“That suggests durability.”
“It suggests the equipment has outlived the company that built it.”
I turned the page.
“I want both of you to add anything that makes the work safer or less punishing.”
Caleb leaned back in his chair.
“Did you win the lottery while we weren’t looking?”
“The insurance claim was approved.”
The room fell silent.
Owen recovered first.
“All of it?”
“The van. The equipment inventory. Business interruption. Noah’s wage-replacement benefits. His treatment.”
Caleb released a long breath.
“Thank God.”
The relief in his voice reminded me that the fear had never belonged to me alone.
The yard had been my responsibility, but its survival mattered to everyone inside it.
“You should have told us how close things were,” Caleb said.
“You knew.”
“We knew it was bad. We didn’t know you were pricing Mercy.”
I looked at Owen.
He lifted one shoulder.
“You left the valuation page sitting on the office printer.”
“I was not going to sell her.”
“You considered it,” Caleb said.
“I considered many bad ideas.”
He rubbed both palms over his face.
“We could have helped.”
“You did.”
“By working.”
“By keeping the yard alive.”
Neither of them answered.
