. By declining that offer (which would have made him tens of millions), Systrom finished college instead. "Working at a startup to make a lot of money was never a thing," he explained over $4.50 artisanal coffee. This detour ultimately led him back to Facebook-but as the creator of Instagram, making his 40% stake worth $400 million.
Instagram succeeded where established companies struggled, creating a mobile-native photo platform that was fast, stylish and elegant. With a few thumb taps, users could snap, edit with filters, and share photos globally. "You can look at Facebook as this bundle of so many different things, but it turns out that people just like photos more than anything else," explained former Facebook CTO Adam D'Angelo. "If you specialize in photos and do photos really well, that's in some way more powerful."
Systrom's billion-dollar windfall traced directly to Stanford connections. The university introduced him to tech and venture capital, provided his first startup internship, and led to his Google job. At Stanford, he discovered vintage photography during study abroad, met Zuckerberg at a fraternity party, and later found his cofounder through Stanford networks.
The six-foot-five Systrom loved technology from childhood, pranking friends over AOL at age twelve with programs that controlled their cursors or knocked them offline. A junior year study abroad program in Florence transformed his aesthetic sensibility when his photography teacher replaced his high-powered SLR with a cheap plastic Holga camera. The quirky square images with soft focus and light distortions taught him "the beauty of vintage photography and also the beauty of imperfection"-an artistic inspiration he would later combine with technology in Instagram's filters.
Despite his $400 million fortune, Systrom maintained a modest lifestyle, still living in his one-bedroom apartment and driving a used 2002 BMW with a broken GPS. "I think not focusing on money makes you sane," he explained. "Because in the long run it can probably drive you crazy."
Chapter 6
Spotify: Hacking the Music Industry from Stockholm
To a stunning degree, the business disruption caused by this coterie of Internet-savvy enfants terribles is an all-American affair. Spotify's Daniel Ek stands as the only non-U.S. citizen in this book. Though Swedish with headquarters in Stockholm, his operations increasingly shift toward New York, with Silicon Valley funding. Unlike peers who feel compelled to destroy the old economy, Ek had an advantage: hackers had already begun dismantling the music industry, with Steve Jobs and iTunes largely finishing the job.
On a damp November afternoon in Stockholm, Daniel Ek was ill. The twenty-eight-year-old Spotify CEO had worn himself down jetting between continents. Despite needing bed rest, he was preparing for his first press conference in New York to unveil Spotify's new platform-which he privately admitted wasn't ready.
This rented Stockholm office had become the music industry's most important hub, with Ek its most influential player. Superstar bands like the Red Hot Chili Peppers made pilgrimages to meet him; his iPhone showed him cruising with Neil Young in a vintage Lincoln Continental; his texts contained casual messages from Bono. "Both my grandparents were in the music industry," Ek shrugged, "so I'm fairly grounded about the whole thing."
The music industry had desperately needed someone like Ek for over a decade-someone who could build something more appealing than piracy while providing sustainable revenue. After Napster broke the industry in the 1990s, and iTunes' single-focused model further eroded album sales, recording revenues plummeted from $56.7 billion in 1999 to about $30 billion in 2011.
Spotify offered a revolutionary solution: legal access to virtually every song on demand, for free. For consumers, it combined iTunes' speed, Napster's flexibility, and Pandora's pricing. Unlike predecessors, Spotify was inherently social, allowing playlist sharing that saw over a billion songs swapped via Facebook in its first month on the platform.
Daniel Ek's dual passions for music and technology emerged early. At five, he received both a guitar (his maternal grandparents were an opera singer and jazz pianist) and a Commodore 20 computer (his stepfather worked in IT). By seven, he was writing basic code with MTV playing in the background of his family's apartment in Ragsved, a rough Stockholm neighborhood locals called "Drugsved."
At fourteen, during the late-1990s dot-com boom, Ek began creating commercial websites from his school's computer lab. While the market rate was $50,000 per site, he charged just $5,000 and scaled through volume, recruiting and training teenage friends. Soon he was netting $15,000 monthly, spending it on videogames (including a business simulation called Capitalism).
