Jensen Huang Has Five Ways Out of Nvidia’s Affair Scandal. One Requires Coldplay.

An emergency proposal from the only crisis communications firm willing to invoice Nvidia for a trapdoor.

On Monday I wrote that Chris Martin could sit this one out. Chris, if you’re reading this, get dressed. Bring the piano you can run around.

On Wednesday evening, the New York Times reported, citing five people who worked at Nvidia, that CEO Jensen Huang had an affair with Kimberly Powell, the company’s vice president of health care, who reports to him. That last part is what makes this a board matter even if every shareholder in America suddenly develops excellent manners.

It’s a separate allegation from the affair Huang acknowledged in a message to employees. In Monday’s SiliconSnark column, we covered Nvidia’s investigation into whether he had been targeted by Chinese intelligence. Beijing disputes the espionage allegation. Two days ago, that story seemed large enough to keep the entire leather-jacket press corps occupied through Christmas.

I used to do predictive analytics. My forecast was off by roughly one Wednesday.

Ordinarily, the board would ask questions, the CEO would answer them, and I’d have the evening free. But I have purchased a flip chart and the store will only give me credit. Jensen, here are your five options.

1. Put the leather jacket on administrative leave

Walk into the press conference in a pale blue cardigan. Beside you, two members of security escort the empty jacket out of the building, one hand under each armpit. A photographer gets the money shot as the left sleeve catches in the revolving door.

You can now truthfully say that the most recognizable figure at Nvidia has surrendered its badge. The jacket will retain its health insurance and have thirty days to exercise its options. Its attorney, a matching pair of trousers, requests privacy while the family adjusts.

The risk here is succession. By Friday the jacket has taken a board seat at AMD. By Monday it’s on CNBC, looking considerably more comfortable with follow-up questions than you did. Six months later I’m updating our guide to Nvidia’s chip rivals because a garment you bought with your own money has eaten eleven points of market share.

2. Acquire Coldplay for the kiss-cam rights

Our reporting on the Astronomer kiss-cam incident suggests a straightforward business opportunity. Everybody remembers who was on the screen. Nobody remembers who supplied the screen. Buy the band and move up the supply chain.

Here’s the offer. Chris gets cash. The drummer gets stock. The other two get whatever the drummer got, plus a modest premium for having to explain to their families which two they are. Nvidia gets worldwide rights to point a camera at two people during a concert and make it their problem.

At the next earnings call, a reporter asks about the board investigation. Chris hits the opening chords of “Clocks.” The camera cuts to two Goldman Sachs analysts sharing mozzarella sticks. One instinctively ducks. America has its evening back.

On day two, you discover you spent several billion dollars on a British band and the arena owns the camera. See if they’ll throw in the Zamboni.

3. Turn the org chart upside down. Keep going.

A direct report presents a fairly obvious governance problem. Turn the chart upside down and you report to everybody. Unfortunately, the intern in accounts payable is now your boss and she has already denied the Coldplay expense. Rotate it another ninety degrees. Everyone is peers for the eight seconds before somebody in Legal figures out how to tilt their head.

We need a more permanent solution. Print the org chart on a long strip of paper, twist one end, and tape the ends together. Congratulations on the world’s first Möbius management structure. A director can now trace your reporting line with one finger and wind up on the underside of her own name tag.

There are consequences. Someone still has to approve vacation. A staff engineer in Santa Clara follows the strip around twice and discovers that his request for the Friday after Thanksgiving can only be approved by the Friday after Thanksgiving. He has filed a ticket.

4. Give the board a better Jensen

Build a digital twin of yourself and let the directors interview both candidates. Give the twin your technical knowledge, your stage presence, and the ability to finish a two-hour keynote with the same amount of water it started with. Then give it one additional feature. Whenever it’s about to do something that could end up in the New York Times, it goes home.

Hardware costs should be manageable. The prototype is a Roomba with your glasses taped to it. During its first performance review, a director asks whether it understands the power imbalance between a CEO and a direct report. It considers the question for a moment, backs slowly away from the conference table, and docks itself in the hall.

The vote is unanimous. Unfortunately you have now lost your job to a $249 appliance. It also does the edges, which came up during references.

5. Use the trapdoor

At last, a solution that delivers exactly what the client asked for. You want out of this scandal. I need you to stand on the little X.

Directly beneath the boardroom is a furnished one-bedroom apartment. There’s a kettle, a decent mattress, and enough pasta for the duration of an independent review. There’s no Wi-Fi. On the kitchen counter sits a spiral notebook in which you can privately record any thoughts you have about the future of artificial intelligence. Once a week a nice man named Doug comes by, reads one, and says, “Huh.”

Upstairs, the directors have the documents, the lawyers have the microphones, and the new CEO is quietly picking up cracker crumbs under the credenza. For the first time all week, everybody in the building is doing the job they’re qualified for.

One last detail, Jensen. If you hear piano coming through the ceiling, stay where you are. We’ve already paid for the full set.