“I think it’s here.”
“You think.”
“Yes.”
“How sure?”
Noah looked again.
“Not enough.”
That answer surprised her.
His grandfather would have liked it.
Noah spent the next two days researching.
The wheat-head-inside-a-gear emblem.
No results.
He searched old farm magazines at the library.
Parts catalogs.
Equipment histories.
Nothing.
Then a retired dealer’s advertisement from 1953 showed a logo close to Eli’s description.
MORROW AGRICULTURAL ENGINEERING COMPANY — CEDAR RAPIDS, IOWA
Morrow had existed less than twelve years.
The company experimented with compact row-crop and industrial tractors but never became a major manufacturer.
A recession, a factory fire, and disputes among investors ended it in 1956.
Most assets were purchased by another company.
Noah found a single paragraph in an old machinery journal:
Morrow is believed to have constructed several experimental four-cylinder agricultural units between 1951 and 1953, though no complete production record survives.
That was all.
No pictures.
No values.
No proof.
Noah closed the book.
He now knew enough to be interested.
Not enough to know whether he was about to make the stupidest financial decision of his life.
His savings totaled $2,340.
Sarah knew because she had taken him to the bank.
“What was that money for?” she asked.
“Truck.”
“You’re fourteen.”
“For later.”
“You were planning ahead.”
“I still am.”
Sarah looked at him.
“Buying a collapsing barn is an unusual interpretation of planning ahead.”
Noah said nothing.
She sighed.
“How high are you willing to bid?”
He already knew.
“All of it.”
Sarah stared.
“No.”
“Mom—”
“Noah.”
“Grandpa told me—”
“Your grandfather gave you a clue. He did not give you permission to gamble every dollar you own.”
Noah’s voice dropped.
“He also taught me to check before deciding.”
“And what did you check?”
He showed her the notes.
The Morrow company.
The experimental tractor reference.
The Ransom connection.
The visible extra bolts.
The auction lot.
Sarah read everything.
Then:
“You still don't know what is under that tarp.”
“No.”
“And if it’s nothing?”
“I lose the savings.”
“And gain?”
“Six tractors for parts and a barn full of salvage.”
She frowned.
“You calculated that?”
Noah showed another page.
Scrap steel.
Usable wheels.
Engines.
Implements.
Barn lumber.
His estimates were conservative.
“If everything is ordinary junk, I might eventually get twelve hundred to fifteen hundred back.”
“You could lose half your money.”
“Yes.”
Sarah studied her son.
He was not talking like a child chasing buried treasure.
He was talking like Eli.
That frightened her more.
And reassured her.
Finally she said:
“I will register because you’re a minor.”
Noah waited.
“But the money is yours.”
He nodded.
“And if you lose it, I’m not replacing it.”
“I know.”