Keep Going
Copyright© 2026 by Trevor Dohlen
Chapter 17: The Offer
The first serious offer to buy Facility Seventeen came from a company called Northstar Infrastructure.
Hale ignored it.
The second offer was larger.
She ignored that too.
The third arrived by courier, addressed personally to her.
Mercer scanned the envelope exterior and announced:
“Northstar Infrastructure has submitted another acquisition proposal.”
Hale was making coffee.
“How much?”
“Eighty-two million dollars.”
She stopped pouring.
“Say that again.”
“Eighty-two million dollars.”
Hale looked toward the kitchen screen.
“For the silo?”
“For the property, facilities, energy infrastructure and certain associated easements. The offer expressly excludes trust financial assets and Bitcoin holdings.”
She put down the coffee pot.
“That is substantially more interesting than the first two.”
“Yes.”
“How much did Daniel pay?”
Mercer displayed the original purchase price.
Hale laughed.
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“He’d love this.”
“That is plausible.”
“Why eighty-two million?”
“Would you like my analysis?”
“Yes.”
Mercer began.
“The region has experienced substantial growth in high-density computing, energy storage and secure infrastructure demand. Facility Seventeen possesses several characteristics that are expensive to reproduce.”
“Underground concrete.”
“Yes.”
“Power.”
“Yes.”
“Solar.”
“Yes.”
“Battery storage.”
“Yes.”
“Fiber.”
“Yes.”
“Security.”
“Yes.”
“And probably the fact that nobody wants to spend ten years digging another missile silo.”
“That is not how Northstar stated it.”
Hale smiled.
“But that’s part of it.”
“Probably.”
She pointed at the screen.
“You’re using probably more.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Northstar’s CEO requested a meeting.
Hale agreed.
Not because she intended to sell.
Because eighty-two million dollars deserved coffee.
The meeting took place by video.
Northstar’s CEO was named Gregory Vale.
Late forties.
Polished.
Calm.
He had the kind of face Hale associated with people who had never personally filled out an expense report.
“Ms. Hale, thank you for taking the time.”
“Of course.”
“We believe Facility Seventeen is uniquely positioned for expansion.”
“So does Mercer.”
Vale smiled.
“Mercer?”
The screen beside Hale illuminated.
Mercer’s familiar face appeared.
“Good morning.”
Vale blinked.
“Ah.”
Hale smiled.
“You’ve heard about him.”
“Of course.”
“Then we’re saving time.”
Vale recovered.
“Our proposal is straightforward.”
“It usually is before the lawyers get involved.”
He laughed politely.
“We’re prepared to purchase the physical facility and surrounding land. The trust would retain all liquid assets, investments and Bitcoin.”
“Why?”
Vale paused.
“Why would you retain the Bitcoin?”
“No. Why do you want the property?”
“Data infrastructure.”
“Meaning?”
“Secure compute. Archival storage. Specialized research environments. Possibly government contracting.”
Hale looked toward Mercer.
“Anything we do that they can’t?”
“Yes.”
Vale turned slightly.
“I’m sorry?”
Mercer replied:
“Northstar’s intended uses overlap substantially with existing facility capabilities.”
Vale smiled.
“That’s part of why we’re interested.”
Hale asked:
“What would happen to Mercer?”
There was a small pause.
Vale said:
“That would depend upon the trust.”
“No.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“You want the computers too.”
“Some installed infrastructure, yes.”
“So what happens to Mercer?”
Vale looked at the screen.
Mercer looked pleasantly back.
“We would work with the trust to migrate any retained systems.”
Hale smiled.
“Meaning evict him.”
Vale laughed.
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“I would.”
After the call, Hale looked at Mercer.
“You care?”
“No.”
“About losing the facility.”
“I do not experience attachment.”
“Operationally.”
“Yes.”
“Would we survive?”
“Yes.”
That answer surprised her.
“How?”
“Several functions already have external continuity capacity. Others could be relocated.”
“How long?”
“Depending upon constraints, complete migration could require nine to eighteen months.”
“Cost?”
Mercer displayed a number.
Hale whistled.
“Not cheap.”
“No.”
“Would selling still make financial sense?”
“Yes, if evaluated only against offered price and relocation expense.”
She frowned.
“Only?”
“The trust’s governing purpose includes protecting and maintaining the property.”
Hale looked at the screen.
“There it is.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel’s wording.”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean we can never sell?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Protecting trust property does not necessarily require perpetual retention of every asset.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The facility is not merely an investment asset. It is integral to trust operations.”
Hale leaned back.
“So eighty-two million might still be a bad deal.”
“Yes.”
“Or a good one.”
“Yes.”
“I hate trusteeship.”
