My Old Supply Receipt Appeared Beneath a New Sale Release

The signature looked like mine because it was mine.

I knew the long tail on the D. I knew the shaky final stroke, made when a delivery driver had handed me a pen with a loose tip.

But I had signed a receipt for rivets and corner leather. I had never signed away anybody's accordion.

"Can you find that receipt?" Mara asked.

"The order was $76.40. February."

She looked up.

"You remember the amount?"

"We were short two corner pieces. I wrote it beside my name."

At home, the receipt was in the cabinet's bottom drawer. The supplier had emailed a copy to our shop account. Dorian had access to that account.

My original showed the missing-piece note and my signature. A gray crease crossed the paper just under the D.

The auction release had the same crease, cut off at both ends.

Mara put the papers side by side.

"This gives us something solid to challenge. Keep the original flat."

The false release was dated Sunday. It said all three owners had accepted shop credit in place of their instruments. The credit amounts were blank.

Even on its face, it was unfinished.

"Why would Cora accept this?" I asked.

"She asked for more proof. That's when he sent it. People under pressure sometimes want a page that lets them stop asking."

Cora had now stopped accepting Dorian's answers. She agreed in writing to hold the two accordions still at her warehouse while the claims were reviewed.

Two.

"What about the pearl one?" I asked.

Mara read the message again.

"Listed as out on private preview. She's checking the movement record."

It had left Monday morning, before our first demand reached the auction office. Cora could account for its arrival and its departure, but she had not handled the private payment. Dorian had arranged that himself.

Friday was three days away. A promise from an auction owner could not stop Dorian from selling something in his truck.

Mara prepared papers asking the court to stop any sale or transfer of the three originals. The owners supplied signed statements and their records. June signed for her mother's estate.

I supplied the shop inventory and the lease rider. My own request covered access to records, protection of the business property, and an accounting as our partnership ended.

We kept those issues clear. I rented the room. The customers owned their accordions. Dorian and I still had business assets to divide.

That afternoon, I used my existing bank access to download statements before anything else vanished.

The customer deposit balance should have been $1,280. That included Theo's extra $300 and advances from several of the eight customers whose instruments were safe.

Dorian had moved the whole $1,280 to his personal account on Friday.

A separate $3,900 payment had arrived Monday, then gone to the same account. Its memo read PEARL PREVIEW DEPOSIT.

I printed the statements with the dates showing. I could prove where the money went. I could not yet prove why he had taken it.

Mara asked for a neutral accountant to sort that out.

At the shop, Sabine helped customers sign out their instruments. She checked each number against my copy before she handed over a case.

"I can run a band," she said. "I can run a line."

One woman studied me over her glasses.

"He said you were confused about the business."

I handed her the intake photograph.

"Is this your accordion?"

"Yes."

"Is that the one in your case?"

She looked, then nodded.

"That's what I'm certain about," I said.

She signed her receipt and asked when I would take repairs again.

For the first time that week, I could picture an answer.

Late Wednesday morning, Mara called with a hearing time for Thursday. The owners needed to attend. The papers had been delivered to Dorian, and Cora had agreed to bring her records.

I wrote the time on an index card.

Dorian arrived while I was copying it for Sabine.

He stayed outside the locked door. I spoke through the glass.

"Everything goes through Mara now."

"You think that rider makes you queen?"

"It makes me the tenant."

He held up his phone. On it was the false release.

"Your name's on the sales. Mine isn't the only neck out."

I wrote his exact words after he left. Then I called Mara.

She asked me to email the note and go home with someone. Sabine drove behind me through the rain.

At my kitchen table, I laid out tomorrow's clothes and the original supply receipt.

My phone rang just before ten.

Cora's voice was low and tired.

"I found the movement sheet. Dorian signed the pearl accordion out himself. The return date is Friday, but there's no address in the space below his name."