The Man Who Could Buy The Plant Could Not Buy Trust

"Give that to her," Adrian said.

Tara handed Celia the printed page.

He could have argued about what his signature meant. Men in good coats had argued over smaller things while I stood waiting for a paycheck.

Instead, he sat across from me.

"I was told a second approval would cost more," he said. "I asked how much. I didn't ask who would pay if something went wrong."

"I did," I said.

"I know."

"You know now."

He lowered his eyes.

Celia closed her folder.

"We'll need your company's records. All of them related to this system."

"You'll have them."

"Through me."

"Yes."

I stood to leave, but he asked for one more minute. Celia stayed beside me.

"There's something else you should know before you decide whether to speak to me again."

I had a bad feeling in my stomach.

"The stories about my betting business are true. So are the stories about illegal loans. I signed a plea agreement last month. I'm waiting to be sentenced."

June kept her hands folded on the table. She already knew.

I looked at her.

"The plant owners have the disclosures," she said. "The proposed buyer is his supply company. Its board makes the purchase decision. But nothing has been signed."

That explained a business deal. It did not explain why I had wanted to hear his voice on the phone.

"Did you think buying a plant would make people forget?" I asked.

"I thought keeping people employed would count for something."

"It might. It wouldn't erase anything."

"No."

He rubbed one hand across the other.

"My sister worked a folding line when we were young. That's why I agreed to the matching fund. I wanted one thing with my name on it to be useful."

"Then you should have checked it."

He nodded.

I left without taking his offered hand.

On Monday, Eli had his treatment. We carried sandwiches in a paper sack, and he beat me at a game where we named animals for each letter of the alphabet.

For Q, he said "quiet duck."

I let him have it.

The visit went as planned. A hospital worker helped me fill out a separate aid form for the balance. She said it would be reviewed, and I would get the answer in writing.

No grand promise. Just a process I could follow.

When we got home, there were three bags of groceries outside our door.

I called Adrian before I checked the card.

"If these are from you, come get them."

"What is?"

"The groceries."

"Nora, I didn't send anything."

I lifted the card from a bag.

Lottie's block letters filled the front. From the folding line. Nobody owes anybody.

There were eleven names inside.

"Oh," I said.

Adrian waited.

"They're from work."

"I'm glad."

I should have hung up. Instead, I sat on the kitchen floor beside a bag of potatoes.

"Are you going to prison?"

"My lawyer says I should expect it. I won't know the sentence until the hearing."

"Does my son need to be afraid of you?"

"I've hurt people through money and fear. You have every reason to be careful about letting me near your family."

It was an answer I did not like. It was also the first one I believed without effort.

"No gifts," I said. "No paying my bills. No showing up at my door."

"Understood."

"And if I ask a question, I get the whole answer."

"Yes."

After we hung up, I put the groceries away. Eli carried the light things and asked why I was smiling at a can of peaches.

"People were kind," I told him.

That evening, Celia called with news from June.

The owners had put a hold on the sale. They had hired June directly, so she no longer answered to the possible buyer. Tara was securing the payroll system.

"And Cedar Run?" I asked.

"June found its public business filing. The bank records will need a proper request from investigators. But the filing gives us somewhere to start."

My phone chimed with the page she had sent.

Cedar Run Transport had been formed six weeks before the first false grant.

Its owner was Wade Mercer.

Its business address was the house he had listed as his emergency contact address on the very payroll system I ran.