The massive capacity of one hundred million kilowatt-hours was impressive, but Nathan didn't dwell on it. In Eastmere, his plant seemed huge, but in super cities like Seabridge, some stations stored more than a billion kilowatt-hours.
What mattered wasn't the size. It was the efficiency.
The Super Battery's monthly loss rate was only one percent — a number so low it was terrifying.
By comparison, the best storage technology in the world, built with years of research and massive funds, still lost thirteen percent per month. Nathan's old batteries had been worse — thirty percent or more wasted away. Most power companies were in the same state. That was why they avoided storage altogether, dumping as much power into the grid as they could produce.
No one needed to know how his losses had suddenly dropped. The numbers spoke for themselves. As long as the data looked normal, his workers wouldn't question it.
Satisfied, Nathan stepped outside the factory gates and made a call.
"Hello? Director Harris? Yes, this is Nathan Cole. Can I buy you dinner tonight? There's something I'd like to discuss…"
He hung up, climbed into his second-hand Audi, and drove toward Eastmere's city center.
Harris was a director in the Department of Environmental Protection. Nathan had only one goal in contacting him: leaves.
Every day, sanitation crews collected mountains of fallen leaves. Normally, the waste was hauled away and incinerated. But if Nathan bought them instead, he could solve his ants' food problem in one stroke. A few rupees for a truckload, and the workers would even make extra on the side. The city would save on burning costs, and his Volt Ants would eat for months.
It was perfect.
…
But money was still a problem.
The electromagnetic collection boards he had ordered cost more than eight hundred rupees each. A thousand panels came to over eight hundred thousand rupees, plus transport. In total, the bill would climb into the millions.
His plant's own accounts weren't enough. After wages, fuel, and fixed expenses, there were only a few hundred thousand rupees left on the books.
Family? Impossible. His father's company in Seabridge was valued at more than a billion rupees, but the man never gave him a cent. Even the Audi had been bought second-hand. His father always said, raise sons poor, raise daughters rich. He had no daughters, yet still held fast to the first half of the saying.
Which left Nathan with only one option.
Claire Green.
She was the daughter of their neighbors in Seabridge. His father often joked that when Nathan was a child, he wanted to trade him away to marry her into the family. Cute when she was young, stunning when she grew up, Claire had been treated like royalty by her parents.
Unlike Nathan, who had been "delegated" to run a middling factory, Claire had been given millions in investment and built her own company straight out of university. When they last met, she had been driving a luxury car worth several million rupees. She had teased him about his old Audi, and he had teased her right back.
From kindergarten to college, they had always been together. Quarrels aside, their relationship was strong. If there was anyone he could ask, it was her.
Pulling over to the roadside, Nathan dialed her number. After a few rings, a familiar cold voice answered.
"Nathan Cole? What made you think of calling me? Did you come back to Seabridge? I just opened a grilled fish restaurant — it's amazing. I'll take you when you're free."
She sounded casual, even playful. To most, Claire was icy, untouchable. But not to him. Perhaps because they had grown up together in diapers.
He smiled, but his words were serious. "Miss Green, I'll have to skip the fish this time. I didn't call to chat. I need to borrow money. I plan to expand the power plant, but it's too much for me alone. Will you help me?"
For a moment, silence. Then Claire let out a soft pout. Anyone else would have been shocked — the cold beauty actually pouting.
"Ah? Borrow money? Not unless you come back to Seabridge and ask me face to face. Over the phone, it doesn't feel sincere."
"Don't say that, Miss Green. Just lend it to me. I'll return it in a few months. I don't need much, only two million rupees."
"What if you can't pay it back?"
"Then I'll repay you with myself."
Claire burst into laughter. "Repay me with yourself? You really are shameless. Fine. I'll arrange the transfer. But if I find out you spent it at a massage parlor, I'll report you to Uncle Cole myself."
…
Not long after the call, Nathan's phone buzzed with a transfer.
Five million rupees.
Then came a message: Nathan, my company needs funds too. Two million is for your project. The other three million is my personal savings. Use it well. And get back to Seabridge soon.
Nathan whistled. Pocket money — three million rupees in pocket money. Compared to his own stingy father, Claire's family was generous beyond belief.
Still, he was grateful. With the funds secured, his mood soared. He rolled down the Audi's window, humming a tune as he drove to the Department of Commerce. Dinner could wait — there was something more important to do first.
By the end of the day, with a few well-placed smiles and the help of some friendly clerks, Nathan had completed the paperwork.
The plant had a new name.
Cole Power Group.