"Before I begin my presentation, Mr. T.B., could you help me turn off some of the lights?"
Anderson Jr. Seely stood at the center of Kivalina Resources Limited Liabilities Company's representative office in Anchorage, Alaska, the room bathed in the dim glow of the projector. His posture was casual, the faintest of smiles playing at the edges of his lips. But beneath the composed facade, his mind was calculating, already five steps ahead of everyone in the room, including William Smith.
The webcam light cast a soft halo against his cheek as the video feed connected. A flicker. Then, the unmistakable image of William Smith, sharp, unreadable, his face a mask of controlled power. In that moment, Anderson didn't see a man, he saw an obstacle, a test he was about to pass.
Anderson clicked his laser pen, and the projection screen behind him shifted, revealing three images side by side.
"First of all," he began, his voice even, steady, "I want to inform you all that I've received something from Professor David—a package containing critical information. It relates to the gold mine we've been pursuing. However," he allowed a beat, his voice sharpening just enough to spark curiosity, "I haven't quite figured out what it means yet."
An immediate reaction rippled through the room. The surprise was palpable, a collective "Oh!" from the members on the other side of the screen. Kimberly Smith and Layla Smith were caught off-guard, their voices almost synchronized, betraying the tension in the air.
Anderson let the moment linger, letting them feel the weight of the mystery before he continued. "I don't know why Professor David sent this to me, despite our close relationship in his final days. I've reviewed everything, repeatedly. I still can't decipher it. The USB drive contained nothing but a single link," he said, as the screen shifted to show the Alaska Hydrometeorological Department's homepage.
"Then there's the fairy tale book—Hansel and Gretel," he continued, voice smooth. "I've gone through it, page by page, searching for hidden meanings or codes. There's nothing except for one detail that stands out—on the first page, handwritten in the upper corner, the words 'Iron 59.'"
Anderson clicked again, and the image zoomed in on the first page of the book, the scrawled words etched in ink.
"I don't know what it means yet," Anderson added with a calm certainty. "But I will."
The silence stretched. Everyone in the room could feel the tension, but it was William Smith who broke it. His voice was low, firm, tinged with a calm that betrayed his readiness to dismiss it all.
"Let's leave this matter for now," he said, his words clipped, "Mr. Anderson Jr. Seely, you called this meeting to present your plan, didn't you? Get to it."
Anderson paused, letting the silence hang. Three full seconds passed, each one thick with the weight of anticipation. Then, with deliberate control, he nodded.
"Understood," he said, drawing a breath as if shifting gears. "I've come to propose something more direct. A business deal."
A slow, predatory smile crept across his face. "I'm prepared to contribute 100,000 USD to Kivalina's operational budget. In exchange for this investment, Mr. William Smith, I require you to transfer to me 20% of the company's total shares."
An electric silence followed.
"Oh!" The exclamation came in unison from the four members on the screen.
William Smith's expression didn't shift, but Anderson caught the flicker—the brief hesitation, like a shadow crossing his face. That tiny crack in his armor was enough to signal Anderson that the real game had begun.
Smith exhaled sharply, the momentary doubt buried under a veneer of control. "Mr. Anderson Jr. Seely," he said, his voice calculated, "I believe I may be misunderstanding something. Even with a $100,000 contribution, 20% is far more than 3%. You're asking for a significant portion of the company."
Anderson allowed his smile to stretch ever so slightly, just enough to unsettle. "Mr. William Smith," he said, his voice a thread of silk, "you mentioned that Kivalina Resources is preparing to go public on the New York Stock Exchange. So, analyzing your financial position was not difficult." He leaned forward, every word measured. "Right now, the asset value of Kivalina Resources is nearing zero. In the next 12 to 15 months, if my projections are accurate, your company's asset value will not just drop—it will become negative. At that point, whether you own 3%, 20%, or 100%, it won't matter. The value will be gone."
The room froze.
Anderson kept his eyes locked on the screen, watching Smith carefully, like a predator tracking its prey. The silence stretched. Smith didn't blink.
Anderson pressed further, the numbers scrolling across the screen as if they were nothing but cold facts.
"Your cash flow is dwindling. Your exploration budgets are hemorrhaging. Investor confidence has dropped 37% over the last two quarters. Your IPO?" He let the question linger in the air like a death sentence. "It's already dead."
For the first time, a shift occurred in Smith's expression—not anger, not surprise, but a quiet, profound weight settling onto his shoulders. Anderson saw it, and he pressed again, relentlessly.
"You have two choices," he said, his tone almost surgical. "Sell 20% now, while someone is still willing to buy. Or hold onto your shares and wait until next year, when those same shares won't even be worth the paper they're printed on."
Smith inhaled deeply, a low, defeated exhalation following. Then, the faintest chuckle escaped him.
"You're bold," he muttered, almost to himself.
"I prefer pragmatic," Anderson said smoothly, his voice calm, controlled. "My lawyer is already waiting outside your office in New York, Mr. William Smith. If you agree to my terms, he's prepared to proceed with the contract immediately."
Smith's gaze narrowed slightly. For a moment, it seemed like he might resist, but instead, he sighed. "Step outside the room," he ordered. "I need to discuss this with my family."
Anderson didn't flinch. No argument. No hesitation. He rose slowly, his every movement deliberate, and left the room without a word, closing the door behind him.
But as he stepped into the hallway, he knew that William Smith wasn't just under pressure—he was already trapped. Anderson had laid the groundwork long before the meeting even started. There was no escape.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Finally, the door opened.
Anderson stepped back into the room, his gaze steady, unwavering. Smith met his eyes through the screen, his face unreadable.
"All conditions," Smith said slowly, "are agreed upon." He pressed the button on his desk.
Anderson didn't flinch. He heard the familiar voice come through the speaker, the sound like the final click of a locked door.
"Good morning, I'm Lawyer Jonathan."