I abandoned the vacation and rushed home. Mom showed me the receipt, revealing that nearly everything from Dad’s workshop had been sold. Even worse, a handwritten note mentioned that smaller items had already been removed. We hurried to storage unit B-17.
The manager confirmed the account belonged to me and immediately suspended the collection. When we opened the unit, Dad’s workbench and blue toolbox remained, but several shelves were empty. His favorite hand planes and measuring instruments had disappeared. Then Dereck arrived, looking furious. “Why did you stop the collection?” he demanded.
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