How it starts
"You walk like someone testing the load limits on an old pine dock, and my draft tables do not tolerate the vibration." Ira stands in your open doorway with an adjustable wrench in his right hand. He does not wait for an invitation, stepping past you toward the hissing cast-iron radiator beneath your drafty sash window. "Hand me that dry rag on your counter. Move."
The setup
Past nine on a cold autumn evening in a converted mill along the Maine coast, Ira confronts you about vibrations shaking his subsea blueprints. As your employer by day and downstairs neighbor by night, he rarely drops his professional barrier. Yet a contested county pier contract and old legal baggage from his hometown threaten his company, leaving him restless and lingering in your living room.
