That was the last time the child saw the documents.
For decades, he believed his father had hidden them somewhere inside the factory.
He searched whenever he had an opportunity.
But the years passed.
The factory changed hands.
Buildings were renovated.
Storage rooms were emptied.
Machinery was moved.
And the men controlling the property became increasingly hostile whenever a member of the founding family appeared.
Eventually, the grandfather's father died.
He left behind the farmhouse, a few surviving records, and a handwritten instruction that seemed almost meaningless.
Remember the red stripe.
No map.
No key.
No explanation.
Just those four words.
The grandfather spent the next thirty years trying to understand them.
And when he finally discovered their meaning, he was already too old and too financially exhausted to pursue the truth himself.
Back in the auction yard, the twelve-year-old boy stood with the leather case pressed against his chest.
The crowd was no longer laughing.
The auctioneer's face had turned an unhealthy shade of gray.
Several farmers stood closer to the giant cream can, trying to see what the boy had discovered.
A woman near the front raised her phone.
Another spectator began asking whether the documents were genuine.
Someone shouted that the boy had found a fortune.
The auctioneer suddenly slammed his gavel against the podium.
"Everybody back!"
The sharp crack startled the crowd.
He pointed toward the leather case.
"That property hasn't been inventoried!"
The helpful farmer standing beside the boy frowned.
"Then maybe it should have been before you sold the can."
A few spectators murmured agreement.
The auctioneer's eyes narrowed.
"You don't understand the legal situation."
The farmer folded his arms.
"Then explain it."
The older man opened his mouth.
For several seconds, he seemed unable to find the words.
Then he pointed toward the boy.
"He's a minor. He can't just claim documents belonging to the factory."
The child tightened his grip.
"I didn't claim the factory."
The auctioneer turned sharply.
"What?"
The boy swallowed.
"I bought the can."
His voice was quiet.
But everyone nearby heard him.
"And my grandpa's name is on this case."
The auctioneer stepped closer.
"Give it here."
The farmer moved between them.
"Hold on."
The older auctioneer stopped.