The Second Forecast Erased Every Worker After The First Month

The Management Case had forty-five workers in November.

In December, it had zero.

I checked the dates, then the sheet labels. The public forecast and the management forecast covered the same factory, the same sale, and the same eighteen months.

I called Hugo.

"Read cell F nineteen," I said.

He put on his glasses.

"Legacy labor exit."

The next line showed eight contract technicians. Under notes, someone had written: Existing headcount maintained for closing certification only.

I sat back. The office heater clicked beneath the window. Across the street, a truck rolled through a puddle.

"Maybe this was an old draft," I said.

Hugo pointed to the date.

"Three days ago."

We checked the building address, the customer orders, and the equipment count. All matched. Even the shipment due next Tuesday appeared in both versions. Whoever built them had changed the workers, not the factory.

"Don't print just that page," Hugo said.

"I wasn't going to."

We saved the whole workbook exactly as received, along with Colin's message and the download receipt. We left the shared copy alone. Ellen had someone preserve a digital record that would show whether our copy changed.

Then we printed both forecasts.

The version meant for buyers carried $2.86 million in annual factory payroll and company health costs. The management version carried $704,000 for contractors and a $360,000 line labeled transition support.

That support line disappeared from the cash forecast.

"Where did the three hundred sixty go?" I asked.

I had once helped a laid-off welder sort his unpaid medical bills at our kitchen table. A budget line couldn't cover a prescription unless somebody put actual dollars behind it.

Hugo traced the sheet with a ruler.

"Nowhere. Nobody funded it."

Farther down sat a $420,000 executive transaction bonus.

That line appeared in every version.

At seven the next morning, I sent Ellen the files. She arranged a call with Dana and Mae. Her email asked them to preserve all versions and explain the difference.

Nobody accused anybody of a crime. Nobody needed to.

The cells were there.

Sterling joined the call without turning on his camera.

"That is a stress test," he said.

Mae asked, "Why does your stress test say closing certification only?"

"Scenario language gets rough."

"Why does the buyer forecast retain all forty-five people?"

"Because that's the target state."

I looked at the two pages on my desk.

"Did you approve both?" I asked.

"You aren't running this meeting."

Dana interrupted him.

"Sterling, answer the question."

He said Colin had built the models. Colin said they reflected directions from management. Neither explained why the severance money had no source.

Mae stopped the closing review.

"Our bank received a staffing representation with your signature. We need an independent comparison before we proceed."

After the call, Celia rang my cell.

"He told the floor you were demanding money to let the sale happen."

I closed my eyes.

"The payoff hasn't changed. We asked for the worker terms already in the loan."

"Can I tell people that?"

"Yes. Stick to that sentence."

She was quiet for a moment.

"My son starts braces next month. I don't need a speech about change. I need to know whether I have insurance."

"I don't have an answer yet," I said. "I won't give you a pretend one."

Hugo drove over to the factory that afternoon to collect our portable analyzer. Sterling's new project man met him at the door.

"Crane says you need permission."

Hugo showed the receipt taped inside the analyzer case. River Measure's name was on it.

"I have it," he said.

He came back with the analyzer and a photograph taken from the visitor area. Yellow tags hung from three of the pledged test stands.

"Auction tags?" I asked.

"Shipping tags."

Our list identified each stand by serial number. I compared the photograph with the schedule. Two numbers were clear enough to read. Both matched.

Ellen sent a written reminder that the loan restricted moving that equipment without consent. Dana acknowledged it and said she was checking.

At dusk, I walked along the river to clear my head. Wet leaves stuck to the path. The water carried small sticks under the bridge, all moving one way.

My phone rang. Sterling.

"You have until nine tomorrow to sign," he said.

"Send the employee agreements."

"You want to be remembered as the woman who killed this factory?"

"I want the workers you promised to keep."

He hung up.

Back at the office, an overnight envelope waited against our door. A courier had wedged it beneath the handle.

Inside was a demand for my signature, a claim that his lawyer's escrow counted as payment, and a draft lawsuit seeking damages of $3 million.

Clipped behind it was a loading schedule.

The first truck was due at the factory at six in the morning.