Chapter 236 236: Meeting (2)
The boardroom was quiet when Merlin walked in.
The long table gleamed under morning light, its silver inlays catching the glow. Behind the glass walls, the city stretched in endless bustle, but in here it was still, the air thick with expectation.
Merlin sat without waiting for invitation. Silence followed, a dozen pairs of eyes weighing him. He let it stretch. Silence wasn't weakness. It was a mirror.
Finally, the man at the head of the table leaned forward.
"Mr. Everhart." His voice was deep, steady, a sound that brooked no interruption. His hair was iron-gray, his shoulders filling the black suit with an authority that seemed to press down on the entire room.
"I am Adrian Kael, chairman of Invoke. I've led this company for over twenty years. And you…" His storm-colored eyes measured Merlin. "…have been a name on our ledger for months. A name we weren't sure existed. Until now."
Merlin met his stare without blinking. "…You don't have to wonder anymore."
Kael's mouth twitched, almost a smile. Almost.
To his right, a woman uncrossed her legs, moving with deliberate poise. "Helena Vos," she said smoothly. Her voice was silk over steel. "I control Invoke's shipping networks. Without my fleets, our weapons never reach foreign buyers." Her blue eyes swept him up and down, sharp, glacial. "Tell me, Mr. Everhart, do you always walk into boardrooms with nothing but a smirk?"
Merlin tilted his head slightly. "Only when it works."
The faintest curl touched her lips before she leaned back again.
Across from her, a man with a thick scar across his cheek gave a short grunt. "Victor Draven." His voice was gravel, his body a soldier's frame wrapped in a suit. "I handle our military contracts. Generals, admirals, commanders—they all go through me. I'll tell you now, boy—" his eyes narrowed, "—this company isn't a playground."
Merlin folded his hands on the table, his golden gaze steady. "Good. I don't play games."
Draven grunted again. This time, almost approving.
Two seats down, a pale man tapped his fingers against the polished wood before speaking in a thin, deliberate tone. "Elias Thorn. Finance." His lips curled faintly, like he already found the numbers amusing. "I count the bleeding of rivals and the breathing of profits. And I must ask, do you understand what eight percent means, child?"
Merlin's eyes flicked to him. "It means responsibility. And leverage. Both of which I intend to use."
Elias's tapping stopped. His smile did not.
"Regina Hale," said the woman beside him, without flourish. Her hair was tied back tight, glasses glinting as she shifted the holo-schematics spread faintly before her. "Research and development. I design what this company sells." She studied him as if he were another blueprint. "If you plan to sit here, Mr. Everhart, I hope you learn quickly. We don't have time for ignorance."
"I'm a fast learner," Merlin replied.
She gave the barest nod before returning to her screen.
Further down, a man who looked so ordinary he might have vanished into the background smiled faintly. "Damien Cross," he said simply. "I handle… acquisitions that don't fit neatly on the balance sheets." His voice was pleasant, forgettable. Which made Merlin's skin prickle.
Damien said nothing more. He didn't need to.
The others introduced themselves in turn.
Claudia Veyra, distribution, her words clipped and precise.
Marcus Wren, raw materials, ink stains still on his fingers even in the boardroom.
Ophelia Darnes, investor relations, her tone smooth as polished glass.
Harlan Fisk, legal, old but sharp-eyed, voice like a blade.
Selwyn Korr, public relations, smiling too wide, speaking too sweetly.
One by one, they named themselves, their roles, their weight within Invoke. Each carried a different edge, but all of them fixed on him like wolves circling a newcomer.
When the last voice faded, silence returned, thicker than before.
Merlin leaned back slightly, golden eyes sweeping the table. "So," he said calmly, "now that you've all introduced yourselves—" his gaze lingered briefly on Helena, on Draven, on Thorn— "perhaps we can start acting like a board, instead of gawking at the teenager in the room."
A ripple moved through them. A few smirked. Others bristled.
But none dismissed him.
At the head of the table, Adrian Kael leaned back, folding his hands. His storm-gray eyes narrowed, weighing again, as though recalibrating the balance of the room.
"You've walked into a den of wolves, Mr. Everhart," he said at last, his voice like distant thunder. "Some don't survive the first bite."
Merlin's lips curved faintly. "…Then it's a good thing I don't plan on being prey."
The boardroom stilled.
And then Adrian Kael chuckled. Low. Dangerous. Approving.
"Very well," he said finally. His hands spread over the table's silver inlays. "Let us see if you can run with us."
—
The introductions had ended, but the silence that followed was heavier than before.
