Chapter 10 — Potters and the Last Fire Season

Ha found the name of the person who created the annex in the archives of the old cooperative. It was an employee who had quit his job and now lived in the town across the river. He doesn't remember ever meeting Mr. Phuc, but remembers someone bringing a paper to get it stamped after work.

It took Ha two days to follow the clues from the name found in the old salary book. Finally, through an acquaintance who worked at the town committee, she got his address - a small house by the river, where he lived alone since his wife died, working as a bicycle repairman by day.

Linh and Ha came to see him one afternoon, bringing with them a copy of the notebook and the questionable appendix. He, named Tu, with white hair, was initially wary when he heard the two mention the old cooperative, but gradually became more open when Linh clarified that the purpose of the visit was not to accuse him.

“I worked there for only three months,” Mr. Tu said, still holding a wrench in his hand while repairing an old bicycle. "The main job was stamping and backing up documents. The salary was low, but at that time it was difficult to find another job."

“Do you remember anyone who asked you to stamp overtime?” Ha asked, showing him the photocopied appendix.

Mr. Tu held the paper, squinted at it for a long time, then slowly shook his head. "I don't remember Mr. Phuc's face very well, it's been so long. But I remember the overtime stamping incident. There was a person who came in the evening, saying he urgently needed a document for the cooperative, and asked me to help him stamp it because the department head had already returned."

“Do you remember who that person was?” Linh asked, her heart beating faster.

"I don't remember his face clearly," Mr. Tu replied, his voice somewhat apologetic. "Just remember that person is dressed neatly, not like a potter who is used to getting his hands dirty. Speaks skillfully, give me some compensation."

Minh reconstructs the timeline. The initial loan was used to buy land and repair the furnace. The new appendix records an advance payment for "formula transfer". This item has never appeared in the factory's books.

He taped a large sheet of paper to his office wall, drawing a detailed timeline, marking each event with different colored pens—the date the original loan contract was signed, the date the hotel order was canceled, the date Tan died, and a vague period of time when the addendum was supposedly added.

"Look here," he explained to the group, "this appendix appeared about two months after Uncle Tan passed away. Right when the family was in the most turmoil, no one was alert enough to carefully check each page of documents."

“Someone took advantage of our family when it was at its weakest,” Linh said, her voice hard with indignation.

Linh brought a copy to the district legal consulting office. The consultant said the documents need to be verified for signatures and stamps, but first the statute of limitations must be determined. You can't promise to win, and you can't tell her to give up.

The small office is located on the second floor of an old building, the consultant named Khai, wears glasses, speaks slowly but surely. He looked through all the documents Linh brought, nodded, and occasionally took notes in a small notebook.

"Technically," he said, "this case has exceeded the statute of limitations for filing a normal civil lawsuit. But if it is proven that there was fraud or document forgery, the statute of limitations can be recalculated from the time of discovery, not from the time of occurrence."

“So do we have a chance?” Linh asked.

“Yes, but we need more solid evidence,” Mr. Khai replied. “The testimony of a witness who did not clearly remember the face of the person who hired the stamp not enough. Technical expertise is needed, and it would be best if other witnesses could be found.”

On the way back, Son stopped her at the village gate. He asked her if she had heard who instigated the lawsuit. Linh replied that no one instigated it; it is the numbers in the file that are asking.

Son stood waiting right under the rice tree at the beginning of the village, his appearance lacking the usual confidence in previous meetings. When he saw Linh's car, he raised his hand to stop and walked to the window.

“I heard you were looking up old things,” he said, his voice somewhat questioning.

“I'm looking for the truth,” Linh replied, not avoiding it. "Whoever encouraged me to do that, you should have asked the numbers in the loan book, not me."

Son was silent. He admitted that he once transferred documents to people from the corporation, but said he did not know there was a problem with the appendix. Linh asked him if he kept the original. Son didn't answer, just gave her a file cabinet key and said: "If you want to know, open it yourself."

“What key is this?” Linh asked, holding a small tarnished bronze key.

“The cooperative's old file cabinet is in an abandoned room next to the village headquarters,” Son replied, his voice tired. “My father used to keep that key and gave it to me before he passed away, saying he should keep it in case he needed it. I never opened it.”

“Why are you giving it to me now?”

“Because after you talked about my family the other day,” Son replied, his voice breaking somewhat, “I went back to look through my father's things and found this key with a piece of paper with a few words written on it that I don't fully understand the meaning of. Perhaps you will understand better than me.”

The cabinet is located in the old room of the cooperative. Inside were land delivery statements, goods receipt notes and an unsent letter from Son's father. The letter said he had opposed buying the rights to the name Bach Tho.

Linh and Ha went to the abandoned room that afternoon, dust covered every surface, spider webs covering the corners of the walls. The old iron cabinet lies silently in the corner, the lock is rusted but can still turn when the right key is inserted.

Inside, in addition to the usual administrative papers, there was a yellowed, never-opened envelope, with the recipient's name being a long-retired district official. Linh hesitated for a moment before opening it, feeling like she was invading something private of a deceased person.

The letter, handwritten in neat handwriting, was dated to coincide with the time the addendum in question was added. In it, Son's father wrote about how he heard that someone was trying to buy back the rights to use the name "Bach Tho" using improper means, and he wanted to report it to his superiors to stop it, but for some reason, the letter was never sent.

Linh folded the letter, her hands shaking slightly. The case is no longer a debt between the two families. It's how the whole village let others write their stories for them.

She showed the letter to Son when the group met again that evening. He read it over and over again, his face gradually changing from surprise to a pain that was hard to hide.

“My dad knows,” he said, his voice choked. “My dad knew something was wrong, but he didn't have time to do anything before he died.”

“Maybe he tried,” Linh said softly. “It's just not finished yet.”

Son sat quietly for a long time, then looked up at Linh, his eyes now carrying a new determination. “I'll help you finish it,” he said. “Even if that means I have to take the opposite side of the company is paying me.”

Mr. Phuc, sitting at the head of the table throughout the conversation, spoke for the first time since Linh brought the letter home. “Thank you,” he said to Son, his voice somewhat reserved but sincere. “I never thought that one day I would be indebted to the son of the person who built this furnace with my father.”

Son nodded, didn't say anything more, just looked around the workshop - the oven door was cooling, the rows of bowls lined up on shelves, the familiar faces he had known since childhood but had been apart for too long. He realized he was standing at a crossroads that his father, many years ago, had also stood at and couldn't pass in time.

“I need time to think of a way,” Son said. “If I publicly side with you right now, the company will find a way to exclude me from the negotiations, send someone else, and that person may not give you the opportunity to negotiate like I am doing.”

“So what are you going to do?” Ha asked, still a bit skeptical in her voice.

“I will continue to act as a representative, but quietly provide you with information about the company's strategy,” Son replied. “And when the time is right, I will reveal the truth about the co-ownership clause, just when it has the greatest impact.”

Linh looked at Son, considering the proposal. She understood the risks of trusting someone who was still working for the opposing side, but she also saw in his eyes a sincerity that was hard to fake.

“Okay,” she said finally. “But we will continue to prepare our own plans, not depending entirely on you.”

“I don't expect you to be dependent,” Son replied. “I just hope to make some contribution, to atone for what my father would have done if he had enough time.”

The evening ended with a fragile but real consensus between the two seemingly opposing sides. When Son left, Linh stood and watched his shadow disappear into the darkness, feeling that the situation in the battle to keep the furnace was shifting to a direction that neither of them could have predicted ten days ago.