Chapter 237: Meeting (3)
The board murmured, voices overlapping again, Claudia scoffing about precedent, Marcus muttering about costs, Selwyn’s PR-polished tone suggesting caution.
Finally, Adrian Kael raised his hand, and silence fell.
His storm-gray eyes locked on Merlin. The weight in them was crushing, but Merlin did not look away.
"...You have nerve, boy," Kael said at last, voice low. "Nerve, and perhaps vision. Few in this room would have had the gall to demand rights from Regina Hale." His eyes flicked briefly toward her, then back. "But vision without delivery is arrogance. Do you understand what you’ve just asked for?"
Merlin held his stare. "...I asked for a stake in the future. If that’s arrogance, then maybe this table needs more of it."
The storm in Kael’s eyes shifted, dark amusement, approval buried in iron.
"Very well," Kael said slowly. "We will not decide today. The board will consider your proposition. But you’ve made your mark, Mr. Everhart." He leaned back, folding his hands again. "We know now you are not just a name."
The room exhaled, some in irritation, some in curiosity, some in quiet approval.
Helena’s glacial smile returned. "Bold indeed."
Victor Draven gave a grunt that might have been respect.
Elias Thorn’s pale smile was gone entirely, replaced by narrowed eyes.
And Regina Hale, after a long, measured silence, adjusted her glasses once more. "...We’ll see if you’re as fast a learner as you claim."
Merlin leaned back in his chair, his pulse steady despite the fire in his chest.
The first bite had been taken. He was still alive.
For now.
The room didn’t remain still for long.
The board of Invoke was a machine, one with too many gears, each trying to grind the others down while still keeping the whole spinning. Merlin had dropped a wrench into it, and now, one by one, the gears protested.
It began with Claudia Veyra.
The woman’s sharp voice cut across the table, her finger tapping against a ledger she had pulled up on her holo-slate. Her hair was cropped close, her frame wiry, her eyes narrow and piercing like needles. "This is absurd," she snapped.
"Patent rights are company property. No individual shareholder has the authority to claim them for themselves. If we allow this precedent, what stops others from demanding the same?"
Marcus Wren, the supply man, nodded eagerly, ink-stained fingers twitching as though ready to scrawl counterpoints. "She’s right. Patents are collective assets. You want designs, Everhart? Then build your own forge, fund your own engineers. Don’t dip into Invoke’s bloodline."
Merlin sat back, letting the words roll across him. His golden eyes didn’t flinch, didn’t waver.
Regina Hale, however, finally spoke.
Her voice was measured, cool, the same tone she would use dissecting a failed blueprint. "If we’re discussing precedent, let us be accurate. This isn’t without one." She glanced down at her own tablet, sliding through archived records. "Ten years ago, a private shareholder, Lindren Carrow, contributed capital directly into R&D in exchange for a share of exclusive designs. It lasted three years before he sold his share back."
The room paused.
Elias Thorn’s skeletal smile returned, faint but sharp. "And what did that achieve? A footnote in history. Nothing more. Invoke remained, Carrow vanished."
"But he did receive design rights," Regina said. Her glasses glinted as she adjusted them, her gaze flicking toward Merlin. "Everhart isn’t asking for something impossible. He’s asking for something dangerous."
Helena Vos let out a soft laugh, smooth as silk, her legs crossing elegantly under the table. "Dangerous, indeed. Imagine this, Invoke produces weapons by the thousands, contracts worth billions. And our little... partner decides to sell those designs elsewhere. Rivals gain access. Entire markets shift." Her icy blue eyes locked onto Merlin. "Tell me, boy. Should we trust you with such temptation?"
Merlin leaned forward, his elbows resting lightly on the polished surface of the table. His golden eyes burned, steady, unflinching.
"...If you’re worried about trust," he said quietly, "then the problem isn’t me. It’s you. Because if Invoke is so fragile that one shareholder’s betrayal can topple it, then maybe this empire isn’t as strong as you all pretend."
The words landed heavy.
Victor Draven let out a low bark of laughter, scar pulling taut across his jaw. "Hah! The boy’s got teeth." He slammed a fist lightly against the table, grinning like a predator who had found something worth hunting. "Finally, someone in this room willing to speak like a soldier. Trust is earned by strength. If he holds the rights, then it’s our job to make sure he never wants to sell them."
Claudia scowled. "That’s reckless. Childish bravado."
"No," Victor growled, his eyes sharp on her. "That’s reality. Generals don’t sign contracts because they like our faces. They do it because they know we’re the only ones who can deliver weapons that win wars. That’s Invoke’s shield, not paperwork."
