Two Buyers Placed Their Exclusive Promises On The Same Table

Beth made me stop reading at ten that night.

"A signed page doesn't explain itself," she said. "Tomorrow we'll find out what it belongs to."

I slept badly. Each truck on my street sounded like another delivery.

The next morning, we met Helena at a rented conference room near the courthouse. She wore a gray suit and carried three slim folders. Her black hair was pinned above her collar.

She laid the folders side by side, with their edges even.

"I've asked Cypress Basin's lawyer to come," she said. "With the seller's written agreement, we're comparing the conflicting grants. Nothing else from either bid."

"Did Curtis agree?" Beth asked.

"His board chair did. Curtis wanted separate calls."

That was the first thing all morning that warmed me.

A lawyer named Owen Pike arrived with a woman from Cypress Basin. She introduced herself as its operations director, Marla Trent.

"We planned a second line in Louisiana," Marla said. "We paid for a right to secure the process while we finished diligence."

Owen placed their signed option beside Red Clay's agreement.

Cypress Basin had paid a $250,000 option fee. For sixty days, Delta Lantern had promised to hold a ten-year nationwide exclusive process license for it alone. The fee was refundable if the seller's ownership statements proved false.

Red Clay's later agreement also promised ten years of nationwide exclusivity, beginning at closing. It said no other option or grant stood in the way.

The dates overlapped by forty-one days.

I wrote both dates on Beth's pad. At work, we kept a tag on every cylinder so one load could not be sold under two batch numbers. A clerk checked the tags before a truck left. The board had skipped a check we required at the loading dock.

"This isn't two people bidding on one building," Owen said. "They charged us to hold a right they then promised elsewhere."

"A right they didn't own," Beth added.

Helena opened her third folder.

"Mr. Rao, did you authorize either grant?"

"No."

"Did you receive any part of the option fee?"

"No."

"Did you see either buyer's plans before yesterday?"

"No."

She wrote each answer beside a numbered question.

Curtis arrived twenty minutes late with Dale Sutter, the board chair, and the company's lawyer.

Dale sold farm equipment before he became an investor. He still wore boots that seemed too clean for his old work.

"There's a commercial answer," Dale said. "Everybody wants the plant to live."

"Start with the ownership statement," Helena said.

Curtis glanced at me.

"Arvind was paid for twelve years. The process matured under our roof."

Beth slid a copy of Schedule A toward him.

"Your predecessor signed this. So did the former board secretary. Payment for labor isn't the transfer described here."

"That blue paper was a courtesy."

"Then show us the later assignment," Owen said.

Curtis leaned back.

"We're looking."

For years, I had watched him talk through a pressure alarm. He spoke faster when he wanted the sound to stop.

Now nobody helped him fill the silence.

Marla turned to me.

"Could the plant run under the old license if nobody buys it?"

"On its two listed skids, yes. Under its present owner."

"Could we add six skids?"

"We'd need a new agreement and an engineering review. The cooling water loop couldn't carry that load as it stands."

Curtis gave a little laugh.

"He always finds a reason to delay capacity."

"He just answered both halves of my question," Marla said.

The company's lawyer asked for a break.

In the hall, Curtis came close enough that I could smell his mint gum.

"You think this makes you an owner? You had a locker."

I held my pen between my palms.

"I know what I owned. I also know what I licensed."

"We'll show you what litigation costs."

Beth stepped beside me.

"Put that in your next letter."

When we returned, Helena asked for a full record audit before any new closing date. Owen asked that Cypress Basin's fee be held for repayment.

The company lawyer stared at his notes.

"The fee has already been disbursed."

"For what?" Marla asked.

"I'll need the ledger."

We left without an answer.

That evening, Leon sent a photo of a notice taped beside the time clock. It named Curtis the temporary process supervisor. Under that, it said all settings and work notes belonged to Delta Lantern.

I called Beth. She told me to save the photo and make no reply.

I was still holding the phone when her next message came through.

Delta Lantern had filed a complaint in Jefferson County Circuit Court. It accused me of stealing its trade secrets and asked a judge to order me to surrender my records.