Why should Don have all the fun riding roughshod over VC’s and their attempts to have non-consensual intercourse with your company? Herein is my tale of negotiating term sheets - I’ve done three and closed one, which is actually a fair bit of experience. For a poor guy, anyway.
(Guy has a great post on how less knowledge is better, and it’s worth a read. Though I don’t agree with him, but maybe I would if I were a VC.
My first term sheet was with Angel investors. Not your mamma or your MBA prof, but guys from the Valley who’d been in on early VC deals - first wave hard tech silicon guys and later 90’s infrastructure guys. Savvy guys, rich-rich ($50M or so) but not RICH-RICH like we have today. Back then, Bill and Larry were merely barely billionaires.
It was not terribly difficult, nor was it adversarial. There was a LOT of negotiating around the valuation of the company, as well as some push from them to take more money. (That is another post.) But it was pretty straightforward and in six weeks or so I’d raised about a million bucks. I think I spent $20K on legal fees to get the revised versions out and saved, etc, etc.
I thought I learned a lot. I did. It was the wrong stuff though.
I will tell you one thing I learned for free - do NOT let your lawyers convince you that they should clear all the investor checks through their escrow accounts. I’m not saying that they were likely to steal any money. On the contrary, you know to know where something is to steal it. Try to imagine losing track of a $150K check. Twice. I’d rather give a check to a blind Jehova’s witness using a monkey for GPS than to let a lawyer handle it.
The next round of term sheets was with a boutique VC firm on the East Coast. They specialized in our area of technology/business. It was a good experience - they really got what we did, they asked some good questions, and they made us rethink some assumptions and come up with better plans. I’d have paid to have someone do that, frankly. During the end of the second round of beauty contest meetings they gave me the “standard draft” of “what all our portfolio companies sign.” “Don’t worry, it’s all standard stuff.”
I saw everything that Don saw, and a bit more about work restrictions, and when I brought up my list of things that bothered me, they dropped me like a rock.
Because, you see, whatever you do there is someone doing something fundamentally similar (from the perspective of building a portfolio of companies). So, ceteris paribus, they will always invest in the management team that is willing to sign the worst contract.
How do you feel about your termsheet now?
“Oh,” you say, “but they spent so much time with me, they have an investment.” Uh, no. They get paid to talk. They collect between 1% and 3% a year from their fund to find companies for their portfolio. And what are you going to talk about in partners meetings if you don’t meet with companies? Plus then they have business plans to share with their portfolio companies. It’s all good. For them.
That was two. I thought I was ready.
At this point the tech boom was, er, de-booming. So our next investor was a fund-of-fund group in London. I hauled myself over there several times (off the plane, on the tube, into the office, demo, to the hotel, collapse, up to pub with investors, to bed, on plane, home, get flu!) and we got well into the due diligence. Then they gave me the Investment Heads of Agreement. (Which is posh Brit for termsheet.) I spent four or five very expensive hours with our English attorneys and then went back the next day to negotiate.
Being that we were in England and it was after 10am, one of the partners took me to a wine bar and bought me some really expensive sherry. (I don’t like sherry by the way, but it was lovely.) I then proceeded to go through the document for two hours, point by point, and tried to negotiate better terms somewhere. He was very patient, but wouldn’t move off the dime (farthing?), wouldn’t let me bundle options together, wouldn’t defer, nothing. I swear I went through every negotiating process I knew. Nothing.
Finally, after many trips to the bar for more sherry, he leaned over and said something I’ll never forget:
You should stop trying to change this. It’s what you’ll sign if you want the money. You see, we have it and you need it. And I know you need it because I have your books. And you don’t have leverage because I know all about your company and you know nothing about mine, including where I am in negotiations with your direct competitor, X.
Wow. Then I got it. I saw that they OWN you. I wasn’t up for that.
So we walked away and sold the company to a competitor.
If you’re a pretty-boy A-list stunt CEO for the VC world, you can stop reading here. I got nothing of wisdom for you, I just hope you enjoyed the story.
If you’re a regular Joe and you’ve decided to take VC money, then I guess my take-home is that you should realize that you are not going to negotiate. If I were to take VC again I’d just try to do the transaction with as little angst as possible and get on with it.
I would also perform a 90% haircut on the value of my dreams. Just to be prepared.