I sat back down, and Harold took the chair opposite me.

Rachel stood by the counter, leaning against it with her arms crossed.

“David was here,” Rachel said, skipping the pleasantries.

Harold looked at her, then back at me.

“I see,” Harold said.

“I take it the conversation did not go well.”

“He’s in trouble, Harold,” I said, the words heavy on my tongue.

“He’s in terrible financial trouble.”

Harold listened quietly as I explained what Rachel had discovered.

He did not interrupt, nor did he offer any hollow platitudes.

He simply watched me, his dark eyes filled with a deep, understanding sympathy.

I told him about the second mortgage, the suppliers, and the threat of foreclosure on David’s home.

And I told him about the workshop.

“Arthur’s tools,” Harold murmured when I finished.

“David wants to liquidate them.”

“He wants to sell everything Arthur worked with,” I said, a tear finally escaping my eye.

“It feels like erasing him.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Harold asked.

“He loses his house,” Rachel said from the counter.

“The bank will take it.”