A Missing Schedule Turned Up In The Buyer's Closing List

Sora read the letter at my kitchen counter. She placed the replacement form beside my bowl of keys.

"He wants me to steal your chair."

"Would you?"

"Only if yours had better back support."

Then she signed a statement that she had not agreed to replace me. Leena sent it with a reply that cited the exact trust pages Quinton had received.

The buyer's lawyer asked us to hold off on any class vote until she could gather the records. I agreed to wait until our Saturday meeting. I did not agree to the sale.

By Friday afternoon, a secure folder held 214 pages.

I printed the index. Years of checking drawing sets had taught me to count the sheets before trusting the cover.

The main agreement was there. So were the building lease, equipment list, and order backlog. Schedule 4C, Staff Transition, was marked to follow.

At work, a missing sheet could hide a changed bore size or a pin that no longer fit. I never filled that gap with a guess. I circled the empty place on the index and wrote the date beside it. Sora checked my count against the folder before we sent anything.

The seller's statement said no officer had any separate pay deal with the buyer.

Quinton had signed it.

I called Leena.

"The staff schedule is missing."

"Ask for it through me," she said. "Keep the trail in one place."

She sent the request. The reply said the buyer's deputy deal lead had not yet released his final version.

His name was Halden Voss.

Saturday, we rented a church meeting room for $75. We moved the chairs away from a slow ceiling drip. Twenty-four trust members came in person. Five joined by phone.

I set a paper boat beside the sign-in sheet. It had started as a scrap sketch of a seal groove, back when my hand still shook too much to fold a clean edge.

"This isn't my lawsuit," I told them. "It's your vote. I need you to tell me what to do with it."

"Did he really fire you?" Mara asked.

"Yes."

"Then why would we trust any of his promises?"

"We need documents even from people we trust."

Ellis stood near the back. He was still wearing his pressure-room ear guards around his neck.

"I asked about our six jobs in May," he said. "Quinton said the buyer wanted the whole test team. Same chamber. Same proof loads."

"Did he put it in writing?" Sora asked.

Ellis held up a printed email.

He had.

A young assembler named Ben raised his hand.

"My share check could clear my truck loan. I need that money."

"How much?" I asked.

"Nine thousand six hundred, by the estimate."

I wrote the amount in my notes. I wanted him to see that I had heard it.

"A delay costs you," I said. "Voting blind could cost you too. Neither choice is free."

We read a motion to withhold approval until the missing schedules, all officer pay arrangements, and a written plan for the workshop and testing staff were provided.

Twenty-seven voted yes. Two voted no.

Sora counted twice. I signed the result. The trustees confirmed it in a separate written resolution.

Nobody cheered. We stacked the damp chairs and went home.

On Monday, Leena received an updated closing list from the buyer's main lawyer. A note asked her to confirm that all Class A requirements had now been met.

They had not. But the list gave us something new.

Between the building lease and the payroll transfer sat an entry called Voss/Sayer Advisory Letter, dated June 8.

"That wasn't in the folder," I said.

"No," Leena said. "And it may matter."

She asked for it, along with Schedule 4C.

Quinton called me instead of answering her.

"You're holding twenty-nine families hostage."

"Twenty-seven of them instructed me to wait for records."

"You think folding trash makes you careful?"

I looked at the little fleet on my windowsill.

"I count missing pages for a living."

"You used to."

After the call, I wrote down his words and the time. I did not call back.

That afternoon, Ellis forwarded another email he had received in his own work account. Quinton had ordered the test crew to clear their lockers before closing. Their positions would be reviewed after the sale.

"That doesn't sound like keeping us," Ellis said when I called.

"Send your questions to Leena. Keep the original email."

I would not ask him to take files he had no right to take. There was enough trouble in the records we could lawfully request.

At four, Sora phoned from the loading yard.

I could hear a truck engine behind her.

"There's a used-equipment dealer at the workshop," she said. "Quinton changed the lock. He's selling the benches tonight."