David turned, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t remember inviting you into this family matter, Mr. Bennett,” David said.

“I am making you an offer,” Harold said.

“For the tools.”

David let out a short, bitter laugh.

“You?” David asked.

“What do you want with a workshop full of heavy machinery?”

“You’re a retired music teacher.”

“I appreciate fine craftsmanship,” Harold said, ignoring the sarcasm in David’s voice.

“And I know what those tools meant to your father.”

“They meant he spent more time out here than he did with us,” David muttered, though he looked away as he said it.

“I am offering you ten thousand dollars,” Harold said.

David stopped.

He looked at Harold, his mouth slightly open.

“Ten thousand?” David asked.

“That’s twice what Miller is paying.”

“Yes,” Harold said.

“And there is one condition.”

David’s eyes darkened again.

“I knew it,” David said.

“What’s the catch?”

“The tools stay here,” Harold said.

“In this workshop.”

“They will remain exactly where they are.”

“You can come and use them whenever you wish,” Harold said.

“And if you ever want to buy them back from me, you can do so.”