The Lockbox Went To A Lawyer Instead Of His Buyer

I spread the titles across my kitchen table, away from the coffee.

Each one named Maritza Valdes. None named Prairie Lantern Events.

Tomas read over my shoulder.

"So we lock the shop and change the gate code."

"No. We get someone who knows which doors we're allowed to close."

He pulled out a chair.

"I'm listening."

It sounded like a promise he was making with effort.

The next morning, I took the lockbox to Dana Pike, a lawyer whose office had a boot tray beside every desk. November slush left gray tracks across Minot, and she had no interest in putting it on her carpet.

"Start with what you signed," she said.

I handed her our operating agreement, then the equipment lease.

At formation, I had kept the fleet in my own name. The company rented it for $2,500 a month. My pay for operating it was separate. Orson had signed both documents after his own accountant reviewed them.

Dana turned to the schedule.

Every trailer had a vehicle identification number. Every floor crate had a list of panel serial numbers. The chiller, pump, hoses, boards, and rental skates were listed too.

"Who paid for later replacements?"

"I did, except disposable supplies. The company reimbursed fuel and bought flood hoses last year. Those hoses aren't on my list."

"Good. We keep the line clear."

She asked about the lockbox itself. I told her it had stayed at home, and Orson had never held its key. We made copies for the case. She returned each original to its sleeve while I watched, then had me check the contents before I closed the lid.

She compared purchase receipts with bank statements. I had brought those in dated envelopes.

Orson called during the third envelope.

Dana asked whether I wanted her on the call.

"Please."

"You're making me look unreliable," he said when I answered.

"Who is the buyer?"

"A dealer west of town. It was an opportunity."

Dana introduced herself.

For a moment, all we heard was his turn signal.

"This is an internal business matter," he said.

"Then send the proposed sale agreement and the company records," she said. "My client has not agreed to sell her property."

"She put it into the business."

"I have the lease in front of me."

"That was for taxes."

"Please send any written agreement that changed it."

He stopped calling it an opportunity.

He said he had worked for three years building our name. He said I didn't understand relationships. He said a buyer would never pay that much for used equipment again.

Dana let him finish.

"The titles will remain with Ms. Valdes. Send the records today."

Afterward, she put a yellow tab on the lease's default clause. The company was three months behind on rent: $7,500. I had let it slide because Orson said town payments were late.

The lease required written notice and seven days to cure that missed rent. It also barred any sale or pledge of my equipment.

"We give proper notice," Dana said. "We notify the buyer of your ownership. If return is disputed, we ask the court. You don't tow anything away tonight."

"How much to begin?"

"A $3,000 advance. I'll account for the time against it."

I wrote the check. It hurt. It also felt like paying for a sound hitch before a long pull.

By noon, the buyer had replied to Dana. He hadn't paid Orson anything. He had asked for proof of ownership before collecting the fleet.

He attached Orson's offer.

Seller warranted that all listed property belonged to Prairie Lantern Events, free of other claims.

There was Orson's signature beneath it.

I drew a small blue square on a sticky note and placed it beside the page. Dana looked at it.

"Something unfinished," I said.

"Several things, I think."

That afternoon, Freya called about the January site survey.

"Orson says your maintenance dispute might affect delivery."

"There is an ownership dispute. My lawyer is handling it. I won't promise your committee equipment until we have a clear path."

"Thank you for saying that plainly."

She paused.

"He told me to pay the first installment early. Was that your request?"

"No. Please follow your contract and have your treasurer speak with counsel before changing payments."

I asked her to email the request. She did.

Orson had offered a $900 discount for a $7,200 payment that week.

I hadn't known he was offering discounts.

At six, Tomas brought supper to my house. He set two paper bags beside the lockbox.

"I didn't call him," he said.

"Thank you."

"I did check the public delivery calendar. December twelfth is blank. That's odd. We're booked through February."

Before I could answer, Dana forwarded a scanned letter received from Orson's personal lender.

The balance was $31,400.

Under Proposed Source Of Repayment, someone had typed: Sale Of Rink Fleet.