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The federal agents were already waiting in the parking lot when Vincent Cross and his seven-year-old son arrived at the rope factory for the second time, their black SUVs positioned in a way that blocked the only exit, the kind of deliberate placement that said nobody was leaving until they got answers to questions Vincent didn't even know he should be asking. He'd owned the property for exactly thirty-six hours, had spent maybe four of those hours inside the building, and already men with badges were treating him like he'd stumbled into something that went deeper than an abandoned factory in rural Pennsylvania. Vincent's first instinct was to turn the truck around, to drive away from whatever this was and pretend he'd never placed that desperate bid at the county foreclosure auction. But his son Jamie sat beside him in the passenger seat, his small hands gripping the backpack that held everything they owned that mattered, and running meant abandoning the only roof they had any claim to. The apartment eviction was final, the storage unit where their furniture sat was three months overdue, and Vincent's bank account showed seventeen dollars after he'd paid the four hundred and thirty-five dollars for a building nobody else wanted. "Dad, why are there police cars?" Jamie asked, his voice carrying the careful neutrality of a child who'd learned to expect complications. "I don't know yet, buddy. But we're going to find out together." Vincent parked away from the federal vehicles, his construction worker's instincts telling him to assess a situation before walking into it. The rope factory sat on eight acres at the edge of Millcreek, a town that had thrived when American manufacturing meant something and had slowly deflated when factories closed and jobs disappeared. The building itself was massive, four stories of brick and timber built in 1903 to produce rope for everything from shipping to farming to industrial use. The structure had closed in 1992 when synthetic materials made natural fiber rope obsolete for most applications. Since then, it had sat abandoned, accumulating tax liens and structural problems that made conventional buyers avoid it. Vincent had found the auction listing while researching any property he could possibly afford, had driven out to look at it once, and had convinced himself that walls and a roof were walls and a roof even if they came with complications.