How Hawaii’s Darling Tech Company Knew It Had to Shut Down

Facing into the abyss of failure while the world thinks you’re the epitome of success.

Basking In Limelight Of the Glory Days

Peter Kay here, your feral entrepreneur, and telling you about 2001, when CyberCom was riding high as Hawaii’s top web developer. We were the freaking king—number one, fastest-growing company, the darling of the business scene. Me and my wife, Roni, who’s running the show as CFO, are in this unreal 5,000-square-foot penthouse office, top floor, with sweeping ocean views that blow your mind every day. I’ve been on the cover of Hawaii Business Magazine (twice), Midweek Magazine, all over TV and radio—and I’m a household name (“I’m Peter Kay With Your Computer Minute!”) with endless speaking gigs lined up. We’ve got 25 employees—developers, designers, sysadmins—cranking through a 12-month project backlog. Clients wait a year for us, that’s how hot we are. CyberCom is knocking it out of the park in this prestigious space where we gather nightly in the corner conference room, watching sunsets, chasing green flashes—an unbelievable vibe.

9/11 Crashes Into Our Business

Then September 11, 2001, hits like a bomb. In Hawaii, six hours behind New York, I wake up, flip on the radio, and it’s chaos—towers down, Pentagon hit, Pennsylvania crash, all done before we even woke up. I’m in shock, heading to our ocean-view office where our employees are feeling dread. Everybody’s freaked, trying to grasp it. I’m thinking we’ve got to keep moving—we have a 12-month backlog and a business to run. An employee asks, “Is this gonna hurt us?” I brush it off, “Nah, we’re solid, let’s work.” But I’m wrong—dead wrong—I just don’t know it yet.

The Aftershocks Are Massive

The business aftershock is brutal. Our client mix—high-end travel giants, mid-range players, and mom & pop small businesses—follow the 80/20 rule: 20%, mostly travel, bring 80% of our revenue; the remaining 80% bring 20%. Post-9/11, our high-end travel clients go direct to consumer, selling straight on the web, and that reprioritization means they need to either take web development work in-house or they hire high-end mainland developers that are orders of magnitude more equipped than we are—cutting us out. Mid-range clients freeze, halting projects, scared stiff seeing the economy about to tank. Small clients, mostly hosting with us, keep going, but they’re just 20% of revenue. Our forecasting system—a lifesaver—shows our September 2001 backlog holding to September 2002, but it’s thinning fast. In that ocean-view conference room, we’re staring at a storm, and Roni’s steady hand on the finances, payroll, and 401k for our crew can’t stop what’s coming.

There Are No Vulcans

I’m the guy who can sell mood rings to Vulcans , so I hit supercharged sales mode, storming clients for new projects. Roni’s running HR, accounts, everything, keeping us afloat, but I’m getting “no” after “no”—clients aren’t biting. I pitch a wild Hawaii Act 221 tax credit idea, offering web development basically for free through tax breaks—still no takers, which floors me. I think that trial balloon, more than anything else, tells me this might be over. I try merging with a top ad agency, thinking our tech edge and their design could mesh. We never even get to first base. By March 2002, our backlog hasn’t moved. Our next available project date should have been March 2003 but it’s still stuck at September 2002, no new work. We’ve laid off staff already, and the walls of the office with its green flash views are closing in on Roni and I.

Finding Truth By The Disney Pool

April 2002, we take a Disney cruise for spring break—me, Roni, our daughters, aged two and five at the time, soaking up Caribbean islands, Disney’s private island, family dinners, Disney movies, the works. On the pool deck, with kids splashing nearby, Roni and I talk—really talk. She’s got the numbers in her head, and I spill it all: high-end clients gone, mid-range on hold, small clients not enough to keep us afloat, sales bombing, merger not an option. We had a strategic plan to exit web development, but 9/11 shot that plan into overdrive. Sitting there, ocean breeze hitting us, we realize CyberCom—number one, industry darling, penthouse office—isn’t a business anymore. The web world’s flipped, and we realize we’re done, right there in that magical, kid-filled setting.

