The first time Nasma saw Mr. Othman, he was bent behind the first grinder with his phone almost touching the serial-number plate.
She stopped in the machine-room doorway.
“Excuse me.”
Othman straightened.
He was close to fifty, wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and shoes that did not look made for standing in chilli powder. Uncle Rashid stood beside him. Yusuf was near the mixer.
Othman smiled. “Ah. You're Nasma.”
“Yes. And you're Mr. Othman?”
“We've heard about each other.”
“Not from each other.”
His smile faded slightly.
“Nasma, don't start badly,” Rashid said. “He's only here to look.”
Nasma stepped inside. “Look at what, exactly?”
“The machines. Their condition. The setup.”
“For valuation?”
“For a preliminary sense of the market,” Othman said.
“Who gave you permission to photograph the serial plate?”
“That's a normal detail,” Rashid said.
Nasma did not look at him. “Mr. Othman?”
Othman slipped the phone into his pocket. “If you don't want photographs, no problem.”
“We didn't agree to photographs, serial capture or an offer inspection.”
“But valuation needs details,” Yusuf said.
“We agreed on an independent valuation.”
Rashid exhaled. “He didn't come here to sign a sale.”
“Then this is simple. No photos. No serial numbers. No inspection that stops production. And the purpose of the visit is stated clearly.”
Othman glanced at the grinder.
“I'm an equipment buyer, not a neutral valuer. If that's the question.”
The machine room went silent.
Even Yusuf turned toward Rashid.
“Thank you,” Nasma said. “Now we have a fact.”
Rashid's jaw tightened. “I said buyer because he understands the market.”
“Yes. But a buyer valuing an asset is valuing something he wants to buy.”
Othman chuckled. “You're not wrong.”
Mama Pendo appeared in the doorway.
“The line cannot stop for more than five minutes,” she said. “The order goes to packing at ten.”
Nasma nodded.
“Mr. Othman, you may look at the machines from outside the safety line. No plate photographs. No opening covers. If you want to give a market range, you can do it without interrupting production.”
“You make everything difficult on purpose,” Rashid said.
Nasma finally looked at him.
“Uncle, two workers missed a shift because they thought the machines were being taken away. This man is a buyer, not a neutral valuer. If that difference had been clear yesterday, we wouldn't have started today with a rumour.”
“But the information we still need is price,” Yusuf said.
“Yes. Let's get a price. But let's not call it a neutral valuation.”
Othman walked toward the second grinder without touching it.
“Is the first one in better condition?”
“Operationally, it's the main unit,” Nasma said. “The second develops a heat problem during long continuous batches.”
Yusuf stared at her. “Don't give him every negotiating weakness.”
Othman smiled. “Your younger brother has business in his blood.”
“And I won't lie about condition to get a higher price that later becomes a dispute,” Nasma said.
They moved to the sealing machines.
Othman asked about age, throughput and parts availability. Nasma answered when she knew; when she did not, she said she did not know. Mama Pendo continued running the line without joining the family argument.
After twenty minutes, Othman asked to sit in the office.
Rashid looked satisfied. Yusuf was alert.
Othman took a folded sheet from his folder.
“I've seen enough to give you a range.”
“A range for what?” Nasma asked.
“Both grinders, the mixer and the sealing machines.”
“A package offer?”
“Yes.”
“Listen first,” Rashid said.
Othman named the amount.
Yusuf leaned forward.
Nasma said nothing.
It was lower than the replacement cost she would expect for new equipment. But it was far larger than the cash gap they had spent days fighting over. It was enough money to close the supplier problem, payroll, Leila's fees and Yusuf's deposit—and still leave something behind.
That was what made the offer dangerous.
Not because it was small.
Because it was large enough to look like a solution.
“Payment timeline?” Yusuf asked.
“If we agree on a full inspection and the ownership documents, I can pay a deposit within twenty-four hours. Balance after collection.”
Nasma looked at Yusuf.
“How many days until your vehicle deposit deadline?”
He did not like the question being asked in front of Othman.
“That's not relevant to the buyer.”
“It is relevant to the pressure on the family.”
“Nasma, don't use Yusuf's personal need to make him look selfish,” Rashid said.
“I'm not.”
Othman lifted both hands. “Family matters are not mine.”
“Exactly,” Nasma said. “Which is why we are not making the decision here.”
Othman leaned back. “I've brought you an offer range. You can use it as a market signal.”
“Could you buy only one machine?” Yusuf asked.
Nasma turned. “Yusuf.”
“I'm asking for data.”