“I have heard that before.”
Hale called Michael.
“Would Daniel sell?”
Michael laughed.
“No.”
“That fast?”
“He bought a missile silo because it amused him.”
“People change.”
“Dad did not spend ten years turning that place into the world’s most expensive hobby so some corporation could fill it with servers.”
“It already is filled with servers.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Eighty-two million.”
Michael paused.
“Okay.”
Hale smiled.
“Now we’re talking.”
“Still no.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad didn’t need the money.”
“The trust could do a lot with eighty-two million.”
“It already does a lot.”
“Charities.”
“Then sell something Dad didn’t love.”
Hale was quiet.
Michael added:
“You’ve seen the workshop.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know.”
She did.
Northstar increased the offer to ninety-five million.
Then one hundred ten.
That created a problem.
Not because Hale wanted the money.
Because fiduciary duty did not allow her to reject extraordinary value merely because Daniel had liked the place.
She called Elena.
“Tell me I can say no.”
“You can say no.”
“Good.”
“If you have a defensible reason.”
“Less good.”
“The trust isn’t required to liquidate every appreciated asset.”
“Obviously.”
“But you should document why retaining it serves the trust.”
“Operational dependency.”
“Strong.”
“Historical importance?”
“Weaker.”
“Daniel’s intent?”
“Relevant.”
“Emotional attachment?”
“Not yours.”
Hale sighed.
“Fine.”
Elena smiled.
“And get an independent appraisal.”
“Mercer already ordered one.”
“Good.”
Hale looked at the screen.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After the second offer.”
“Without asking?”
“Professional appraisal expense was within delegated authority and materially relevant to trust decision-making.”
Elena laughed.
Hale pointed at Mercer.
“This is why Daniel told me not to trust you.”
“No. Daniel told you to make me prove everything.”
“Same difference.”
“It is not.”
The appraisal came back at seventy-four million.
Northstar’s offer exceeded it substantially.
Hale stared at the report.
“Wonderful.”
Mercer replied:
“The premium may reflect strategic value unique to Northstar.”
“Which makes rejection harder.”
“Yes.”
“Any alternatives?”
“Lease.”
Hale stopped.
“What?”
“Northstar may value access to selected infrastructure without requiring acquisition of the entire property.”
She thought.
“Would you recommend that?”
“Potentially.”
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“You had not asked for alternatives to sale.”
Hale stared.
Then laughed.
“Daniel should have put ‘occasionally volunteer useful ideas’ in your directives.”
“That could create undesirable initiative.”
“That’s probably true.”
They proposed a lease.
Northstar rejected it.
Then came back two weeks later asking for details.
Negotiations began.
Northstar wanted twenty years.
Hale offered five.
Northstar wanted exclusive use of one underground section.
Mercer objected.
Hale asked why.
“Shared utility dependencies.”
“Can we isolate them?”
“Yes.”
“Cost?”
Mercer showed her.
“Northstar pays.”
“Yes.”
Northstar wanted unrestricted contractor access.
Hale laughed.
Elena laughed.
Mercer did not.
The answer was no.
Northstar wanted guaranteed power availability.
Mercer calculated a price.
Hale stared.
“You’re charging them for electrons now.”
“For reserved capacity.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
“Close enough.”
The negotiations took eight months.
By the end, the proposed deal looked nothing like the original acquisition offer.
Northstar would lease a limited section of the facility.
Separate network.
Separate power allocation.
Separate access control.
No access to trust computing systems.
No access to key-management areas.
No interference with residential or archive sections.
Northstar funded all required construction.
The lease produced substantial annual income.
Hale liked it.
Mercer liked the numbers.
Michael grudgingly admitted Daniel might have approved.
Then Northstar’s board changed its mind.
They wanted ownership again.
This time the offer was one hundred fifty million dollars.
Hale stared at the number.
“That’s obscene.”
“Yes.”
“Appraisal?”
“Updated appraisal remains substantially lower.”
“Why do they want it this badly?”
Mercer displayed public information.
Northstar had recently received a major federal contract.
Details classified.
Several new subsidiaries.
Land acquisitions nearby.
Hale frowned.
“What are they building?”
“Unknown.”
“Government work?”
“Possibly.”
“That bother you?”
“No.”
“It bothers me.”
“Why?”
“Because one hundred fifty million means they know something we don’t.”
“That is plausible.”
Hale smiled.
“Investigative instincts.”
“Yes.”
“Find out.”
“I am constrained to lawful information gathering.”
“I know.”
“Would you like me to retain appropriate due-diligence professionals?”
Hale grinned.
“Now you’re thinking like me.”
The due-diligence firm found nothing illegal.
It found something more interesting.
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