“At the exact same price.”

“And if he doesn’t?” I asked.

“Then I own a collection of the finest woodworking tools in the state,” Harold said with a small, reassuring smile.

“And I will come over here and use them from time to time.”

“Perhaps you can teach me how to make something,” he added.

I looked at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation.

There was none.

He was entirely serious.

“He won’t accept it easily,” Rachel said, her voice filled with concern.

“David is proud.”

“He’s so proud it’s blinding him,” she said.

“He sees Harold as… well, as an intrusion,” she added quietly.

“I know,” Harold said.

“But he also needs to save his home.”

“When is he coming?” Harold asked.

“He said five o’clock,” I said, checking the clock on the workshop wall.

It was already twenty minutes past four.

“He’ll be here soon to prepare,” Rachel said.

“He wants to have everything boxed up before the liquidator arrives.”

“Then we should wait for him,” Harold said.

He pulled a small linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped a smudge of dust from his thumb.