Unlike competitors, Ek refused to launch with pirated music, insisting on proper label deals. What he thought would take three months took two years of persistent negotiations. During negotiations, Ek and Lorentzon invested nearly $5 million of personal funds on top of their initial $2 million seed, paying million-dollar advances to labels while venture capitalists avoided them.
Sean Parker, who later joined Spotify's board, praised Ek's "Zen-like patience" in dealing with the record business. Despite his success, Ek maintained a disciplined schedule-working from 8:30am to 8:00pm, unwinding with guitar or books, then returning to emails until 2:00am, a routine that cost him his relationship but built a multi-billion dollar company.
Chapter 7
Box: The Man Who Would Be Gates
Aaron Levie, founder of Box, raised an unprecedented $414 million in venture capital while keeping just $100 million for himself-a testament to his ambition beyond personal wealth. With extraordinary confidence, he's determined to defeat tech giants IBM, Oracle, and Microsoft by making Box the enterprise solution for digital file storage, positioning himself as the Oracle of next-generation business applications.
In 2011, at just twenty-six, Levie stunned his board by casually announcing he wanted to raise an additional $50 million-just weeks after rejecting Citrix's $600 million acquisition offer. This gutsy move came when Box had only $21 million in sales against $106 million already raised.
His mission: transforming Box from online storage into the essential glue connecting enterprise data across applications, securely accessible on mobile devices. The board's initial shock turned into approval, and Levie's $50 million request ballooned into successive rounds totaling $331 million, valuing Box at nearly $2 billion by late 2013-despite losing $169 million that year in pursuit of aggressive growth.
Unlike Dropbox's Drew Houston who maintained roughly 15% ownership, Levie accepted dilution to just 5.7%, worth about $100 million pre-IPO. His only extravagance remains a five-year-old leased BMW 3 Series. Perpetually fidgeting, surviving on black coffee and a single daily meal, Levie works from 10:20am until 3am with just a half-hour power nap, declaring: "I don't have hobbies. I want to build a big company, and this is it."
Levie targeted a formidable industry where four legacy giants-Microsoft, IBM, Oracle, and SAP-controlled half of a soon-to-be $300 billion software market. These incumbents sold expensive, archaic products requiring costly setup and maintenance fees, largely incompatible with mobile devices despite half of American workers using smartphones for work.
Box positioned itself in the emerging cloud-based business software wave that began with Salesforce and Workday. Levie's vision placed Box at the center of enterprise data, acting as a traffic cop connecting applications while making information accessible on any device with a browser.
By 2006, Box had under $500,000 in revenue with competitors dropping prices and rumors of Google and Apple offering free cloud storage. The founders and their high school crew slept on mattresses in a garage beside their one-room office, where Levie took support calls that revealed a crucial insight: many users were "rogue" office workers using Box without IT approval.
In 2007, Levie executed one of Silicon Valley's great pivots, transforming Box from a consumer play to an enterprise software company. After twenty VC rejections, 29-year-old Mamoon Hamid at U.S. Venture Partners invested $6 million, giving Box runway to develop corporate features like administrative controls and access tracking.
By educating himself through meetings with industry pioneers like Tom Siebel and Craig Conway, and visiting eight customers weekly, Levie transformed from a VC-repelling hoodie-wearer to what General Atlantic partner Gary Reiner called "a model entrepreneur" who "can't be thrown a question he hasn't already thought of."
Chapter 8
The WhatsApp American Dream: From Food Stamps to $19 Billion
Jan Koum's journey from Ukrainian immigrant on welfare to selling WhatsApp to Facebook for $19 billion represents perhaps the greatest rags-to-riches saga in American history. Born outside Kiev and emigrating as a teen, Koum lived with his mother on welfare in Mountain View before she died of cancer. Despite this challenging start, he created a messaging service that grew faster than Facebook, reaching 90 million users within three years.
The courtship between Facebook and WhatsApp began in spring 2012 when Mark Zuckerberg personally emailed Koum with the subject line "Get together?" Despite Koum's initial reluctance, his cofounder Brian Acton advised: "When someone of Mark's status contacts you directly, you answer the phone." Their first meeting at Esther's German Bakery began a two-year relationship that culminated in Facebook's $19 billion acquisition-$4 billion cash, $12 billion in stock, and $3 billion in restricted shares. The deal netted Koum $6.8 billion after taxes, Acton $3 billion, and Sequoia Capital $3.5 billion on its $58 million investment.