The Choice We Did Not Want To Make

We’re facing a brutal call: slog through a hellish fight to save CyberCom or shut it down. Pre-9/11, we’re already maxed—stressed out, countless internal battles, our daughters caught in it, a crib by Roni’s office desk for our youngest. Another battle, ten times worse, with no win guaranteed? It’ll wreck our marriage, our family, our lives. I’m the feral entrepreneur—I’ve walked away before, like XenTec, and have gone down to my last buck. Lounging by that kiddie pool, Roni’s steady gaze locks with mine, and we decide: we’re closing CyberCom. It’s over—not thrilled about it, but it’s the move, and that killer sunset ocean-view office feels a world away.

The Biggest Gut Punch Ever

Inside, I’m torn—this is gonna hurt like a mofo. I’m the tech wonder kid, the voice of Your Computer Minute that everybody hears several times a day. I’m on a weekly morning KITV news segment Computer Talk with Peter Kay, magazine covers, speaking gigs everywhere. We’re the model of success, and now I’m facing failure, shutting down from that penthouse suite. My ego’s massive—huge—and this is the biggest gut punch of my life. I tried everything—sales, tax deals, mergers—no stone unturned, but it’s not enough. Closing risks my reputation, maybe forces me out of Hawaii. Our daughters, the office nursery, fights with Roni—it’s screaming family first, but knowing we’re still making millions from backlog projects makes it even crazier. I don’t think I could have made that decision without my wife’s agreement and support.

Reputation is On The Line - Again

This is my entrepreneur’s graduation—biggest stakes ever. My ego’s screaming to fight, but I know we’d sink. Ego’s a trap; never get fooled into believing your own press releases—another story there. Announcing CyberCom’s closure- I mean, what will everyone say? In Hawaii, reputation is everything—this multiplies the fear of losing that by a hundred. Lose my reputation, and I’m gone—no way I’m going to let that happen.

Nothing Validates Better Than Looking Back

Here’s the truth—when a business isn’t working, let it go. Never, never, never cling to it. Don’t fear the abyss; trust it’ll work out. I’d walked away from XenTec, hit rock bottom before, so I know I can do it again, but I’m scared—scared shitless. Yet it’s all about the divine path. Psalms 23 comes to mind right now: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” Closing CyberCom is on the divine path—hellish, but right. Looking back now, in 2025, it was the right move. My daughters, now 29 and 25, had me with them at every school outing, family dinners every night, and epic family trips—time I’d have lost fighting a lost cause. In the years that followed, CyberCom pivoted, and became just as profitable with no employees—nuts, right? I didn’t see that when we were agonizing over it at the poolside on the Disney Cruise ship, but it worked better than I could have possibly dreamed.

The Operational Machine That Really Saved Us

Part of our strategic plan to exit the billable hours web development business that we had laid out several years prior was to develop operational excellence. In that pursuit, Roni had developed an in-house web-based time tracking system and I had created a sales and project forecasting system. Together this system let us manage the largest web development company in Hawaii and it was this system that gave us the ability to see the end coming well in advance. We had almost a 12 month lead warning to steer our ship clear of the icebergs and offload all the passengers safely. This administration, under Roni’s leadership, is the secret hero of this story and I firmly believe we would have crashed head-on into that iceberg had we not had this system.

Staying On Your Divine Path Is What Matters Most

Long before that fateful September in 2001, I came up with a prayer on my screen saver: “Give me the eyes to see the path that You have shown before me”. Here I’m asking for the Lord to just let me see the path so I can follow it. I don’t need to know where it leads - I just want to see it. I know He has laid that path before me already and I’m asking for His help to see it. If I can see it, I will follow it. This is a story about seeing the path and following the path without really knowing where it will lead. The feral lesson’s this—stay on your divine path, trust it and have the courage to never stray. Know when you’re on it, feel when you’re off of it, and make whatever course corrections you need to get back on it regardless of how scary it feels.. Next, I’ll tell you how that path unfolded as we actually shut down the company, a wild ride unto itself.

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