Open by saying you'll only take five minutes. Push off from this if it helps: a locked door in a building you work in.

It’s not five minutes, Pia, it’s four. You always overestimate. And don't call it the manager; it's Mr. Henderson, and he has a way of hearing footsteps from two floors up. Is that the ledger you were talking about? It looks much smaller in person. Actually, it looks like something you'd find in a dusty corner of a thrift shop, not an archive.

Calfskin is fine, but it looks quite worn. Are you sure it's the missing piece? It's hard to imagine the whole history of the estate being tucked into something so thin. Besides, you're holding it like it’s made of glass. If you drop it, you'll probably just blame the dust. Still, it's a lot of money to risk for a book that looks like it's seen better days.

It’s not a steal if you have to empty your savings just to own it. You talk about the weight of names as if they'll hold you up when you're actually paying for it. I suppose if the ink hasn't faded entirely, it might be worth something to a collector. But you don't have a collector's life, Pia. You have a job to finish. Is that it? Is that all?

Prestige is a heavy thing to carry around in a tote bag. And a deposit? That's just a polite way of saying you're asking for a loan. You know my rent at the terrace isn't getting any cheaper, and my brother's wedding is in June—though God knows why we're even celebrating him. It's an expensive sentiment, Pia. For a book that looks like it might crumble if the wind shifts.

"Once the ink settles"? That makes it sound like it's alive. It’s a book, Pia, not a growing thing. You keep talking about its value as if it's guaranteed. It’s more like a guess. And you're being awfully insistent. If the ink is so important, why are you trying to push it onto someone else? Just give it back to the archive before Henderson starts pacing the hallway. The leather is catching the light.

Tuesday? That's a remarkably specific deadline for a dusty ledger. It's a bit dramatic, isn't it? Like you're trying to engineer a sense of urgency because the price is too high. If it's so perfect, let it wait. You're practically sweating over it. If someone else's hands get on it, they'll probably just put it on a shelf and forget it exists, much like you're doing with everything else.

Bristol? That’s nearly two hundred miles away. Are you implying you’ve already promised it to someone there? That's a bit dishonest, even for you. And don't tell me how to move; the trains to the terrace run on a schedule for a reason. You're talking in circles to cover the fact that you need the money now. If it's so urgent, why are you still standing here arguing with me instead of catching the bus?

A signature? You didn't mention a signature. You mentioned a deposit. Now you're shifting the goalposts because you know the paper is thin. Being "difficult" is just a way to call me something when you can't win the argument. If you need to win a sale so badly, you shouldn't have brought it to me. It's too much pressure. Besides, if it's so important, why does it need my name on it right now?

"Just a name"? You’re trying to turn a transaction into a compliment. It’s clever, but it’s still a transaction. If the paperwork needs a witness, go find the clerk at the front desk. They have plenty of time to sit there. You’re acting as if we're standing on a precipice instead of just being in a dusty hallway. And if you need my taste to validate it, maybe you don't trust it as much as you say.