Six Buyers Came To Count Their Boats And Hear My Records

The bank report showed that my approval phone number had changed on a Friday at 9:14 a.m.

At that time, I had been at a lumber yard outside town. My receipt showed 9:11. The yard's camera might show more, Mara said, but a receipt alone did not prove who used a computer.

“We keep facts separate from guesses,” she told me.

The new number ended in 4418.

That was our sales phone. Elodie kept it in her purse.

Each $8,000 transfer had two approvals, less than a minute apart. Both approval codes had gone to that same phone.

Anika circled the times.

“Two names,” she said. “One destination. Ask the bank why its system allowed that.”

I sent the question. I also asked for the device records behind the entries, not just the page with my name on it.

While we waited, I sanded Dana's marked seam. The silk slid across it without catching. I wrote the date on her build sheet and put the strip down beside the bank report. One clean seam did not fix the whole boat, but it gave me somewhere to start.

By noon, all six buyers stood in my shop.

Dana came first. Luis Ortega came in work boots, carrying his lunch. Ruth and June had ordered separate boats so they could paddle together after retirement. Theo wore a rain jacket. Cal brought his brother, who stayed by the door with his arms crossed.

I had put six order sheets on the table.

“Find your hull number,” I said. “Then look at your boat.”

“We aren't here for a tour,” Cal said.

“I know. You're here for $8,000 each.”

That quieted the room.

I showed them the empty account. I showed them the signed rider and the bank's approval report. I covered private phone numbers before I handed out copies.

“Those entries have my name,” I said. “I deny making them. The bank is investigating. I won't tell you a recovery is certain when it isn't.”

Luis leaned over his sheet.

“Elodie says these are scrap shells.”

“Your hull is glassed inside. The deck needs its final coat. You can check the work against the build list.”

“And the money to finish?”

I gave them Anika's checked budget. It was exactly $16,200, with $900 allowed for waste and price changes. I had enough fittings in stock to finish the steering on two boats, but not enough to complete the group.

“I'm asking for fourteen days before you decide whether to cancel,” I said. “No extra money. No promise to give up a claim.”

Theo shook his head.

“Delivery is in twenty days.”

“I know.”

“I booked time off.”

“I'm sorry. I can document the delay for you. I can't give you back the day.”

Elodie would have found a smooth way to blame the weather or a late truck. My answer felt small in my mouth.

But Theo sat down.

Anika explained that any new account would have two separate signers and separate phones. She would send every buyer a weekly ledger. Any change to their agreements would need their consent.

“Are you his friend?” Ruth asked.

“Yes,” Anika said. “And I still made him prove the price of every hatch cover.”

Ruth almost smiled.

Dana passed around her picture of the pencil mark.

“My seam still needs work,” she said. “He told me before I asked.”

We spent two hours checking measurements, seats, and deck colors. Cal found that his foot braces were farther forward than his order called for.

I checked the sheet.

“You're right. I'll move them before the deck goes on.”

“Elodie said I changed my mind.”

“Your signed sheet says otherwise.”

At the end, six people signed a fourteen-day pause on cancellation demands. Mara's short agreement said they kept all their rights. It promised access to the boats and records, not a guaranteed rescue.

I pinned copies beside the build schedule.

For the first time since the video, the shop sounded like a place where work might happen again.

Then Elodie called Dana.

Dana looked at the screen and put it on speaker with Elodie's permission to let the group hear.

“I'm sorry Riku dragged you into his panic,” Elodie said. “He's very gifted with his hands, but numbers overwhelm him.”

“He gave us numbers,” Dana said. “Can you give us the freight contract?”

There was a pause.

“That belongs to a separate company.”

“Whose company?”

“I can't discuss private business.”

After Dana ended the call, nobody spoke for a moment.

That evening, Mara forwarded a letter from a lawyer representing Harbor Fold. Attached was a storage agreement with my signature at the bottom.

It claimed the freight company could take possession of all six boats the following morning.