The Buyer Asked To See The Room They Had Locked

"Don't open anything for me," I told Luis. "Follow your work orders."

"He asked for you by name."

"Then give him my number."

I sat at my kitchen table with the gray case open. My lunch was still in its paper bag. Dad had come over and was peeling an orange in one long strip.

"Eat," he said.

My phone rang before I could answer.

"Jad Sayegh? Owen Bae. I'm with Sand Basin Water Systems. I'm reviewing Arroyo's line for our proposed purchase."

His voice was flat and careful.

"I received your lawyer's notice from our deal counsel. May I ask what equipment it covers?"

"Thirty-seven master molds. The attached schedule gives each number."

"Ms. Stroud says they're obsolete patterns."

"Then her demonstration shouldn't need them."

He let that sit.

"Can you come identify them? Our counsel would like that done before anything runs."

"With company permission and my lawyer present."

"I'll arrange it."

My lawyer, Elena Cruz, met me at the gate forty minutes later. She had worked on Dad's shop lease years before. I had agreed to her $2,500 deposit on a credit card. That hurt more than I let Dad see.

Vanessa waited in the lobby beside a tray of untouched cookies.

"Jad," she said. "We could have cleared up this misunderstanding privately."

Elena held up the visitor approval from company counsel.

"We're here to identify property."

Owen stood behind Vanessa. He was forty-one, a Korean American man with square glasses and a soft canvas jacket. His visitor sticker was coming loose at one corner.

He shook my hand.

"I don't trust a factory tour that skips the toolroom," he said.

"We had a route prepared," Vanessa replied.

"I saw the route."

Company counsel joined by speakerphone. Her name was Miriam Holt. She said no demonstration using disputed property would proceed while they reviewed the agreement.

Vanessa's gracious face held still.

"We're being very cautious," she told Owen.

"I appreciate caution," he said. "I prefer it before the sales slides."

Luis unlocked the toolroom on her instruction.

It smelled of dry plaster and damp clay. The swamp cooler had been off since October, but its vent still rattled when a truck passed outside.

I went straight to rack C.

"MS-014," I said. "Deep cup master, tapered base."

Owen checked the schedule.

The new barcode sticker covered the old brass tag. I did not peel it off. I asked permission to lift one edge, and Miriam approved over the phone.

Beneath it was Dad's name and his little triangle.

Owen bent close.

"Same mark as the vent note on the drawing."

"That's how he kept the helpers from cutting the air channel on the wrong side."

We found thirty-six masters on their listed shelves.

The space for MS-037 was empty.

"Production," Vanessa said quickly. "It's in production."

We walked to the casting area. A bright banner hung above a clean table. INTEGRATED, OWNED, READY TO SCALE.

MS-037 sat beneath it, mounted beside a set of fresh working molds. Its shape made the center channel for Arroyo's best-selling filter housing.

Owen looked at the master, then at the silent demonstration crew.

"Obsolete?"

"It has historical value," Vanessa said.

"It also has fresh release agent on it."

He asked the crew leader to leave the setup untouched until counsel agreed on a record. The man looked relieved to receive an instruction he could follow.

Elena photographed the serial mark with everyone watching.

Vanessa turned toward me.

"We paid for development."

Owen touched the edge of a working mold without moving it.

"Your team made this copy?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "And they developed the firing cycle. That work belongs in your review. These masters have a different owner. Both facts can be true."

He wrote that down. Vanessa watched his pen as if she could slow it by looking.

"You paid for my work sourcing clay and parts. Show us a purchase invoice for the masters."

She did not answer.

Owen asked for a separate room. Once inside, he closed his notebook.

"If your title checks out, would you negotiate with us directly for continued access?"

"That's not a sale offer from me," I said. "I need to understand what's happened first."

"Fair. We need that too."

Through the window, Vanessa watched us from the hall.

Owen slid a printed page across the table. It was a draft asset schedule sent to his team the week before.

All thirty-seven masters were listed as company-owned. In the source column, someone had replaced Sayegh Workshop with Internal Development.

"Our price assumes the seller owns these," he said. "Who approved this change?"

At the bottom was Vanessa's electronic approval, dated the same afternoon I had filed my correction request.

Beside it, in a column marked Supporting Purchase Record, was an invoice number I had never seen.