Why Division VII?

Long before Division VII existed, everything started with pure curiosity — breaking things, rebuilding them, and writing code before most people understood what a computer could do, all on machines with less memory than a modern watch.

It was the golden era of hacking: dial-up tones, command lines, and discovery through trial and error. I was twelve when I slipped into a university system just to see if I could. The movie WarGames was in theaters the same week the authorities showed up at my door. 

I was 13.

It wasn’t a career path; it was instinct.
The spark that would shape everything later was already there.

After years of being barred from computers, I stepped back into the world of technology through a structural steel company. They had a few basic machines running slow, manual spreadsheets for estimating high-rises, prisons, and complex steel structures.

As an estimator, the bottlenecks were obvious — hours wasted on repetitive calculations that didn’t need to be done by hand. So I started writing macros, automating the grind, rebuilding their process with the limited spreadsheet programming available at the time.

At first I wasn’t sure if I still had it. Five years without touching a keyboard felt like a lifetime. But the moment I started, everything came back instantly — clearer, faster, and with more purpose.

This was the catalyst: seeing firsthand how automation could transform a business, save real money, and accelerate work that used to crawl. From that point on, the opportunities for smarter, faster systems were everywhere.

Airlines in the early ’90s were running on aging mainframes and disconnected systems that hadn’t changed much since the 1970s. Office computers were just beginning to appear, but the operational tech behind reservations, cargo, and airport services was still slow, isolated, and painfully limited. Networks inside airports didn’t talk to each other. Systems inside the same airline barely did.

This is when I stepped into the industry — first as a programmer for a small commuter airline, then quickly into building solutions of my own. What started with bridging simple gaps turned into creating the networks airlines needed but didn’t have: connectivity between carriers, early cargo-tracking systems with online reporting (right as FedEx was introducing theirs), aircraft maintenance tools, airport display systems, and even counter-terror predictive monitoring long before that was a common concept.

The work was fast, scrappy, and far ahead of what most airlines were ready for — and that’s exactly what made it interesting. It was the first time I saw an entire industry running on outdated assumptions and realized how much could be transformed with better software and real-time data.

A few months before 9/11, I sold my shares in the software company I’d built and stepped away from aviation to start something new. When the towers fell, the entire industry collapsed with them. Airlines went bankrupt. Vendors couldn’t get paid. Companies that depended on aviation were suddenly without work, without revenue, and without a plan.

What happened next surprised me.

I started getting calls — CEOs, owners, founders — all wanting to know how a three-person company had landed work with carriers like Delta, United, Northwest, Lufthansa, and others… and what they needed to do to survive now.

This became the beginning of my business development work: helping these companies reposition themselves with credibility and authenticity at a time when everyone else was trying to “look big.” I worked with dozens of companies across the entire aviation ecosystem — repairing their brands, reframing their value, and helping them stay alive in a broken market.

And now that the internet was fully established, rebuilding a company’s identity meant rebuilding it online — branding mixed with heavy technical work, infrastructure, and digital presence. It was fast, high-stakes, and deeply strategic.

Over time, it became clear there were two paths forming:
the business development and positioning work…
and the complex technical builds behind the scenes that made those transformations real.

That split would eventually lead to two identities:
Dane Shakespear and Division VII.

By 2002, the work had clearly divided into two tracks: helping companies rebuild their credibility and positioning on one side, and building the heavy technical systems that made those transformations real on the other. Both sides were growing fast — but they required different environments, different mindsets, and different tools.

So I moved operations into a building on Howard Hughes Parkway in Las Vegas.
That space became the first true home for the technical work — the prototypes, the engines, the invisible systems, the automation layers, the platforms that powered all the brand rebuilding happening on the outside.

It was quiet, focused, and built for speed.
Business development and brand strategy became Dane Shakespear.
The deep engineering and experimentation began forming their own identity — the early shape of what would eventually become Division VII.

From 2003 forward, the work widened into dozens of industries — all the types you’d expect: internal systems, automation tools, kiosks, prototypes, restaurant screens, advertising displays, RFID systems, mobile apps, web apps, cloud networks, everything in between. If it required code, hardware, logic, or invention, we built it.

But over time, something became clear: the most interesting work — and the most impact — lived on the internet.

Not just websites, but control, visibility, and narrative.

As our sister company’s clients needed stronger presence, we started building the digital evidence their positioning demanded — SEO, content systems, microsites, infrastructure, and everything required to make their story real online.

Then came the other side: the countermeasures.

Companies and individuals were getting attacked, slandered, sabotaged, or manipulated online. Competitors weaponized Google. Trolls and bad actors discovered how easy it was to damage a reputation in the wild west of early search.

We stepped in — building the systems, networks, and online structures that could restore, protect, and reshape what people saw.

Simultaneously, we handled cybersecurity for high-visibility individuals and organizations who needed protection because of their industry, connections, or exposure.

It was fast, intense, and deeply satisfying — not because of the difficulty, but because of what it meant for the people we helped. Seeing what we could build, fix, and control on the internet made it obvious: this was the future of our work.

And it became a major part of the identity that would eventually become Division VII.