"So, how much are you asking me to invest—and what percentage of equity are you offering?"
Professor Ethan Harper cut straight to the point. No more formalities. He had been in the business world long enough to know when a conversation shifted from academic to entrepreneurial.
"One million dollars," Tony Snow replied calmly. "For five percent of the shares."
Harper raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "One million? For five percent?" He chuckled dryly and leaned back in his chair. "Tony, I respect your potential—but my money doesn't grow on trees. If you want that valuation, you'd better give me a good reason. Otherwise, I think you're knocking on the wrong door."
Tony didn't argue. He simply reached into his backpack and pulled out a slim printed document, professionally bound but minimalist. He placed it on the table and slid it over.
Harper glanced at the title on the front:
A Novel Biofilm System for Scalable Wastewater Treatment
On its surface, it looked like a student research proposal. Wastewater biofilm treatment systems were nothing new—any decent undergrad in environmental science or chemical engineering could design a theoretical version for their thesis.
But as Harper flipped the cover and started reading, the casual skepticism in his eyes slowly gave way to growing seriousness. He scanned the first page. Then the second.
Halfway down, he paused.
He looked up, brows furrowed. "Is this... real?"
Tony nodded. "It's a first-principle design. The prototype isn't built yet, but the biological model is solid. Once we run the initial experiment, we'll submit it for patent review. If you're interested, I'd like you to lead the trial."
Tony's tone was professional, confident. He wasn't begging. He was offering.
Harper blinked, then lowered his eyes to keep reading.
The document was deceptively thin. But every line was dense with insight.
The proposed new biofilm system combined principles from traditional aerobic/anaerobic wastewater systems with a novel synthetic biomembrane structure that Tony had theoretically engineered—one that could dramatically improve both purification speed and sustainability while reducing chemical input and energy use.
The core? A layered microbial matrix embedded in a selectively permeable membrane, designed to support both oxygen-rich and oxygen-poor microenvironments simultaneously—an elegant, biologically stable system.
To a layperson, this was just another student project.
But to Harper—a specialist in molecular biology and membrane systems—it was a potential game-changer.
And it landed squarely in his domain of expertise.
His own research focused on biomembranes: dynamic molecular structures that define cellular boundaries. While his academic work was more oriented toward intracellular biology, the principles applied. What Tony was proposing bridged environmental systems engineering and cellular biology in a way Harper hadn't yet seen.
Even better, the practical applications were obvious—and massive.
In a world facing increasingly dire water shortages and stricter environmental regulation, a patented treatment technology like this, scalable and low-cost, could be worth billions.
Harper reached the end of the report, then looked up again—this time, no trace of skepticism.
"If what you've written here holds up," he said slowly, "then this—along with the patents from your earlier projects—could generate a lot of money."
He paused.
"But are you sure this biomembrane can be fabricated as you described?"
Tony gave a faint smile. "It's not a matter of if. I know it can. What I lack right now are people and equipment. That's where you come in. If you invest and come on board, this project is yours to run."
Harper tilted his head. "You're awfully confident."
Tony grinned. "Because I already know which bacteria strains to cultivate—and how to structure the layering. I just haven't explained that part in the doc yet."
That was true—intentionally. The document omitted the most sensitive preparation methods and microbial sequencing data. Harper noticed the absence but didn't push. He knew that kind of IP wasn't going to be shared freely at this stage.
Still, he understood what Tony was really offering: co-ownership of something far ahead of its time.
And suddenly, the price tag didn't seem outrageous.
In fact, it seemed... like a bargain.
"All right," Harper said, tapping the document thoughtfully. "Let's say I'm in. What if I invested three million instead of one? How much equity would that buy me?"
Tony considered it for only a moment. "In that case—ten percent."
Harper blinked. "Only ten? Shouldn't three million get me fifteen?"
Tony shrugged. "I don't need the extra two million now. One million covers the lab lease, hiring costs, and equipment. Everything beyond that is margin."
He continued, his tone firm: "If you want more than ten percent, you'll have to bring more than just money—industry contacts, distribution channels, partnerships. But if it's only capital, then ten percent is the cap."
Harper was taken aback by the bluntness—but also impressed. Tony might've looked like a college kid, but he negotiated like a seasoned founder.
"Alright," Harper said after a moment of silence. "Give me a day."
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I'll confirm tomorrow. Let's meet at my office, 3 PM. If I decide to go forward, we'll hash out the details—shareholder agreements, term sheets, cap table."
Tony nodded. "I'll prepare the letter of intent, as well as preliminary investment and equity agreements. We can sign them right after the wire goes through."
With that, the two men stood and shook hands.
Neither of them said it aloud—but they both understood: this was the beginning of something far bigger than either of them had anticipated.