Merlin could feel it: the subtle shift in the air, the way the board leaned into their chairs, weighing not just his words, but his presence. He was no longer a name on a ledger. He was a boy sitting in a seat worth millions. And now, they would test if he deserved it.
Adrian Kael tapped one finger against the table, a slow, deliberate rhythm that broke the silence. His storm-gray eyes never left Merlin.
"We'll begin," he said, voice steady, iron-clad. "Invoke is expanding production lines. Demand from the border states has doubled in the last quarter, and our current factories are at capacity. Proposals for new facilities have been raised."
He shifted his gaze to his right.
Helena Vos, her elegance like a blade, leaned forward. "Expansion requires shipping," she said smoothly. "Raw steel, refined mana-crystals, alloys, they do not move themselves. My fleets already operate at full schedule. If Invoke wishes to meet these demands, we will need either more ships or new routes." Her glacial blue eyes slid toward Merlin. "Both are… costly."
Marcus Wren, the ink-fingered man of raw materials, adjusted his cuff. "Without those supplies, factories are meaningless. The borders have already driven up ore prices—iron alone has risen twelve percent since last month."
Regina Hale, her glasses glinting, tapped a schematic on her tablet. "Prototypes are waiting. Designs for next-generation rifles and a modular exo-frame are ready to enter production. But without expansion, they remain blueprints."
Victor Draven leaned forward, scarred jaw tightening. "Generals are impatient. They want weapons in their soldiers' hands, not in your drawers, Regina. I've had three separate commands threaten to shift their contracts to competitors. We cannot stall."
Merlin listened. He let the voices overlap, let the wolves circle. And then Elias Thorn's thin, pale smile cut through the noise.
"Ah," Elias said, tapping his fingers lightly. "But expansion requires money. And we must ask, who pays for it? Additional fleets, new factories, raw supplies, new laborers, security, these are not small sums. Shall we risk our liquidity?" His serpentine eyes slid toward Merlin. "Or perhaps… our new partner would like to contribute."
The room shifted. Attention landed on him, one pair of eyes after another, weight pressing down.
Merlin exhaled slowly through his nose, then leaned forward. His golden gaze swept across the board.
"…How much?"
Elias's smile widened. "Clever. Asking for the knife before it cuts." He tapped his screen. A number appeared on the holo-display in the center of the table.
Expansion Cost Estimate: 3.2 Billion Lonar.
Merlin's jaw stayed steady. Internally, his chest tightened, he hadn't forgotten that his entire buy-in months ago had been just under one million. This was an entirely different scale.
Helena's lips curved faintly. "Scary, isn't it, Mr. Everhart?"
Merlin met her gaze. "…Numbers don't scare me. Only incompetence does."
Kael's eyes flickered. The faintest trace of approval.
Victor Draven barked a short laugh. "Bold tongue."
But Elias was not finished. He leaned forward, his voice silk and venom. "We all know the company is healthy. But liquidity is tight. To fund this expansion, the board must either raise debt… or dilute equity." His pale hand gestured, long fingers pointing like a knife toward Merlin. "And since our newest member sits on an untouched pool of eight percent, perhaps he'd like to be the one to contribute directly."
The words were deliberate. A trap.
If Merlin said no, he'd look like dead weight, a boy who owned a chair but didn't understand what it meant. If he said yes, he'd be bled dry by sharks who knew exactly how much to squeeze.
The room waited.
Merlin leaned back slowly, his hand tapping once against the armrest, thoughtful. He could almost hear the narrator's voice from the book echoing in the back of his head: Invoke's board was a den of wolves. Any weakness, and you were eaten.
He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, the golden light burned steady.
"…You want me to contribute?" His voice was calm. "Fine. I'll contribute. But not as a cash injection. As an investment."
The board shifted, subtle but real.
Merlin continued. "You need capital. But taking it from my share would weaken me and strengthen you. That's convenient, for you. Not for me. So here's my counter: I'll put in, but my funds go directly into R&D. Direct allocation. And in return, I claim proportional rights to all new patents and designs developed with that capital."
The silence that followed was sharp.
Regina Hale froze mid-adjustment of her glasses. For the first time, her composure cracked, just faintly.
"You want… rights to designs?" she said slowly.
Merlin nodded once. "I'm not here to play at being a shareholder. I'm here to make sure my seat has teeth. Give me a slice of the future, not just the present."
Helena tilted her head, studying him with glacial intrigue. "Interesting."
Elias's pale smile faltered, his tapping hand going still. "You presume much."
"Maybe," Merlin said evenly. "But I'm not asking. That's my condition. If Invoke wants my contribution, then my contribution must mean something more than filling a hole in your books."