The knock came hard and fast. Not a polite tap — a warning. Then the voice again, gruff and cold: "You Mikhail DuPont? Come out. We've got business."
Mikhail didn't hesitate. He threw on his jacket and pushed open the workshop's steel door. The night air bit at his face. Two men stood in the glow of his overhead light, not thugs, exactly, but local muscle in cheap suits. The one who had spoken, a square-jawed man with a stiff collar and a clipboard, pointed to the street.
"You've got a summons. Zoning violation review. You didn't file supplemental Form B-34 for non-conforming industrial sites. Bauamt wants you in the office first thing tomorrow."
Mikhail's shoulders relaxed just slightly. Not thugs. Bureaucrats with teeth. He took the paper, scanned it, and snorted. "You woke me up for an incomplete footer section?"
The man didn't blink. "Miss a box, lose a month. See you at 7:30." Then they turned and walked off without another word.
The sun was barely up when Mikhail and Kat stepped into the Bauamt. The building's high glass walls glared down with bureaucratic indifference. Inside, everything smelled like toner, old files, and barely hidden condescension.
Kat leaned in. "They really summoned you over one line on a form?"
"I've seen worse," Mikhail muttered. "This isn't about a box. It's about someone stalling us."
At the front desk, Frau Steiner didn't look up. "DuPont. Again."
Mikhail slid the revised dossier across the counter, complete with Form B-34, newly inked diagrams, and three supplementary declarations from licensed Geotech.
Steiner began flipping. Each turn of the page was a test.
"Your soil load tables are different from yesterday's," she said.
Mikhail tapped a line. "Updated to account for the western slope. That was missing from the initial topography."
Kat watched her closely. Steiner's lips pressed thin. She was looking for a reason to reject them.
Mikhail didn't wait. "Here's a cross-reference to the land use map." He pulled a third file from his briefcase. "And a notarized letter from the town planner confirming the site's transition status."
Steiner paused. "Why do you know this process so well?"
"Because I've been through worse," Mikhail said calmly.
He held her gaze. No arrogance, just certainty.
She stared back for five slow seconds then reached for her stamp.
Kat exhaled. Mikhail held still.
THUMP.
"Provisional permit accepted pending site walkthrough," Steiner said.
Mikhail allowed himself a brief, sharp smile. "When?"
Steiner glanced up. "Now. They're already en route."
Kat blinked. "You're joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
Mikhail grabbed the file, turned, and walked for the exit. "Let's go," he said. "We've got a plant to defend."
They made it back to the plant just ahead of the government car.
The black Opel rolled to a halt in a cloud of pale dust, its chrome badge gleaming like a badge of war. From the passenger side stepped a woman in a tailored grey blazer with a hard face and harder eyes. Clipboard in hand, boots crunching gravel, she surveyed the site like a general approaching hostile terrain.
"Inspector Ingrid Faber," she announced flatly, not offering her hand. "I don't do pleasantries. I verify compliance. If you waste my time, I will bury your permits in procedural mud until next spring."
Mikhail didn't flinch. "Then let's not waste time."
Kat muttered under her breath, "She's charming."
Faber swept past them toward the gate, her heels striking against the ground like gavel blows. "Access roads, Drainage paths, Show me." She barked the demands, not bothering to look behind her.
Mikhail walked beside her, matching her pace. "Graded slope is within tolerance. Drainage trenches are shallow-cut, pending final gravel fill, already scheduled for Monday. We're diverting runoff through natural decline to avoid needing a formal channel."
Faber didn't reply. She crouched, scraped a finger across the trench's edge, then smelled it.
She smelled the dirt.
Kat blinked. "Did she just—?"
"Yes," Mikhail said.
Faber stood, eyes already scanning the framework of the unfinished plant. "Where's your environmental hazard board?"
Mikhail gestured toward the front of the main shed, where a laminated sign hung under plastic. Faber stormed toward it and read it silently.
"Too clean. These things are never this organized. You're hiding something."
"I'm not," Mikhail replied. "I'm just prepared."
She turned on him, suddenly close. "Everyone says that. Then I find rusted tanks, illegal tanks, missing permits, or worse, unsealed limestone powder bins. Is that what I'll find next?"
"No," he said, meeting her stare. "You'll find a site that's ugly, loud, and legal. I didn't cut corners. I built this like it had to survive artillery fire."
Faber tilted her head slightly, like she was testing for sarcasm. She didn't find any.
"You've done your homework," she said, voice cooling half a degree. "But I still don't like you."
"I'm not here to be liked," Mikhail said. "I'm here to build."
They moved into the mixing shed next. The machinery was still half-assembled, but the blue safety barriers were in place. Clean. Labeled. Faber checked the clearance under the steel hopper, ducking under without hesitation.
"Who installed the rebar grid on the floor?" she asked.
"I did," Kat said, stepping forward.
Faber looked at her for the first time. "Your welds are clean."
Kat blinked. "Thank you?"
"Don't get cocky," Faber snapped. "This place might be passable. But the final decision will happen next week. Full inspection. You've bought time, nothing more."
She turned on her heel and stalked toward the car. But halfway there, she stopped, eyeing a stack of marked limestone.
"You're sourcing local?"
Mikhail nodded. "From the quarry on-site. Testing confirms density well within spec."
Faber narrowed her eyes. "You're playing a dangerous game, DuPont. Skipping intermediaries makes enemies."
"I'm used to enemies," he replied, calm as stone.
Faber's lip twitched, not a smile, but something close. Then she got in the car and slammed the door.
The engine growled, the tires spun grit, and the Opel vanished down the road.
Kat turned to Mikhail. "You just passed through hell with a grin."
"I'm not smiling," he said.
"You are."
He turned toward the plant. "Let's get the mixer ready. We've only got six days to make it real."
And behind them, deep inside the shed, the ancient conveyor system groaned loudly then snapped.