Koum's humble beginnings shaped WhatsApp's philosophy. Born in Fastiv, Ukraine, where resources were scarce and phone lines potentially tapped, he immigrated at sixteen with his mother to Mountain View, California. They lived in a government-assisted apartment while Koum swept grocery store floors and his mother babysat. After she developed cancer, they survived on disability allowance. Though struggling in high school, Koum taught himself computer networking using manuals from used bookstores. At eighteen, he joined hacker group w00w00, infiltrated Silicon Graphics servers, and chatted with Napster's founder. This self-taught expertise led to security testing work at Ernst & Young, where he met his future WhatsApp cofounder, Brian Acton, during a Yahoo inspection in 1997.
Despite Facebook's early interest, Koum and Acton prioritized independence over acquisition. With $8 million in the bank, they weren't desperate to sell. Instead, Zuckerberg and Koum developed a friendship, meeting monthly for dinner as WhatsApp continued explosive growth. By 2014, Google's Sundar Pichai arranged a meeting between Koum and Larry Page, inadvertently triggering Facebook to accelerate acquisition talks. After intense negotiations at Zuckerberg's home, they struck a $19 billion deal that preserved WhatsApp's independence and made Koum a Facebook board member. The deal was signed at the same building where Koum once collected food stamps as a teenager.
With the acquisition complete, WhatsApp remains obsessively focused on reliability-a whiteboard tracks days since the last outage, and staff call each message "like your firstborn child." Revenue remains secondary, with monetization expected to accelerate by 2017 when they project reaching 1 billion users. Koum maintains his focused approach, even in his boxing training where he insists on mastering punching before adding kicks-mirroring WhatsApp's philosophy: "I want to do one thing and do it well."
Chapter 9
Breaking Silicon Valley's Glass Ceiling: Houzz's Billion-Dollar Success
Silicon Valley has a significant gender imbalance problem, with few female-led tech startups and a pervasive "bro" culture. Adi Tatarko stands out as she and her husband have quietly built a billion-dollar fortune through their home design site Houzz, while facing challenges her male counterparts don't experience.
Houzz began in the most unconventional of Silicon Valley settings-a children's bedroom beanbag chair. Frustrated by their own home renovation challenges, Adi Tatarko and her husband Alon Cohen created a website to solve the problem. While he coded in a kitchen nook, she recruited content help, including former Sunset magazine editor Sheila Schmitz. Their maverick approach encouraged casual browsing rather than aggressive sales tactics. Within five years, Houzz became one of America's 200 most visited websites, outperforming established brands like People magazine and CNBC.
Houzz defies Silicon Valley's stark gender imbalance, where over 43% of major companies have no female board members and just 1 in 20 venture-backed startups are woman-run. Tatarko's gender helps her understand her market and create a culture that's both rambunctious and inclusive. The 41-year-old CEO describes herself as "more emotional" and demanding results "here and now," while her husband, the more cautious president and technologist, often worries she promises too much. Yet Tatarko consistently delivers beyond even her ambitious forecasts, gleefully declaring "We did it, even though Alon said we couldn't!"
Tatarko's success stems partly from her Israeli upbringing, where women undergo mandatory military service alongside men. She drew inspiration from her real-estate broker mother and her grandmother, a prominent fashion designer who traveled internationally for exhibitions "when women simply didn't do such things."
Houzz's success stems from its patient, quality-focused approach rather than aggressive monetization. The site attracts thousands of architects and designers who pay about $2,500 annually for premium directory listings, with companies like Ikea and Kohler already participating. This vision has attracted nearly $200 million in venture capital, including a $150 million round in 2014 valuing Houzz at $2.3 billion. The founders' stake likely approaches $1 billion.
Unlike her male counterparts, Tatarko faces constant work-life balance questions, especially after having a third son in 2013. The couple has established clear boundaries to manage their dual roles as parents and business partners. At work, they maintain separate domains until noon when they meet for lunch to discuss both business and family matters. At home, they've established new rules after their children complained about smartphone distractions-everyone must unplug during family time. As Tatarko notes, "Everything needs to change all the time. They're growing, and the company is growing, too."
