The Bargained Love

CHAPTER2

LANCASTER (DAD POV)

I’m meeting some of the prospective buyers at the factory today for a brief inspection. Honestly, I’m left with no other choice but to sell the company, this very business I inherited from my father. I’ve poured years into building it where my father left it, from the ground up, taking it into what it is. But now the weight of looming bankruptcy, mounting debts, and the threat of the bank seizing our home. It’s all too much. I have to let it go.

“Good day, Mr Shells,” I said, extending a firm handshake. “I’m Lancaster Batel, CEO of Chatex Beverages.”

I took a steady breath, my tone calm but resolute. “I understand you're offering to buy this company for sixty thousand pounds. While I appreciate your interest, I must say, I’m confident that once you're done with your inspection, you’ll see the true value of what we've built here.”

With formalities out of the way, we stepped out of the office and began the inspection.“Let me show you why Chatex is worth more than figures on paper,” I said, leading the way.

We started in the changing room, a clean, orderly space where every staff member gears up before stepping into the production line. I made sure Mr. Shells noted the hygiene protocols and attention to detail.

From there, we moved to the inspection area, where our products are thoroughly examined for quality and consistency. Staff worked with quiet precision; the air filled with the soft hum of machines and the occasional sound of bottles clinking together.

Next was the packaging room with cartons sealed, labeled, and stacked with practiced ease. “We ship hundreds of cases weekly,” I explained.

We continued to the production room, the heart of the operation. The air was rich with the scent of fresh beverages, and the machines moved in synchronized harmony.

I pointed out the staff office spaces where the administrative and marketing teams coordinated operations and handled client relations.

“Finally, we passed through every departmental area from logistics to distribution, each with its crucial role in the chain. Mr. Shells adjusted his cufflinks, his tone polite but edged with cool detachment.

“But you know, Mr Batel,” he began, his eyes scanning the buzzing factory floor, “we’ve all heard the news. "It’s no secret this business is struggling.” Consumers are moving toward Vicsweet Beverages, and your market share is slipping.

His gaze swept over the workers, moving quickly across the floor. It’s obvious you’re short-staffed, and operational strain is showing. If I take this company on, I’ll be investing a lot in rebranding and restructuring this business. That’s no small investment.”

He turned to face me fully, “I’m sorry, Mr. Batel. Based on what I’ve seen, I’ll be lowering my offer.”

And he wasn’t the only one. One after the other, the so-called "interested buyers" paraded through our factory only to dish out the same flimsy excuse. The market is changing. The risk is high. The brand is fading. All of them were offering far less than what the company was truly worth.

After another exhausting day of meeting with countless prospective buyers, I was slumped in my office chair, lost in thought,

Then a soft knock interrupted my thoughts. My secretary came in, "Sir,” she said, her voice barely steady, “You have a visitor.”

I raised a tired brow. “Another buyer?” I asked, already bracing myself for another disappointing conversation.“I don’t have any appointments with anyone again today.”

But she shook her head slowly, “Sir, it’s Victor Wellington, sir.” He is waiting outside.

I blinked, stunned. “Victor Wellington?” What brought Victor Wellington to my office?”