To execute Ivan's plan successfully, one crucial factor had to be in place: Mr. Depp had not disclosed the cement formula to Powell Construction Company. If the company acquired the formula, they would undoubtedly opt to purchase the patent to protect their reputation. Even if Ivan refused, their legal department could easily employ underhanded tactics to nullify his patent rights.
However, if Depp had shared the formula, although he would receive a reward, his competitive edge would diminish as other project managers gained access to the same information. This left Mr. Depp in a precarious position, relying on Ivan's formula in secret.
Ivan understood that if he sued Powell Construction, the company would be blindsided, forced to spend considerable resources to combat the lawsuit. In the process, they would likely uncover Mr. Depp's deception, leading to his termination and ostracization from the construction industry.
As Ivan laid out his plan, he watched as Mr. Depp's complexion paled, shifting from indignation to fear. Anger bubbled beneath the surface; he loathed the Seris man sitting across from him, yet rationality reminded him he was cornered.
"What do you want from me?" Depp asked, his tone icy.
"First and foremost, my salary. Then we need to discuss your use of my cement formula and some royalties," Ivan replied, his voice steady.
"How much are we talking?" Depp's skepticism was palpable.
Ivan smiled, holding up two fingers. "Two hundred dollars?"
Depp stared at him, taken aback. "You can't be serious."
"No, I'm not. It's actually two thousand dollars."
…
Mr. Depp visibly recoiled, knowing he didn't have that kind of cash readily available. After a tense moment, he reluctantly handed Ivan 500 dollars in cash and a check from Morgan Bank for 1,500 dollars.
"Three days from now, you'll find a patent technology transfer form in safe deposit box No. 1046 at Morgan Bank. It'll have my name on it," Ivan instructed, his tone nonchalant.
Depp blinked in disbelief. "What did you just say?"
"Exactly what I mean. I'll be expecting to see that signed document," Ivan said, tucking the check into his wallet and sliding it into his pocket.
Depp opened his mouth to press for more details, but Ivan was already turning to leave, shutting the door of the iron office with a soft click behind him.
For Ivan, the cement formulas were more than just valuable; they were a liability he wasn't ready to shoulder. As a wizard hunted by a gang, he couldn't risk revealing too much about himself through patent applications. Selling the formula was the safest option for now, allowing him to pocket some money while finding someone else to take on the risk.
Mr. Depp was the perfect candidate to take over this mess.
As Ivan exited the construction site, he paused to glance up at the imposing sign of Powell Construction Company, a place that had surprisingly become the source of his first earnings.
"I wonder if our paths will cross again," he mused, shaking off the thought as he pushed forward, determined to focus on the future.
With the money from Mr. Depp, Ivan had a plan: first, he needed to secure a passport and other vital documents, then buy a ticket to the south. He knew the Zoete district was teeming with wizards skilled in forging documents.
"I hope I can find someone today," he mused as he strolled down the bustling street, suitcase in hand. He scanned the area for the hotel and clothing store he had in mind.
Today marked a turning point for Ivan. Armed with half of Depp's savings, he had elevated himself from a lower-level worker to someone who could pass as middle-class. With the afternoon still ahead of him before the party, he decided it was time for a shower and a wardrobe upgrade.
…
At the clothing store, a cheerful waitress greeted him. "This shirt costs 9.15 cents," she said, gesturing to a crisp white shirt. "With the discount, your total comes to 50 dollars."
Ivan's smile faltered. He stretched his sleeves, feigning dissatisfaction. "It's a nice shirt, but it's a bit too formal for my taste. I need something more casual; something I could wear while hunting, you know?"
"Absolutely," the waitress replied, her smile unwavering. She quickly sifted through the racks and pulled out a few items. "How about this outfit? It's perfect for everyday wear. The total price is 15 dollars."
"Perfect! I'll take it!" Ivan exclaimed, relieved.
A short while later, he emerged from the store clad in a single-breasted Chester coat, a dark brown shirt, and sleek black trousers. He admired his reflection in the store's window. "Look at me, dressed like I'm in *Peaky Blinders*," he chuckled, appreciating the transformation.
Until now, Ivan had always appeared as a ragged Seris worker, but this new look could serve as a clever disguise, perhaps even mislead any gang members who might recognize him.
The wizard gangs were different from typical street thugs; their leaders often held prestigious positions, and their influence spread across various social strata.
Ivan picked up his suitcase and waved down a horse-drawn carriage. He hesitated to discard his old clothes, knowing they might come in handy for a disguise later.
The driver, an older man with a weathered face, cracked his whip, and the carriage lurched forward, rolling away from Zoit Street and toward Dock Street.
As they traveled, a shiny Ford Model T whizzed past, a reminder that some places had laws banning horse-drawn carriages altogether.
Before long, the chaotic vibrance of the docks came into view. The driver slowed, stopping by the roadside. Ivan stepped down, retrieved his wallet, and added a 5-cent tip to the standard fare of 15 cents.
"Thank you, sir!" the driver said, tipping his newsboy cap before driving off in search of the next passenger.
Ivan pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time. It was just past a quarter past five. "I can't be late…" he muttered, recalling the directions to the Hamptonian Cafe.
With determination, he set off, ready to face whatever awaited him at the gathering.