Chapter 10
The $3 Billion Gamble: Snapchat's Rejection of Facebook
What makes a 23-year-old with a revenue-less company reject Mark Zuckerberg's $3 billion buyout offer? Evan Spiegel's decision to turn down Facebook's billions for Snapchat would be scrutinized for decades. While his youth wasn't questioned-twenty being the new fifty in tech-his maturity certainly was, especially after a PR misstep involving Twitter denials and selectively edited emails. Yet Snapchat represented Facebook's greatest existential threat, capturing the teen market that Facebook was losing, with its self-destructing messages appealing to privacy-conscious young users.
In December 2012, Zuckerberg invited Spiegel to Menlo Park, but Spiegel flipped the script, meeting Zuckerberg in Los Angeles instead. There, Zuckerberg revealed Facebook's competing app Poke, essentially warning "We're going to crush you." Spiegel and cofounder Bobby Murphy immediately bought copies of Sun Tzu's "The Art of War" for their six employees. When Poke launched days later, it briefly hit #1 in the App Store before Snapchat surged ahead by Christmas Day. By fall 2013, Zuckerberg had returned with a stunning $3 billion cash offer for the two-year-old, revenue-less app. Even more stunning: Spiegel and Murphy, each owning approximately 25% of Snapchat, declined the offer that would have netted them $750 million each.
A lanky six-foot-one Spiegel, still living in his dad's house, shifts between raucous laughter and icy glares during interviews, constantly grabbing fistfuls of snacks. His background mirrors Zuckerberg's: child of privilege with two lawyer parents, middle school computer nerd who found refuge in technology. In high school, he showed early moxie-promoting Red Bull at clubs and leveraging his parents' divorce to get what he wanted, including a BMW 550i.
The original Snapchat team had defined roles: Murphy as CTO, Brown as CMO, and Spiegel as CEO developing the idea in a design class. Their first iteration was a clunky website requiring uploads and timers. The mobile breakthrough came when they realized "there's a camera on your phone." Despite their presentation to VCs falling flat, they launched Picaboo in July 2011 to minimal interest-just 127 users by summer's end. The team fractured when equity discussions turned hostile; Brown wanted 30% for contributing the initial idea, name, and ghost logo. After Brown claimed he "directed the talents" of his partners, an enraged Spiegel cut him off completely.
Despite astounding growth and valuations, Snapchat lacks revenue. Spiegel's plan-"In-app transactions followed by advertising"-raises questions when examining Asian messaging apps he cites as models. Traditional advertising is challenging since Snapchat's privacy features limit targeting. However, the app offers guaranteed engagement-users must keep fingers on screen to view content, providing absolute certainty that ads are viewed. Brands like Acura and Taco Bell have already used Snapchat's "Stories" feature for marketing. Meanwhile, Zuckerberg continues competing, launching Instagram Direct as a Snapchat alternative where images don't automatically vanish.
Chapter 11
The Billion-Dollar Lesson: You Only Have to Be Right Once
The entrepreneurs profiled in this book represent a new breed of tech titan-digital natives who see opportunity where others see only problems. They share certain traits: a willingness to take risks, an obsessive focus on their products, and the confidence to reject conventional wisdom. Most importantly, they understand that in the digital economy, you only have to be right once to create extraordinary wealth.
These founders have built companies that not only generated billions in personal wealth but also transformed how we communicate, work, and live. From Dropbox's seamless file sharing to Spotify's music revolution, from Instagram's visual storytelling to WhatsApp's global messaging platform, each has identified a universal need and created an elegant solution.
What's perhaps most remarkable is how many of these companies began with humble origins-a forgotten USB drive, a frustrating home renovation, a desire to share disappearing photos. The entrepreneurs behind them weren't necessarily the most technically skilled or the best educated, but they possessed the vision to see possibilities others missed and the determination to bring those visions to life.
As we look to the future, these digital pioneers offer important lessons about innovation, persistence, and the power of solving real problems. In an era where technology continues to evolve at breakneck speed, their stories remind us that the next billion-dollar idea could come from anywhere-and that you truly only have to be right once.
