Chapter 15: Negotiation
"One million dollars.
Standard loan terms.
Annual interest between ten and fifteen percent.
Paid back in full within one year."
William said it without hesitation.
The man across from him was mafia—not a bank clerk. There was no point in dancing around the number.
As expected, Sergei froze for several seconds.
"Kid," he said slowly, "don't you think you're pushing your luck?"
The air in the room grew heavier. His gaze sharpened, dangerous.
"We're not a charity.
What makes you think I'd lend you that kind of money?"
William didn't answer right away.
Instead, he calmly poured himself another shot of vodka and drained it in one gulp.
The liquor scorched his throat—but his expression didn't change.
"Mr. Ivanovich," William said evenly, wiping the corner of his mouth,
"I know you're a businessman. I named that figure because I'm confident I can repay it—principal and interest—within a year."
"My production company just signed a deal. Vivid Entertainment paid a $100,000 advance. Starting next month, I'll receive fifty percent of the film's net profits. And that's only the beginning."
Sergei narrowed his eyes, fingers tapping lightly on the desk.
"And? That alone doesn't justify a million-dollar loan."
"I can put my production company up as collateral."
William met Sergei's gaze without blinking.
"With the studio itself and the existing contract combined, its valuation already exceeds one million dollars."
Sergei burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the office.
"Cyka! You've got balls, kid. I like that."
William didn't react to the praise.
"In one week," he continued coolly,
"I wrote, shot, edited, and sold a complete film—and secured a six-figure advance. Not everyone in the Valley can do that."
"I believe that fact alone makes this loan a safe bet."
In the Western world, humility rarely earned you anything.
So William didn't bother with it.
Instead of being offended by William's sharp confidence, Sergei studied him with growing interest. He poured himself another glass of vodka.
"Fifteen percent annual interest. That's the lowest I'll go—out of respect for Katya."
He paused, then added casually,
"I'll also give you another million—for thirty percent of your studio."
The offer came fast.
Frankly, it barely sounded like something a mafia boss would propose.
But the second condition crossed William's line.
Complete control over his company was non-negotiable.
He shook his head.
"Ten percent annual interest. That's my bottom line."
"I'll pledge one hundred percent of the shares as collateral—but there will be no transfer of ownership."
"I have my own plans.
My company's equity is not for sale."
His refusal was absolute.
Sergei stared at him for a long moment—then suddenly clapped his hands together.
"Men like you are rare among the British," he said, laughing.
"Very rare."
"I like you. You're nothing like those soft-spoken English whores."
"And you're smart."
He raised his glass slightly.
"Deal."
"I think you're smart enough to understand what I want."
Sergei narrowed his eyes as he looked at William.
"And Katya."
William paused, then quickly grasped Sergei's implication.
In short, it was the oldest play in the book—
hoping William would deliberately frustrate Katya at work, push her to hit walls, and eventually drive her back into the family business—the mafia business.
But that was still just an assumption.
So William chose to ask directly.
"I'm not entirely sure what you mean," he said calmly.
"What Katya wants to do is her own choice. I don't control her."
Sergei's expression hardened.
"If I say that this deal is off unless you agree—
would you still refuse?"
The threat was clear.
William frowned.
He hated being pressured.
"Katya is a free person," he replied firmly.
"I can't force her to do anything."
"I'm not asking you to force her," Sergei said, spreading his hands.
"All you need to do is let her experience how hard real work is. Let her understand the outside world isn't some greenhouse."
Even so, William didn't budge.
"I'll treat her like any normal employee," he said evenly.
"I won't take any extra action against her."
"If that's a condition, then we don't have a deal."
Sergei didn't explode.
Instead, he studied William quietly.
"Really? Not even a little compromise?"
William shook his head.
"Then it seems our negotiation has failed.
I apologize for wasting your time, Mr. Ivanovich."
He stood up and turned to leave.
"Wait."
William stopped and looked back.
"Yes?"
Sergei smiled faintly and poured himself another drink.
"The money is yours," he said.
"You didn't disappoint me, kid."
Sergei raised his glass and downed it in one go.
William stood there for several seconds—then understood.
"So this was all a test?"
"Of course," Sergei said.
"Would you hand your daughter to someone who changes his stance at the first bit of pressure?"
His tone carried weight.
William nodded slowly.
They said Russians valued family above all else.
Sometimes, stereotypes existed for a reason.
"One million in cash is a large sum," Sergei continued.
"It'll take a few days to gather. But since you're Katya's boss, I'll waive the five-percent handling fee."
William gave him a suspicious look.
Cash.
"Relax," Sergei said, reading his thoughts instantly.
"These are clean funds. I'm not stupid enough to push dirty money on you."
"Good," William replied.
"Then shall we sign a contract?"
He sat back down.
Sergei burst out laughing.
"A contract? With the Russian mafia?"
"Interesting. Very interesting."
After laughing for a moment, he waved his hand.
"No contract. I trust you're not stupid enough to default."
"But let me be clear—
if anything goes wrong, even Katya begging for you won't save you. Understand?"
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