The three days since his meeting with the enigma that was Gene Takavic had been a period of intense, focused preparation for Lutz. The study at 17 Vesper Lane had accumulated a new stack of books on Feysacian commercial law, corporate structures, and market fundamentals.
Andrei's mind provided the framework for understanding concepts like liquidity and equity, while Lutz's sharp, pragmatic intellect devoured the specifics. He was no expert, but he had armed himself with enough vocabulary and understanding to navigate the coming conversation with confidence, and more importantly, to sound like one.
The initial, self-taught understanding of Feysac commerce he'd possessed was now overlaid with a more nuanced, practical knowledge. He'd cross-referenced legal texts with market ledgers, absorbing the rhythms of capital and the specific, dry language of corporate charters. He was arming himself not just with facts, but with the right vernacular.
The documents Gene had returned to him were a thing of beauty—aesthetically professional, but with a hidden, razor-wire complexity that made his original drafts look like child's scribbles. Lutz studied them until he could anticipate every potential point of friction, every clause that might give a wary man pause. He was ready.
That morning, after having some coffee and preparing himself mentally for the performance that was to come, Lutz, in the uniform of James Morgan grabbed a carriage and headed towards Filip's Office.
When he arrived at the workshop, the leather portfolio under his arm felt less like a bundle of papers and more like a sheathed weapon. Filip, as expected, was a whirlwind of excited energy, his hands stained with fresh ink and his eyes alight with the unrestrained fire of creation, buzzing with three days of unfettered design work, greeted him like a long-lost brother.
"Morgan! You're here! Look at this!" he exclaimed, barely containing his excitement, and thrusting a sheaf of detailed schematics into Lutz's hands. It was the nail driver, fully realized on paper, with cross-sections of the pressure chamber and intricate diagrams of the trigger valve. "I've solved the sequential firing mechanism! And I've begun preliminary sketches for a rotary grinder! I modified the pressure-release valve. The efficiency gain is nearly twelve percent! And the ergonomics of the grip—here, feel this clay model—"
Lutz accepted the model with a practiced, appreciative expression. "Remarkable, Filip, truly. Your mind never rests." He made a show of carefully examining the drawings, his eyes tracing lines with a feigned technical understanding. "The elegance is staggering. This is precisely why we must move quickly to secure your legacy, and I have been equally busy, ensuring the world is prepared to receive your genius." He tapped the portfolio meaningfully.
Inside the cluttered office, with the sounds of the workshop as their backdrop, Lutz began the delicate operation. He set the portfolio down on a cleared corner of the drafting table with a deliberate, significant thud.
He guided the conversation, his tone a masterful blend of enthusiasm and sober responsibility. He presented the patent application first, its details now refined by Gene's expert hand.
"This is the patent application," he began, his tone that of a proud chronicler. He kept the language grand, focusing on Filip's name, which was prominently featured as the sole inventor. "This will enshrine your genius in the imperial archives. Your name, Filip, tied forever to this leap forward." He pushed the document across the desk, his fingers resting lightly on the edge. As Filip's eyes scanned the dense legalese, Lutz focused in the exertion of will. He wasn't changing the words, but gently nudging Filip's perception while he talked at him, redirecting Filip's attention outside of the document, making the dry, bureaucratic text feel like a laudatory proclamation. Filip's eyes glazed over with pride, and he nodded, missing the meaning of the clauses that assigned all rights to "the applicant corporation."
It was still overwhelmingly broad, claiming the very concept of pneumatic force for mechanical tools, but the phrasing was less like a land grab and more like the dignified staking of a philosophical claim.
"Now, this," Lutz said, his voice dropping to a reverent hush, "is your legacy being formally inscribed. 'Filip's Principle of Pneumatic Application.' They'll teach this in universities." He watched Filip's face, saw the ego inflate like a sail catching the wind.
"It's… very thorough," Filip murmured, his chest swelling.
"It needs to be, to protect something this valuable from the vultures," Lutz affirmed, seamlessly transitioning to the corporate documents. "And this is the vessel that will carry your principle to the world. 'Filip Innovations.' You are named as its heart and soul—Chief Inventor and a founding Director."
He laid out the share structure. This was the first critical moment. "To ensure the company can attract the right kind of growth capital and to protect you from any… unpleasant legal liabilities, the ownership is structured through shares. You hold a significant, foundational stake. Thirty percent."
He said the number with the same weight and finality as a judge pronouncing a verdict, lying about the real value of twenty percent, layering it with an unspoken implication that this was the standard, prestigious allotment for men of vision, he would later blind Filip's judgement when reading the real value in the documents, if he even noticed, that is.
He then felt the faintest ripple of resistance in Filip's mind, a flicker of primitive arithmetic that whispered minority. For a split second, a flicker of something—doubt, confusion—passed behind Filip's eyes. "Thirty…? But I'm the inventor…"
But before that flicker could become a thought, Lutz was already in motion. He didn't argue the number. He made it irrelevant.
