Elon Musk Once Offered Apple $5,000,000,000 With a 72-Hour Deadline and This Was Tim Cook’s Response

In August 2022, as Apple prepared to reveal the iPhone 14 with its trademark blend of secrecy and fanfare, Elon Musk quietly issued a shockwave through the tech world. Behind closed doors, he offered Apple CEO Tim Cook a direct and dramatic proposal: pay $5 billion to incorporate SpaceX’s Starlink satellite technology into iPhones or risk facing Starlink as a formidable competitor in the smartphone satellite connectivity space. And there was a clock ticking—72 hours.

That was all the time Musk gave Apple’s chief executive to respond. It was a maneuver that perfectly encapsulated Musk’s high-stakes, no-compromise approach to business. Tim Cook, however, did not bite.

Cook’s decision was not a rejection out of arrogance, but one rooted in Apple’s methodical DNA. Known for its tight ecosystem control and cautious market entry strategies, Apple chose instead to partner with Globalstar, a far more modest alternative, to enable limited emergency satellite features on iPhones.

This allowed iPhone users to send emergency messages when off-grid, without shaking up Apple’s existing relationships with telecom giants or opening itself up to the unpredictability of working directly with Musk and his sprawling ambitions. The move was safe, calculated, and consistent with Apple’s philosophy of retaining full authority over its user experience, even if it meant ceding the edge in satellite technology innovation.

But Elon Musk does not take ‘no’ lightly—certainly not when billions and the future of telecommunications are on the line. Following the Apple snub, Musk swiftly inked a groundbreaking deal with T-Mobile to launch “Direct to Cell,” a service designed to bypass traditional cellular infrastructure by allowing everyday smartphones to connect directly to Starlink satellites.

Unlike Apple’s solution, which only enabled texting in emergencies under very specific conditions, Musk’s offering aimed to provide full-spectrum connectivity: calls, texts, and internet access from virtually anywhere on Earth, no hardware changes required. The message was clear—if Apple didn’t want to lead, Musk would.

In the months and years that followed, the rivalry between Apple and Musk’s satellite ambitions has only intensified. In 2025, Apple is quietly ramping up its satellite capabilities, with reports suggesting the next generation Apple Watch Ultra 3—expected this September—will feature upgraded satellite integration.

This will likely still be limited in functionality, but it signals Apple’s realization that satellite connectivity is not a fad, but a critical frontier in mobile technology. 

For Musk, however, the vision has moved far beyond smartphones. In recent interviews, he has openly discussed what he sees as the impending decline of smartphones altogether. His brain-computer interface company Neuralink, which achieved early clinical success in late 2024, is aiming to make direct neural communication not only possible but preferable to using handheld devices.

The Apple-Musk clash is not just a spat between two tech giants; it reflects a philosophical divide in how innovation should unfold. Musk represents the archetype of disruption, pushing boundaries with little regard for conventional wisdom.

He’s betting on moonshots: autonomous robots, interplanetary travel, mind-machine fusion, and now, global satellite connectivity that could render traditional telecoms obsolete.

Apple, meanwhile, continues to be the gatekeeper of refined innovation. Its products are meticulously designed, its software ecosystem tightly curated, and its risk tolerance extremely low compared to Musk’s aggressive gambles. Where Musk sees a sprint, Apple sees a marathon.

That 2022 offer—$5,000,000,000 for Starlink integration—wasn’t just about money. It was about strategic control. If Apple had accepted, Starlink would have had direct access to the most powerful consumer hardware ecosystem on the planet.

But it would also have meant Apple conceding a degree of hardware control and data flow to an outside operator, something the company has fiercely guarded since the days of Steve Jobs. Even with Musk’s guarantee of superior satellite performance and expanded service reach, Apple likely saw the proposition as not just risky, but existentially threatening.

Internally, Apple engineers reportedly explored what deeper Starlink integration would entail. The technical feasibility wasn’t the issue—it was the corporate DNA mismatch. Starlink moves fast, updates constantly, and is deeply enmeshed in Musk’s other ventures like Tesla and SpaceX. Apple moves with discipline, refining each product over years.

Integrating Starlink could have meant compromising Apple’s hardware roadmap, or worse, introducing a dependency on a third party known for its volatility. In the end, Globalstar, a safer and more predictable vendor, won out.

What Musk achieved with “Direct to Cell,” however, proves his threat wasn’t idle. T-Mobile’s network, combined with Starlink’s growing constellation of low-Earth orbit satellites, now provides coverage in remote regions where cellular towers fail. It has already started pilot programs across the American Midwest and Alaska, with expansion into Latin America and Australia slated for Q3 2025.

Meanwhile, Starlink subscriber numbers have surged past 6 million globally, with nearly a third using services that bypass traditional telecom frameworks entirely. Musk’s dream of a post-carrier world may not be fantasy—it’s in beta.

Apple’s counter-response has been more subdued but consistent. The iPhone 15 Pro and 15 Pro Max included expanded emergency messaging protocols, and insiders suggest the iPhone 16 may come with enhanced weather-based satellite response tools, although still limited in scope.

There’s also speculation Apple may quietly acquire or build its own mini-satellite network, a move that would give it independence from both Globalstar and Starlink. But if that happens, it would be years away. By then, Musk might already be offering direct cloud-streamed AI services from orbit.

The tension isn’t going away. With every keynote, every launch, and every regulatory filing, both Apple and Musk’s Starlink maneuver closer to a new kind of digital battlefield—one that exists not on Earth, but above it. The potential market for direct satellite connectivity is massive: rural communities, disaster zones, military applications, oceanic navigation, and eventually, developing nations with no telecom infrastructure.

Whoever wins that market will not only make billions—they will control a core layer of global communication.

Musk’s broader play may have less to do with fighting Apple head-on and more with reshaping the entire telecommunications industry. His vision is to make the internet truly planetary—not beholden to fiber optic cables or regional infrastructure, but delivered seamlessly from space.

Apple, for now, remains committed to the ground—partnering with carriers, enhancing towers, and slowly expanding its satellite features. But the pressure is mounting.

In hindsight, that $5,000,000,000 offer was a warning shot. Musk didn’t just want to collaborate—he wanted to accelerate a paradigm shift. And by rejecting the offer, Apple signaled that it would not be bullied or hurried, no matter how powerful the disruptor at its gates.

But the price of that caution could be relevance in the next generation of mobile connectivity.

As 2025 progresses, the lines are becoming clearer. On one side is Elon Musk, building an internet that defies geography and institutional control.

On the other is Apple, perfecting its ecosystem while cautiously adapting to the world Musk is already changing. Their choices will determine whether the future of communication is defined by a sleek device in your pocket—or a satellite orbiting thousands of miles above your head.