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They were sitting around a conference room table, face to face, for the first time. On one side were the Brits: with their lilting accents, measured demeanors, and pale complexions, they could seem more like a group of academics than tech entrepreneurs. On the other side were the investors from America who had blustered into glum, gray-rinsed Edinburgh from the glitz of West Los Angeles: perfectly coiffed and, as the Brits later marveled to each other, tan—so improbably tan.
 
These visitors, partners from the private equity firm Shamrock Capital, looked around at the office space, which was a dreary contrast to the glimmering tech offices in the United States: dimly lit, cluttered, decorated with an incongruous mix of British propaganda posters (YOUR RESOLUTION WILL BRING US VICTORY) and a curiously curated collection of American sports paraphernalia. They were here because they believed that the Brits’ creation, a startup company called FanDuel, was the key to unlocking the future of sports in America, though when they saw the cheap stickers of NFL team logos slapped on the walls next to outdated posters of players on former teams from forgotten eras, the visitors had second thoughts. It was 2014—what was Brett Favre in a Vikings uniform doing here?
 
They may not have been authentic sports fans, but the Brits possessed the credentials that suggested they had the experience and intellect to lead a transformative company. Nigel, the boyish, cerebral CEO, was a former media executive and McKinsey man, and that morning, as he presented a picture of how they were going to win the exploding fantasy sports market in America, the Shamrock partners were reminded of why they had felt, when they first met with Nigel months earlier, that the CEO’s analytical, efficient approach aligned perfectly with theirs. The investors were also familiar with the two technologists who unveiled FanDuel’s new product features. Tom, the chief product officer, was Cambridge-educated, a former PhD candidate, and Rob, the creative director, had already had a hand in cofounding three startups; their collective talent was reflected in the new app, which was as sleek as a Bentley.
 
The Shamrock partners, however, were not yet familiar with the fourth founder, the last to take the floor. The job of the chief marketing officer, Lesley, was to take the money they had raised and turn it into paying customers. Now, not only was FanDuel a company with tens of thousands of paying customers playing their online game, with millions of dollars of revenue flowing in weekly, but it was also, with a new infusion of capital from the new partners from Shamrock, a startup with over $70 million of investment money bubbling in their tank.
 
“This is a make-or-break year for us,” Lesley declared to the room. “We’re going to have to be very aggressive.”
 
The screen behind her changed to a slide that described an evolving market. Because FanDuel rewarded winners with prize money, many were beginning to view the games they offered—a subset of fantasy sports called daily fantasy sports games—as a kind of Trojan horse brought into the sports gambling market, territory from which media companies and sports leagues had long been excluded. But now, with a new NFL season weeks away, not only was a media titan, ESPN, in play as an advertiser, but professional sports teams were also returning Lesley’s calls, eager to strike deals.
 
“We can’t hold back,” Lesley said. There was another factor, she added, just as critical to consider: a startup that had entered the space only two years earlier but was willing to burn through astounding sums of cash to acquire customers. Their ads were appearing on TV and radio and billboards across the United States, everywhere from Boston, the company’s home base, to Las Vegas, where it was catching the attention—and ire—of regulators and gambling operators.
 
These new rivals seemed hell-bent on taking over the fantasy sports world, even if it meant blowing up the entire industry in the process. They were called DraftKings, though some in the industry called the company by a different name: the suicide bombers.
 
Earlier that summer, there had been rumors swirling in the industry that FanDuel was closing in on a monster investment; the word was that Nigel had been able to secure $40 million. Soon after, around the time of Shamrock’s visit to Edinburgh, DraftKings announced it had closed on a venture-capital-backed Series B round. That total: $41 million. The number was a warning shot.
 
The suicide bombers were coming.
 
“We’re going to need a significant push to keep our lead,” Lesley continued. The screen flickered to the next slide: the marketing plan for the upcoming NFL season, just weeks away in September. A year ago, in 2013, FanDuel had spent $10 million in advertising for the entire year.