The Acquisition Stopped By An Angel

The only thing that would have killed my acquisition deal was divine intervention. So that’s what happened. The true story of how I was told to walk away from a multi-million dollar deal.

Peter Kay, your feral entrepreneur here and I’ve got a story that’ll make you pause—a moment in 1999 when I stood at a crossroads, staring at a multi-million dollar acquisition and a life I thought I wanted, only to be saved from myself by a Charlie, an angel dressed in a sharp young MBA suit. This is about CyberCom, my web development company, at its peak, and how a simple fisherman’s tale stopped me from chasing a dream that wasn’t mine. It’s a chapter in my life as a feral entrepreneur, building on the battles I’ve shared before—(pick your favorite from this litany). This one’s about the day I chose the Hawaiian way over the dot-com gold rush.

CyberCom’s Golden Moment

In 1999, CyberCom was a beast. We were cranking, dominating Hawaii’s web development scene like nobody’s business. Bishop Street’s blue-chip companies—Hawaii’s biggest players—were our clients. We had no close second. The dot-com mania was in full swing, web companies fetching insane valuations, billionaires popping up everywhere. CyberCom wasn’t valued at a billion, but we were profitable, respected, and looking good. I’d built something real after sixteen years of grinding in Hawaii, from the scrappy days of XenTec to the legendary launch of Hawaii’s first commercial site. We were financially comfortable, a far cry from my early struggles. I was on magazine covers, the dot-com whiz kid of Honolulu, the household name of “Peter Kay With Your Computer Minute” fame. My head was big, and my ego was bigger.

Investment Bankers And Demon Whispers

Then the world’s largest investment banking firm—nameless here, but you can guess—came knocking. They were on a mission, scooping up the best web development companies across the country for a massive roll-up. CyberCom was on their list. They saw us as a prime catch, and the numbers were dizzying. Valuations for companies like mine in 1999 ran at two times annual revenue, putting CyberCom at a $4 million price tag—nearly $8 million in 2025 money. Eight million! That’s no billion, but for a kid who’d come down to his last dollar, it was a fortune. I was a multimillionaire on paper, and the greed was real. The ambition demon was yelling, not whispering in my ear to “take the shot!”.

San Francisco Rich Boy Meeting

They flew me to San Francisco for a meet-and-greet with the bankers and other companies in the roll-up. I stepped into a room full of mainland versions of me—sharp, driven web entrepreneurs, most running bigger operations than CyberCom. We were limited by Hawaii’s market, but we held our own, well-respected. The vibe was electric; these guys were cool, and I had a blast. We signed a preliminary agreement, and I was buzzing. Back in Honolulu, a due diligence team was dispatched to comb through our books. I’d learned a hard lesson years ago watching others get tanked from failed acquisitions because they changed how they ran their shops—spending more, slacking on sales, or losing focus. I wasn’t going to screw this up. So, I kept my mouth shut. Nobody at CyberCom knew except me and my wife Roni, our A-plus CFO. You should know that this is the first time I’ve ever told this secret - and you’re reading it!

Feeding Discs To Frenzied Accountants

Roni was a rock star. She ran CyberCom’s accounting department like a Swiss watch—perfectly optimized, every number pristine. Thanks to her, we had, profit-sharing and a 401(k) plan for our small team of maybe ten or fifteen employees, a big deal for a business our size. She’d taken my tech shop’s chaos and made it sing. When the bankers sent their list of required data, Roni had it ready, burned onto CDs—because, yeah, this was 1999, no USB drives, just RS-232 and shiny rainbow reflecting discs. We handed over the CDs, and the due diligence team set up camp in my office, sprawling across my big round conference desk, six chairs, laptops, cables, and notepads scribbled with numbers.

Charlie Angel Enters the Scene

Enter Charlie, the leader of the due diligence team. Young, sharp, in his twenties, with dark wavy hair and a medium build, he was physically fit and dressed sharp—no tie, just a dress shirt and dark slacks, per my advice to ditch the haole suit look. Charlie wasn’t just some MBA drone; he understood our business, top to bottom, and fast. His team had done this dance before, but Charlie stood out. He was smart, confident, and knew the web game. One day, he called me over to the conference desk, papers and laptops everywhere, and said, “Peter, you’ve built a really great business here.” I grinned—damn right I had. He summarized our operation’s fundamentals in a few sentences, nailing our profitability and tight ship. I was impressed. Then he leaned in and said, “Let me tell you a story.”

