Three Seats at the Table

Burglar arrived at the Exchange carrying a cream folder and a box of pastries.

“One is evidence,” he said. “The other is an improvement.”

Banzo nearly laughed. Brocko did not, but he moved a chair out from the round table.

Ava had set three copies of the closure order beside three copies of the returned-payment notice. Coco waited by the window with the ledger open. The east bridge was still shut. Finding paperwork, Brocko had said twice, did not make old stone safe.

Burglar tapped the notice. “My father kept this. The repair contractor cancelled the work. The payment went back into the joint holding account.”

“And after that?” Banzo asked.

“If I knew, I wouldn't have brought it to you.”

Coco checked the account reference against the ledger. It matched. The returned amount matched the earlier authorised payment too. That was useful. It was not the end of the trail.

Banzo turned the closure order toward himself. His father's signature seemed smaller today.

“He told me the blackout forced them to close the bridge.”

Brocko rested both hands on the table. “Mine told me keeping it closed was the only responsible choice. He left out who agreed to it first.”

Burglar looked toward the window. “Mine preferred to discuss what the rest of you owed him.”

No one reached for a pastry.

Ava waited until they looked back at her. “We have two things we can support. All three fathers signed the closure before the power failed. A repair payment was returned to their joint account. Everything beyond that still needs evidence.”

Banzo pushed his chair back. “Then we reopen the Exchange. Properly. Everyone sees the records.”

“The public rooms,” Brocko said. “After an inspection. The bridge stays shut until someone qualified says otherwise.”

“And nobody puts their name over the door,” Burglar added.

Banzo opened his mouth, then glanced at the old agreement.

“Fine. Shared access. Shared records.”

Ava wrote the terms down. Each family would contribute the documents it held. Coco would trace the account entries. Brocko would arrange an inspection. Banzo would tell Berry there was a story worth publishing, once they knew which parts were true.

Burglar turned to the final page. “What do I get?”

“A chance to be right in public,” Coco said.

“You should have led with that.”

They signed. It was a small agreement about a building, a stack of records and the order in which questions would be answered. Banzo could already imagine a spectacular reopening. For once, he kept the date to himself.

As Ava gathered the copies, Peach noticed a faint impression on the back of Burglar's folder. A removed label had left a few letters in the paper.

She tilted it toward the window.

“There was another file stored with this.”

Burglar leaned over. “What file?”

Coco read the impression aloud.

“Account instructions. Second signatory.”

Brocko took one of the pastries at last.

“We are going to need more chairs,” he said.