“Possible,” Othman said. “But the package gives me efficiency in transport and resale.”
“One grinder?”
Othman gave a smaller range.
Yusuf calculated quickly in his head.
Nasma knew exactly what he was counting.
The vehicle deposit.
The supplier.
Cash for distribution.
“You see?” Rashid said. “We're not talking about closing the company. We could sell one non-critical asset.”
“Which one is non-critical?” Nasma asked.
“That's what we need to find out.”
“The buyer will tell us?”
“No. Operations will tell us.”
“Which is why we need an independent valuation plus a dependency map.”
Rashid tapped the desk with one finger. “Every process of yours ends with you saying, not yet.”
Nasma inhaled.
“Then let's build a process that doesn't require me to have the last word.”
The room went quiet.
Yusuf looked at her.
“The family chooses a valuer who is not a buyer. Khalfan provides the accounts. Mama Pendo provides the machine-use schedule. I map production dependencies. Yusuf brings market alternatives and rental costs. Leila gets a copy of the summary. Then the decision belongs to the council, not to me.”
“And this offer?” Rashid asked.
“It stays on the table as an offer. Not as a valuation.”
Othman nodded. “That's correct.”
Rashid gave him an irritated look.
Othman laughed. “I want to buy at a price that's good for me. I'm not going to pretend I'm neutral.”
“Does your offer expire?” Yusuf asked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
Nasma felt the room change.
Another deadline.
“You see?” Rashid said. “The market doesn't wait for all your processes.”
“And fear of a deadline doesn't make a decision good,” Nasma replied.
“But it can make an opportunity disappear,” Yusuf said.
“Yes.”
“And that's a cost you're willing to make the rest of us carry?”
“No. It's a cost we have to write down together.”
Mama Pendo opened the door.
“The line needs the first grinder now.”
Nasma stood.
“Mr. Othman, the visit is over for today.”
Rashid looked ready to object, but Othman was already folding his paper.
They left the office and returned to the machine room.
The operator switched on the grinder. Its heavy roar filled the space.
Nasma watched Othman watching the machine work.
“This is the operational dependency I'm talking about,” she said.
“And that's why I want to buy it,” Othman replied. “A machine that works has a market.”
Yusuf laughed softly. Nasma did not.
When the gate opened for Othman to leave, two workers in packing watched from a distance. The rumour had become a real man who had walked through the factory.
“Today's update,” Nasma told Mama Pendo. “Buyer visited. No sale signed. Independent valuation process begins.”
“People will want to know the offer.”
“The offer is a family financial detail, not a worker operational notice.”
“Good. I was testing you.”
Nasma stared at her.
Mama Pendo smiled and went back to the line.
Rashid waited outside the gate for his ride.
Nasma followed him.
“Uncle.”
“You humiliated me in front of a man I brought here.”
“I didn't mean to.”
“You stopped him taking a photograph as if he were a thief.”
“I stopped information collection the family had not agreed to.”
“It's a grinder, Nasma.”
“It's a grinder people work with and the family is arguing about selling.”
Rashid shook his head.
“Your mother built this company by making decisions, not by forming committees.”
“And maybe that's why we're now searching for records inside people's heads.”
The sentence hurt him. Nasma saw it.
She did not know whether she had crossed a line.
“Don't use her death to win an argument,” Rashid said quietly.
“I'm not. That's exactly what I'm trying to stop all of us from doing.”
His ride arrived.
Before getting in, he said, “Fine. Independent valuer. But this market offer may not exist after tomorrow.”
“I understand.”
Yusuf remained at the gate after Rashid left.
“You know that amount would solve my deposit problem.”
“Yes.”
“And finish the supplier problem.”
“Yes.”
“And payroll.”
“Yes.”
“Then how can you look at it and say we should wait?”
“Because a big number on the table hasn't told me what we'll use to produce next month's orders.”
“Maybe the company isn't supposed to survive at any cost,” Yusuf said.
Nasma looked at him.
“Maybe. But that's a different decision from a panic sale.”
Yusuf did not answer.
That evening, Othman emailed the offer to KVK.
Khalfan forwarded it to the family group without comment.
Nasma read it again.
The amount was even more tempting when written formally.
Underneath it was a single line stating its validity.
Tomorrow, six in the evening.
At eleven that night, Othman sent Yusuf one final message, which Yusuf showed everyone at the table.
**Offer range remains open until tomorrow evening.**
Othman had folded his paper and said it plainly before leaving:
“This price is only here until tomorrow evening.”
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