The Fisherman’s Tale That Changed It All

Charlie’s story went like this: There’s a fisherman in the South Pacific, living a happy life. Every day, he takes his boat out, catches a few fish, sells the extras for a couple bucks, and goes home to his family. Simple, content. One day, a venture capitalist on vacation sees his setup and says, “You’ve got a good business here. Let me invest. You can buy more boats, build a cannery, sell fish by the ton.” The fisherman asks, “Why would I do that?” The VC says, “To make a ton of money.” Fisherman: “Why?” VC: “So you can retire and be rich.” Fisherman: “Then what?” VC: “You can do whatever you want—like go fishing all day long!” The fisherman smiles and says, “That’s what I’m doing right now.”

Breaking Through My Brick Wall Head

Charlie looked at me and said, “Like the story?” I laughed, thinking it was cute, but it didn’t sink in—not yet. I was too blind, too “going for it”, too “I’m a millionaire!” So Charlie got blunt. “Peter, you’re excited about this acquisition, but you have no idea what’s in store. You’re not going to like it. At all. ” His words hit like a ton of bricks. I’d been swept up in the dot-com gold rush, fantasizing about millions, blind to what came after. I didn’t know the strings attached—reporting to a massive investment bank, endless demands, who-knows-what requirements. My ego was screaming, “Take the money!” But Charlie’s warning cracked through. He was telling me I’d already arrived, living a life most would kill for, and I was about to trade it for a mainland grind that wasn’t me.

Hang Loose or Chase Mainland Delusion?

This was a pivotal moment, bigger than launching Hawaii’s first website or closing down CyberCom years later. I was staring at two paths. One was the dot-com rush: big money, fame, maybe billions, but a life of stress, suits, and cannery-building. The other was the Hawaiian way: body surfing at Makapu’u, sunrises and sunsets, and hang loose vibes. I was already living the dream—why chase a cannery when I was already fishing in my boat? Greed and ego had blinded me. In 1999, I was spiritually immature, just re-entering my Christian faith, far from any divine path. I thought I was on a gold brick road, but Charlie’s story shattered that illusion. I was risking my way of life—Hawaii’s quiet, local rhythm—for a mainland fantasy.

Choosing the Hawaiian Way

I sat with Charlie’s words, and something clicked—a moment of acceptance. I sent a message to the bankers: Count me out boys. No multimillion-dollar buyout. No roll-up. They packed up their laptops, returned my CDs and flew off. Because I’d kept the acquisition secret, shared only with Roni (until this very moment being revealed to you), CyberCom didn’t skip a beat. Employees never knew. We kept cranking, killing it as usual. My hopes had been sky-high, staring at millions, but I’d learned from watching the mistakes of others—don’t change the business for a deal that’s not done. So we didn’t. The next day came and went, and we sailed on, uninterrupted.

The Crash and the Clarity

Here’s the kicker: 1999 rolled into 2000, and the dot-com bubble popped in March, April, May—boom, crash. Companies got obliterated. That roll-up? It collapsed. Many of those mainland companies I’d met, the ones that went full hog expecting acquisition, got trashed. They’d made changes, lost focus, and paid the price. CyberCom? We were sitting pretty, as strong as ever, because I hadn’t touched a thing. Charlie’s warning saved us. Looking back, I see him as an angel—not wings-and-halo, but heaven-sent. I was clueless, blind to any divine path, chasing money like a fool. But God wasn’t blind to me. Charlie’s fisherman story, one I often share to this day, guided me to the right choice.

Hawaii Saves Me, Again

This was the first time I truly thought about the life I wanted. Hawaii saved me, as it always has. Here, wealth isn’t a big house or a fancy car—it’s time off. A wealthy man has time to surf, to watch sunsets, to live. I could’ve been swept up by greed, ego, and the dot-com frenzy, but I was guided to chose quality of life over money. That choice kept CyberCom steady through the crash, unlike the casualties of that failed roll-up. Charlie, my angel, showed me I was already fishing in my boat, living the dream. Why build a cannery? I was on the beach, in Hawaii, hanging loose and happy in my little fishing boat.

The Divine Path I Never Saw

Looking back, today I see the divine in that moment, even if I didn’t then. I was spiritually a child in 1999, far from the faith I’d grow into later. But Charlie’s story, his warning, was a nudge from above. I didn’t need a fleet of boats or billions. I had Hawaii, Roni, my girls, and a life most only dream of (heck, I could never have imagined this incredible life myself). Today, I sense the divine path clearer, but back then, it took an angel like Charlie to keep me on it. So, if you’re a fisherman, treasure your boat. Catch your fish. Enjoy the sunrise. Let others chase the cannery—they might never get to where you already are. Aloha!