On the bustling construction site of Powell Construction Company, a modest iron sheet house stood amid the clamor. Inside, a fan whirred lazily, stirring the warm air, while a desk cluttered with blueprints and papers commanded the room.
Mr. Depp, the project manager, was sprawled in a chair, engrossed in the latest issue of the Arizona Voice. With a reputation as the most promising young engineer at Powell, he had gained recognition for the robustness of his projects, perfectly aligning with the post-war construction boom. Whispers in the company hinted at his imminent promotion to a higher management role.
Ivan approached, suitcase in hand, and rapped twice on the open door.
Mr. Depp glanced up, the newspaper dropping from his face. His expression soured as he saw who it was. "Ivan? Why aren't you at work?"
"Because I'm here to reclaim what's mine," Ivan replied, pulling out a chair and settling in across from him. "You owe me two months' salary, and this morning, my landlord kicked me out."
Mr. Depp, tall and lean in his loose-fitting suit, sighed as he put down the newspaper. "I truly regret this, Ivan. But we're facing cash flow issues. The material costs from Party A have dropped again…"
Ivan listened, his expression calm, but a subtle smile tugged at his lips. "If I didn't see that box of cigars on your desk, each costing a dollar, I might actually believe you. That box alone could feed all the workers on this site for lunch."
"Please, no more excuses. I need my salary today," Ivan insisted, his tone firm.
Mr. Depp's demeanor shifted; the joviality faded, replaced by a shadow of irritation. He slammed a palm against the table. "Ivan, remember that I helped you secure this comfortable job as a security guard. You owe me for that."
Ivan shook his head, unperturbed. "Come on, Mr. Depp. I know your motivations."
A tense silence filled the air as Mr. Depp's expression hardened.
Before this unexpected journey into another world, Ivan had been a skilled civil engineer in the previous life. He possessed several advanced concrete formulas from the 21st century that could revolutionize construction techniques in this era. But without the right opportunities to showcase his knowledge, he was stuck.
Mr. Depp had been quick to recognize Ivan's value, leveraging his expertise to bolster his own standing within the company. With Ivan's formulas, he had catapulted himself ahead of other project managers, but now, with that knowledge in hand, Ivan was becoming a liability.
"Greedy fool," Mr. Depp thought, feeling a sense of dissatisfaction. "But I can always find another immigrant to do his job."
With a smirk, Mr. Depp shrugged nonchalantly. "Alright, I can pay you today. But let's be clear: you're not a formal employee of Powell Company. Our agreement is a short-term contract. That means you only get the bare minimum; no subsidies or bonuses. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is."
He leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "I've been trying to give you some extra compensation out of goodwill, but given my current situation, all I can offer you is… let me see… fifty dollars. That should settle things, right?"
Ivan sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "What a shame. I really didn't want this to become so awkward, sir."
He could feel the tension between them, but he also knew he had to stand firm. The balance of power had shifted, and he was determined not to let it slip away.
"Let me share a little secret you might not know," Ivan said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "I've already applied for a patent for my formula."
Mr. Depp's eyebrows shot up in surprise, then his expression hardened into one of fury. Ivan didn't have a passport, but state law allowed him to file for a patent using two years of gas and water bills as proof of residence. It was a clever loophole.
"Really? Hah! You're quite reckless, aren't you, Ivan?" Depp sneered, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed defensively. "You should really read our contract more closely. It clearly states that neither party can apply for patents during the contract period without the other's consent. Violate that, and you'll face liquidated damages and potential criminal charges for financial misconduct."
Ivan maintained a calm demeanor, the corners of his mouth twitching into a slight smile. "And what exactly is the amount for those liquidated damages in our contract?"
"Thirty percent of the losses or gains of either party," Mr. Depp replied, a flicker of concern crossing his face.
Ivan's smile widened. "Exactly. But the catch is, you have no proof that I've gained anything from this patent or that you've suffered any losses." He leaned forward, his tone steady. "Plus, in Arizona, the threshold for financial crime is a profit of at least one dollar."
Mr. Depp's irritation simmered, but Ivan continued. "Of course, you could hire a private investigator, but I assure you, the outcome would reflect what you see right now: a broke man in tattered clothes."
Ivan's cheap shirt and pants, worn and faded, emphasized his point, making it hard to believe he posed any real threat.
"So what if you applied for a patent?" Mr. Depp snapped, bitterness lacing his words. "You think I can't be an engineer without your precious formula?"
"Not at all," Ivan replied, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. "You can certainly continue your work. But consider this: if I were to sue for the buildings constructed using my cement formula…"
"Lawsuit? Hahaha!" Mr. Depp erupted, incredulous. "You think you can take me to court? With those ragged clothes and that pathetic yellow skin, you wouldn't even be able to afford a lawyer! They wouldn't let you step into their office!" His laughter was a mixture of derision and outrage, clearly unsettled by the perceived threat.
Ivan waited patiently, allowing Mr. Depp's laughter to fade into awkward silence before responding. "No, no, I realize I wouldn't win a lawsuit against you directly. That's not my aim."
Depp's laughter ceased abruptly, replaced by a creeping dread. "What do you mean?"
"I plan to sue Powell Construction Company," Ivan declared, his smile unwavering as he shifted his gaze to the newspaper on the desk.
"Of course, I'm aware that winning against Powell is an uphill battle. But that's not my goal. I want to stir up some public interest in this matter. I can only imagine the headlines the Arizona Voice or the Federal Phoenix would run. Don't you agree, Mr. Depp?"
At this, Mr. Depp's expression shifted from disbelief to alarm. He realized the ramifications of what Ivan was suggesting.
For those who might not grasp the significance of Ivan's cement formula, it was crucial to understand the state of construction materials in the 1920s. Cement quality was notoriously poor, prone to swelling and softening when exposed to moisture, a problem that persisted until World War II.
In fact, it was this very issue that allowed characters in stories like "The Shawshank Redemption" to dig through prison walls, as the cement had deteriorated over time. Ivan's formula, developed a century ahead of its time, was a revolutionary leap forward that could position Powell Construction Company far ahead of its competitors.
"Do you see now why I'm not worried?" Ivan concluded, his confidence radiating as he watched Mr. Depp's unease grow. The stakes were higher than ever, and Ivan was prepared to play the game.