Daniel did.
Three days later, the engineer called back.
“I can build you replacements for two accumulator seals.”
“How much?”
The number made Daniel sit down.
Michael heard it.
“No.”
Daniel covered the phone.
“We need them.”
“We need electricity too.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“No.”
Daniel argued.
Michael refused.
That night, Daniel considered selling his pickup.
The next morning, a customer walked into the shop.
Thomas Keene.
The old man from the auction.
Michael saw him first.
Neither man spoke.
Thirty years sat between them.
Keene removed his cap.
“Mike.”
Michael crossed his arms.
“Tom.”
Daniel looked between them.
“You two planning to communicate entirely in names?”
Neither smiled.
Keene looked toward XP-2.
“You opened it.”
“Yes,” Daniel said.
“Drawings intact?”
“Mostly.”
“Not yours.”
Daniel immediately bristled.
Michael stepped between them.
“Then whose are they?”
Keene’s eyes hardened.
“Depends what happened in bankruptcy.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
Michael took one step closer.
“You told my son not to bring the machine here.”
“I was trying to stop him from making a mistake.”
“By saying nothing?”
Keene looked at Daniel.
“I didn’t know whether the compartment was still there.”
“You could have bought it yourself.”
“I tried.”
Daniel frowned.
“You never bid.”
“Before the auction.”
Keene explained.
When Harlan Agricultural acquired the property years earlier, XP-2 had been mixed among obsolete machinery.
Keene discovered it only recently after hearing about the bankruptcy liquidation.
He contacted the trustee.
Asked to buy the unit privately.
The trustee refused because assets already scheduled for public auction had to be handled through the sale process.
“So why not bid?” Daniel asked.
Keene looked embarrassed.
“I thought nobody would.”
“You planned to get it for scrap price afterward.”
“Yes.”
Daniel almost laughed.
“I ruined your plan.”
“You did.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“No.”
Keene walked around XP-2.
He stopped at one of Michael’s old welds.
“You were good.”
Michael looked away.
“Why was the access plate welded shut?” Daniel asked.
Keene became serious.
“I didn’t do it.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
He suspected someone associated with Harlan’s predecessor had found the compartment years earlier, opened it, then resealed it after deciding the papers were worthless.
Or perhaps someone knew exactly what they were and wanted them forgotten.
There was no evidence either way.
Daniel disliked uncertainty.
Michael reminded him uncertainty was not permission to invent answers.
“What do you want?” Michael asked Keene.
The old engineer looked at the machine.
“To see whether we were right.”
Daniel said:
“Help us.”
Michael turned sharply.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“He knows the system better than anyone alive.”
Keene smiled faintly.
“Kid’s smarter than you were.”
Michael pointed toward the door.
“You can leave now.”
Keene laughed for the first time.
He returned the next evening carrying three old binders and a box of obsolete components.
The restoration became a three-generation project.
Keene brought original design logic.
Michael understood fabrication.
Daniel understood how to adapt old systems using available modern components.
They argued constantly.
Keene wanted everything restored exactly.