FOX Social Media Incubator Group, 2025
"Hey Reutger, you ready for this next one?" Sampson asked.
"I guess! I've heard some interesting things about this Thomas Fletcher character." Reutger replied, checking his watch "Apparently he's a real eccentric."
"Well, you know," Sampson chuckled, "Sometimes it's the crazy ones that have the best ideas."
* * * * * * * * * * *
He had made it this far. Dozens upon dozens of presentations, proposals, and Q&A sessions had all added up to quite possibly the biggest moment in his life. Thomas Fletcher was just starting out as an entrepeneur, and for all the advice his mentors had given him, he still felt a little nervous.
LiveSocial had all started with a simple enough idea, which blossomed into an elaborate concept for consumer vanity. Thomas had spent a fair amount of time adjusting it based on the suggestions of his peers and mentors. The real test was figuring out how to not only make his model profitable, but desirable. He needed to acquire venture capital.
"Mr. Fletcher," said a man with a hooked nose and beady eyes "We're ready for you,"
With that, Thomas Fletcher took the stage to make his pitch. From where he stood, he could count eight, maybe nine different potential investors. Every single one of them sat with their hands folded, looking as if they were only partially capable of paying attention.
"As you gentlemen are aware, six months ago I came to yCombinator with an idea. We live in an age where a presence in social media is considered more valueable than traditional advertising. Let's say you have a Klout score of, say, 70 or 80. Your interactions are worth something not only to your followers, but advertising firms as well."
Several diagrams flew by, depicting various revenue models compared against Klout scores.
"Well, that's nothing new," one of the investors laughed "I make a little money on the side selling my Tweets to advertisers all the time. It's good money."
"Sure, you make money now because there's a social value on your identity. People want to know what you have to say, and what you like."
"Naturally!" the investor beamed, thinking of the cash from McDonald's-Toyota lining his pockets.
"But the reality is, that social value depreciates sharply after you die. Your Klout score goes down, you lose followers, and after some time, your account lies forgotten. You are, after all, no longer capable of advertising."
An awkward silence hung over the investors as they shifted uncomfortably.
"My point is, what if you COULD keep advertising through your social accounts after you die? Instead of losing that financial value, you make use of our service. For a small fee, one of our social media experts poses as the deceased, and continues to use social media engagement and advertising to fund the deceased's estate."
Thomas pressed a button on the remote in his hand, and the slide changed to that of two photographs of men smiling at the camera.
"On the left is our first test case, Henry Appleton, an elder statesman and social media innovator. On the right is Travis, one of my interns that has been posing as him."
"I follow Henry on Twitter and oFace!" Reutger exclaimed in shock "We just exchanged private messages about how our families were doing yesterday!"
"Mr. Reutger, Henry Appleton died precisely one year ago today. As a social media mogul, Mr. Appleton wanted to take part in our initial experiment. You've been talking to our intern for the greater part of a year now."
Fletcher took pleasure in seeing Reutger pale at the idea that he had really been speaking to a 17-year-old intern instead of the 67-year-old sage admired by many. He made a mental note to read the logged conversations between Reutger and "Appleton" later; he could always use a good laugh.
"So," Fletcher continued, "Our Tier 1 package involves control of all of the deceased's social media accounts. Consider it an entry-level personal propaganda platform. We depict the deceased how the world wants to see them."
"Are you implying that you want to charge people differfently based on how you pretend to be somebody?" Sampson skeptically inquired with a raised eyebrow.
"On the contrary, the real focus is the control of information and public perception. The tiers are merely determined by how involved our organization becomes with portraying an individual."
"So if all that goes into Tier 1, what does Tier 2 entail?"
Fletcher grinned. His boyish charm was not lost on this group of people in the slightest.
"Tier 2 entails visual confirmation. Although we're currently limited by funds, we want to hire local actors to portray the deceased on video portals such as YouTube, and in Instagram pictures. Think of it like this: you're a content creator with a variety of shows, and you're killed in a car accident."
"Who is going to carry on with producing your shows? Furthermore, our digital photos add a level of authenticity that perhaps regular Tweets might not be able to buy."
"Tier 2 isn't the top, is it?"
Fletcher laughed, then regained his composure.
"Not at all. Tier 3 is our premium package, and we think it's something really special."
The remote clicked again, and a picture of The Brady Bunch came up on the screen.
"The fuck is this?" an investor asked, bemused.
"I'll tell you what the fuck that is!" Fletcher exclaimed. The man was a lightning rod of enthusiasm.
"With Tier 3, we use our production and media skills to recreate that person's life as a reality television show. We cast actors to recreate the family, and we follow a script true to the life of the deceased. We blend the facts of this person's life with a realistic charter of what that person would be most likely to do next in their everyday life."
A full minute of awkward silence passed before anyone piped up.
"That's ridiculous," Sampson scoffed, "who would even fall for that?"
"Have you seen Keeping Up with the Olsen's?" Fletcher smirked. Several investors paled at what was being implied.
"The Olsen twins are dead, too?!"
"There was an awful house fire that none of the family members managed to escape from. Their estate contacted us to continue producing their show as if nothing had happened."
If only they hadn't signed that Non-Disclosure Agreement. A news piece like this was juiciy; juicier than any fruit that grew on God's green earth.
"How much capital would you need to support such a business?" Sampson inquired.
"Ideally, roughly $150 million for starting out. Basic costs of materials and production."
"That's it?"
"That's it. I think this idea could become very popular amongst a variety of people. Government officials, for example, might want to cover up the fact that one of their own members had been assasinated. Celebrities might want to hide their own death from fans so that they can continue to have media that can support their families."
The investors were awestruck. Here was an idea that seemed initially absurd, but with just the right push...someone could make it profitable. Someone would want it.
"Mr. Fletcher...we need to congregate for a few minutes, would you please step outside this conference room?" Sampson asked.
* * * * * * *
The put their heads together and talked it over. Gradually, their analysis of the situation grew to higher and higher proportions. Finally, they filed out of the conference room one-by-one.
"Congratulations, Mr. Fletcher. Our group is willing to fund $400 million to your organization, on one simple condition."
"What's that?" Fletcher grinned again, his smile growing wider.
"We each want a free pass at your Tier 1 package. We're not much into television, but as we're all highly involved in social media ourselves, this idea is extremely appealing."