to-day operations without drama. That is, until July 2006, when Oz returned from a vacation to discover that Boaz had been ousted from the business with no explanation. Tomer took sole control, running the operation predominantly from the United States.

Boaz's departure did nothing to slow the company's growth. As the staff ballooned, Oz and Berkman recruited friends to work with them, extolling the flexible shifts and salaries generally about 15 percent higher than other call center jobs in Israel.

Then, one afternoon in 2007, a chat message popped up on Moran Oz's computer screen:

I'm your boss now. From now on you report to me.

The message came from one Paul Le Roux, a name Oz had never heard before. He could reasonably infer that Le Roux was the rumored third partner. It was less clear why, without explana- tion or pleasantries, he had suddenly reached out.

I have to talk to Tomer, Oz responded.

Le Roux told him that Tomer was out.

Oz immediately called Taggart, who confirmed that he was stepping aside for his formerly silent partner, a South African pro- grammer living in the Philippines. When Oz asked him why, he said only that he had been working too hard and wanted to see his kids grow up.

The whole thing was unnerving, but Oz wasn't eager to jump ship. At first the management change did little to alter the atmo- sphere in Jerusalem, where the company had grown to twenty people. Oz and Berkman were now essentially running the opera- tion, both making good money. What difference did it make who signed the checks?

Le Roux conducted almost all his business over email and the company's chat system, in a gruff style devoid of small talk. He didn't joke, and he never asked questions about the lives of his employees, or offered up any information regarding his own. He was more concerned about security than Boaz or Tomer had been,