The room began to fracture, voices rising, some in agreement, some in outrage.
Ophelia Darnes, the investor spider with her long nails and jeweled rings, finally raised her voice, cutting through the chaos. "Enough." Her tone was cold, practiced, the sound of markets crashing and stabilizing again.
"This debate is pointless without numbers. Mr. Everhart’s demand is not whether we should trust him. It is whether his contribution outweighs the risks." She turned her head, her eyes sharp on Merlin. "So tell us, boy. How much are you offering?"
The question sliced the room into silence again.
Merlin’s pulse thudded in his ears. He knew this moment was coming.
When he first invested in Invoke months ago, it had been almost all he had, 900,000 Lonar. That was nothing compared to what sat at this table. But since then...
His mind flickered back to his phone, to the notifications he’d ignored for too long. The stock had soared, Invoke’s contracts multiplying. His eight percent had ballooned into a fortune. Even if he liquidated only part of it, the sum would be enough to shake this table.
He let the silence drag a beat longer, then spoke.
"...Two hundred million."
The words hit like a thunderclap.
Claudia inhaled sharply. Marcus nearly dropped his slate. Even Helena’s perfect composure cracked, her lips parting slightly.
Elias Thorn’s pale fingers twitched, his tapping breaking rhythm. "...Two hundred million," he repeated softly.
Merlin didn’t blink. "Direct allocation to R&D. No dilution, no debt. My condition remains: proportional rights to designs developed through my capital."
Regina Hale’s hand froze over her schematics. For the first time, her calculating eyes showed something else, intrigue. Serious intrigue.
Adrian Kael leaned back in his chair, storm-gray eyes fixed on Merlin. His fingers steepled in front of his mouth, hiding whatever flicker of expression he held.
The silence stretched, heavy as stone.
Then Helena Vos laughed. A rich, sharp sound that cut and sparkled all at once.
"My, my. And here I thought you were just a boy playing at business. Two hundred million." Her glacial eyes narrowed. "Where does a child find such treasure?"
Merlin tilted his head, his lips curving faintly. "...Perhaps you should ask yourselves why you didn’t."
The table shifted again, some chuckled, some scowled, some looked intrigued.
Victor Draven slammed the table with his fist again, a booming laugh shaking his shoulders. "Gods above, I like him!"
Elias Thorn’s pale face had hardened, no trace of his earlier amusement. His eyes glinted with calculation now, cold and predatory.
Ophelia Darnes folded her hands. "...Two hundred million, earmarked for R&D. That is not a number we can dismiss. But neither can we dismiss the risk. If he leaves, he takes designs with him."
Damien Cross, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was mild, forgettable, but every syllable slid into the room like a knife under the ribs.
"Then the solution is simple," he said softly. His faint smile never reached his eyes. "We bind him."
The room stilled.
"Contracts," Damien continued, tone quiet, steady. "Clauses. Non-compete agreements. Oversight. If Everhart wishes to claim design rights, then we ensure those rights cannot damage Invoke, even in betrayal. Let him contribute. Let him bind himself at the same time." His smile sharpened faintly. "That way, he bleeds with us."
Merlin’s jaw tightened. He could feel the trap closing, another layer woven.
But he didn’t flinch. He leaned forward again, golden eyes cutting toward Damien. "...You want to bind me? Fine. But chains bind both ways. If you write clauses to limit me, then I’ll demand clauses to limit you. No exploitation, no quiet siphoning of my share. If you bleed me, then I bleed you back."
The faint smile on Damien’s face deepened, just slightly.
The wolves of the table murmured again. Tension rose, sparks flying between voices.
And then Kael’s hand rose once more. Silence dropped like a hammer.
His gray eyes swept the table, steady as stone. "Enough."
He turned them back to Merlin. "You came into this room a shadow. You’ve spoken boldly. You’ve shown nerve. Whether it is wisdom or arrogance, time will tell. But you have bought yourself consideration."
Kael’s gaze swept the board again. "This matter will not be decided today. We will draft terms. We will weigh risk and reward. And when next we convene, we will decide."
His hand lowered to the table, fingers spreading wide, final. "Until then, the boy sits among us. Eight percent. Untouched. Unmoved."
The wolves did not argue.
Not openly.
Merlin exhaled slowly, the fire in his chest steady. He had survived again.
But he could feel it, the weight of their stares, the whispers brewing. He was no longer just the teenager at the table. He was now a piece on the board.
And every wolf in the room was already plotting how to use him, or destroy him.