"As for this, it's an abandoned garage I found on the edge of Queens, near the junction of the Flushing industrial area and Willets Point. Although the environment is harsh, the rent is extremely cheap. Most importantly, it has a three-phase industrial power interface, enough to run high-power equipment."
"An abandoned garage? We're opening a factory?"
Sarah looked at her fifteen-year-old niece, feeling like her brain couldn't quite process this.
"But where will the rent and equipment come from?"
Alice stood up, her icy blue eyes flashing with ambitious light.
"I've already paid a year's rent. As for the equipment, Aunt Sarah, go change. We're going treasure hunting, using the inheritance my mother left me."
...
The junction of Queens and Brooklyn, the Iron Triangle of Willets Point, New York's famous center for auto repair and scrap metal recycling.
A rented Ford F-150 pickup truck bumped to a stop in front of a massive scrapyard called Old George's Industrial Recycling.
Rusty wheel hubs and exhaust pipes hung on the chain-link fence, and several stray dogs wandered among the hills of scrapped cars.
"Alice, are we really going in?" Sarah covered her nose, her sneakers carefully avoiding the oil stains on the ground.
Several Latino workers nearby, covered in tattoos and wearing greasy overalls, were sitting on the hood of a scrapped Cadillac smoking. The looks they cast were undisguisedly aggressive.
This made Sarah, a single woman, feel an instinctive fear.
"Stay close to me, don't talk, and stay indifferent."
Alice pulled down the brim of her baseball cap and pointed to the mountain of scrap machinery ahead.
"Buying equipment—a brand-new vacuum homogenizing emulsifier costs thirty thousand dollars, and a used one is ten thousand, but here, they're sold at scrap metal prices."
She walked into the scrapyard, weaving through those rusty behemoths with practiced ease.
"System, load character card—Ai Haibara."
As her rationality surged, in Alice's eyes, those pieces of scrap metal were instantly deconstructed into countless usable parts.
[High-carbon steel, structural damage, unusable.]
[Brass valve, 80% sealing, repairable.]
[Industrial motor, coil burned out, casing intact.]
...
"That's obsolete equipment from the Revlon New Jersey plant that went bankrupt a few years ago."
Alice walked over to a dust-covered stainless steel tank that even had grass growing on it, wiping the nameplate with her sleeve.
"A 500-liter vacuum mixing tank. Although the external motor is completely burned out and the control panel was smashed by workers, the core 316L food-grade stainless steel liner is intact. Look at this weld; it's top-tier argon arc welding, which factories nowadays stopped using long ago to save money."
Saying that, she walked to another pile of scrap metal, rummaged through a pile of car parts for a while, and dragged out a heavy component shaped like a snail shell.
"This is a high-speed centrifugal pump from a medical waste treatment plant. Just replace the ceramic bearings and give it an ultrasonic cleaning, and it can generate incredible shear force."
Sarah looked at her niece in stunned silence.
This little girl, who usually only read books and was somewhat withdrawn, was now kicking the huge tank hard and listening to the echo to judge the wall thickness, her movements as skilled as an old mechanic who had worked for thirty years.
"Hey, that tank isn't for sale separately."
A gruff shout came.
The owner of the scrapyard, a bearded white man whose belly was so large he looked like he was carrying triplets, walked over.
He had half a nearly extinguished cigar in his mouth and was carrying a crowbar.
Old George squinted at the two women, one large and one small, with a hint of contempt in his eyes.
"Little girl, you want that mixing tank? Two hundred dollars, haul it away yourself. No delivery, no returns."
Sarah wanted to pull out her wallet upon hearing this, but Alice stopped her.
Alice looked up, her icy blue eyes staring directly at Old George, her gaze as cold as a Siberian wind.
"One hundred dollars."
"What?" Old George was stunned for a moment.
"One hundred dollars." Alice pointed to a ring of rust at the bottom of the tank. "The quick-install chuck at the bottom is deformed; I'll have to pay someone to machine it. The Teflon scraper inside has definitely aged into dross; just replacing the seals will cost me fifty bucks."
As she spoke, she pointed to the mountain-like trash pile behind Old George.
"Also, throw in that broken central air conditioning compressor behind you. I know the copper pipes inside have leaked refrigerant, and you'd only make twenty bucks selling it to a copper smelter, but I need its condenser coils to make a heat exchanger."
The cigar almost fell out of Old George's mouth.
He had run this scrapyard for twenty years, and this was the first time he had been verbally dominated with such professional terminology by a little girl who barely reached his shoulder.
She not only knew what the tank was, but was even clear about the wear parts inside.
"Whose factory owner's daughter are you? Damn, what's wrong with kids these days?" Old George muttered, setting aside his contempt. "One hundred and fifty, plus that broken compressor. But you'll have to figure out how to get it on the truck yourselves; my forklift driver is still hungover."
"No problem. Aunt Sarah, go get the jack and tow rope from the truck. We're going to transport this Beast back to our new home."
------------------------
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