"Think of it, Filip," he said, his voice taking on a visionary's timbre, his eyes locking with the inventor's. At the same time, while tapping on the left side of the table, waving his hand and pointing towards the workshop he accomplished a gentle but firm Thought Misdirection. He didn't push Filip to accept Thirty; he pulled his attention away from the numbers entirely and towards the grand narrative. "This isn't about counting coins in a boardroom. This is about your name being spoken in every shipyard from here to Lenburg. It's about engineers whispering your name with reverence. The share isn't your value; it's your ticket to the stage. The value is here." He tapped his own temple, then gestured grandly at the schematics littering the room. "We are building a monument, not a ledger."
The flicker died. Filip's gaze, momentarily clouded by finance, cleared and refocused on the dream. "Yes… yes, of course. The recognition."
"Precisely," Lutz soothed, moving the conversation along before any residual unease could resurface. "The majority shares will be held by 'The Northern Star Company.' A silent, financial partner. They absorb the risks, handle the capital, manage the… frankly, the boring parts. They are the foundation. You are the spire."
Then came the most dangerous part: He moved to the next document, the one detailing the buy-sell agreement and the rights of the majority shareholder. The shareholder agreement itself. This was where Gene's artistry and Lutz's powers would have to work in perfect concert. The document was a labyrinth. The language was complex, and its implications, if read carefully, were severe.
As Filip's eyes traveled down the page, Lutz would sometimes tap the table, move his body, perform small actions to become a distraction in Filip's peripheral vision, It was like trying to hold a magnifying glass over one word while smudging the ink on others.
When Filip's gaze approached the buy-sell clause—the one Gene had so brilliantly disguised—Lutz instantly knew it might not cut it. This required more than misdirection; it required a minor, sensory intervention. He couldn't change the ink, but he could change how Filip's mind processed it.
As Filip read the clause that defined the forced acquisition price, Lutz focused his will. It was like trying to look through a window and subtly frost the glass in one spot. For Filip, the specific numbers and formulas in that section seemed to swim slightly, changing their numeral values towards something of his liking, their visual sharpness dulled. Simultaneously, Lutz physically tapped a completely different part of the document.
"Is the Filip Innovations representing image to your liking?" Lutz deliberately made this comment in order to direct Filip's attention towards a completely different, more benign section about using the "Filip Innovations" logo on all products. Lutz said, his voice a compelling anchor, "the company bylaws guarantee that the 'Filip Innovations' logo and your name as Chief Inventor will be prominently featured on all marketing, packaging, and the tools themselves. It's about brand identity. Your identity."
Filip's eyes, confused by the blurry numbers, lifted gratefully to where Lutz was pointing. "On the tool itself? Inscribed?"
"Cast in steel," Lutz confirmed with a firm, proud nod. "A permanent testament."
The moment passed. The dangerous clause was initialed without a second thought. The trapdoor, concealed beneath the plush carpet of his own vanity, was stepped over without a glance. Filip initialed the page.
The final act was the discussion of capital. Lutz laid out his plan. The need for a dedicated production space, the hiring of specialized metalworkers, the sourcing of high-quality steel and rubber for seals, the marketing launch.
"It is a monumental undertaking," Lutz said, his expression becoming gravely serious. "To build an empire worthy of the 'Filip' name requires an investment to match. I am prepared to commit two hundred and fifty Gold Hammers to this venture."
The number hit the cluttered office with the force of a physical blow. Filip physically staggered back a step, his hand going to his chest.
"Two hundred and… fifty?" he breathed, his voice trembling with awe.
"Plus the one hundred I have already deployed to the Northern Star company, to serve as our unshakable financial bedrock," Lutz added, making the total investment sound like the founding of a new dynasty. "This is not a mere business transaction, Filip. This is my absolute faith in you, crystallized into capital."
They spoke of timelines—one week for a prototype series, three for full production. Lutz painted pictures of market domination and global impact, all framed as "spreading the gospel of progress." When the final signature was scrawled on the last document, the ink still wet, Filip looked like a man who had been handed the keys to a kingdom he'd only ever dreamed of ruling.
Lutz gathered the executed documents, the portfolio now containing a legally binding transfer of a fortune and a future. The clasp clicked shut with a sound of finality.
As his carriage pulled away, he leaned back against the seat and did the grim arithmetic. The 250 Hammers for the venture, the 100 for the corporate shell… plus Gene's payment. He had arrived in St. Millom with just over 600 Gold Hammers, the entire treasury of a gang lord. Now, the safe in his basement, once satisfyingly heavy, was nearly empty. He had a mere 32 Gold Hammers to his name.
A cold, sharp spike of anxiety lanced through him. Thirty two Hammers. It was a pittance. A single piece of bad luck, a unexpected expense, and the entire, elaborate edifice of James Morgan could crumble into debt and exposure.
But as the city rolled past the carriage window, the fear was metabolized by a colder, harder substance: resolve. This was not money spent; it was money transmuted. He hadn't purchased a ship or an estate; he had purchased a factory that would print money. He had bought the foundational rights to a technological revolution. He had converted liquid capital into something far more powerful: generative, controlling interest in the future itself.
The fortune of Indaw Harbor was gone, but in its place was leverage, influence, and a perfectly engineered snare, its mechanism baited with glory and built with legally flawless steel.