The Accounting Hearing Put His Transfers Beside His Sworn Answers

I gave the detective copies through Nina. He asked for originals he could inspect, and we arranged that too.

"Tell me what you saw yourself," he said.

So I did. The lock. The sales post. The lost account access. I told him which things Ruth had found and which things customers had reported.

I didn't guess what Wade had spent the money on.

That took more care than I expected.

For six weeks, I repaired home machines in garages around Little Rock. My nine tables stood in my own garage after the regional, covered with clean sheets. I paid my mortgage with service calls, not a lawsuit I hoped to win.

June and Eric came by one afternoon. She wanted to learn to solder.

"On scrap first," I said.

He paid me $45 for an hour. She learned to keep the iron tip clean and leave a joint still while it cooled.

"Waiting is part of it?" she asked.

"A big part."

After they left, I entered the lesson fee in my own ledger. That month, my smallest repair bill was $28 for cleaning a stuck switch. My largest was $640 for a board rebuild and parts.

Each customer got the same kind of receipt. I needed that steady work. It also helped to finish something in an afternoon, hear it run, and know exactly what I had earned before I drove home.

In late October, Nina called about the accounting hearing.

Ruth's finished report matched sixty-one entries to $10,980 in payments. It matched that total to personal transfers Wade had labeled advances. There were no approved loans, venue deposits, meal orders, or event insurance payments behind them.

The money had not gone back.

Wade filed a claim for $4,200 in storage. He also claimed that letting the arcade use my tables had made them a gift.

"Both arguments?" I asked Nina.

"We'll answer both."

At the courthouse, Wade wore a gray jacket I had never seen. He looked at my shoes, then my folder.

"You enjoying all this?" he asked.

"No."

That seemed to bother him more than anything else I might have said.

We sat through another case first. The courtroom clock clicked louder than I expected. I kept the brass washer in my closed palm. I didn't tap it there.

When our case was called, Nina started with the equipment.

She showed the receipts, the statements, the schedule, and the pickup record. Wade's lawyer agreed there was no later written transfer of title.

Then came his storage demand.

"Did Tall Pine ever invoice Ms. Whitfield for storage before the lock change?" Nina asked him.

"We had an understanding."

"Is that understanding in this signed agreement?"

He looked down.

The agreement said no storage charge was owed. The judge read that line aloud.

Next, Ruth explained the fees. Her report was plain. Each row led to a receipt and a bank record.

"You called these owner advances," Nina said to Wade. "Where is Ms. Whitfield's approval?"

"She was busy with repairs. I handled growth."

"Where is her approval?"

"There isn't a signature."

His lawyer asked Ruth whether a small business could plan events before signing venue contracts.

"It could," she said. "My finding is that these funds were removed for personal use without the required approval or an event reserve."

Celia testified about her name on the flyers. She read the note from August ninth.

Wade said she had sounded excited.

"I often sound pleasant," she told the judge. "I still need to agree to a job."

I looked at my hands so I wouldn't smile.

The judge took the remaining issues under review. A week later, Nina sent me the written ruling.

It confirmed my ownership of all nine tables and rejected the storage claim. It found Wade responsible for the unauthorized $10,980 and ordered him to restore it to a controlled company account for customer refunds.

With both owners requesting an end to Tall Pine by then, the court also approved a supervised windup. Wade could no longer collect money or act for the company on his own.

The ruling didn't hand me his half of the business. It gave us a way to close it with the bills and records in view.

I read the pages at my kitchen table.

My garage smelled faintly of old wood and warm solder. Outside, a neighbor's dog barked at a leaf truck.

"They're mine," I said into the phone.

"They always were," Nina answered. "Now that issue is settled."

We still had refunds to recover and closing costs to pay. My legal bill and the moving bill were separate claims we were trying to settle.

Before I could put the ruling away, Nina sent another message.

Wade's lawyer had attached an offer, with a deadline of five o'clock the next day.