The Court Asked For Evidence Instead Of His Assurance

The complaint valued the harm I had supposedly caused at more than $3,000,000.

I read that number twice while standing beside my kitchen sink.

According to Rook Bend, I had taken company material, interfered with its sale, and refused to return property when asked. Its lawyers wanted an order that would make me surrender the archive while ownership was decided.

"Don't answer him," Priya said when I called. "Send the papers."

"I don't have three million dollars."

"A number in a complaint isn't a judgment."

I sat down.

"What do you need?"

"The record. Start at the beginning."

Over the weekend, we built a plain timeline. I listed when I bought each recorder, when I made each group of recordings, and when each plant granted access. Priya matched those entries with Schedule A.

An independent computer examiner came to my house. Under a written protocol, she checked my personal archive without giving either side its contents. She recorded file dates, device records, and digital fingerprints that could identify exact copies.

She also checked the inventory against the materials Rook Bend claimed were missing.

I had their list because they attached it to their complaint.

It was Schedule A with the ownership column removed.

Elena brought groceries on Sunday and found the pages spread across my table.

"Can I help?"

I gave her a stack of recorder receipts to put in order. She worked without asking me to tell the whole story again.

At ten, she pointed to two dates I had swapped in my draft statement. I fixed them before signing.

"Even the small stuff?" she asked.

"Especially what I swear to."

She placed the corrected page beside the receipt and weighed both down with a clean coffee mug.

"They used my own list," I said.

Priya turned the pages side by side.

"The court will see both."

Her response included my sworn statement, the signed license, the employment exception, and the examiner's limited findings. She also filed a counterclaim over any transfer beyond the license.

We asked for records showing where copies had gone and an order to prevent further transfer while the dispute was heard.

On Monday, I wore the suit I had bought for Elena's graduation. The courthouse stone looked almost black in the morning rain.

Alistair stood outside the courtroom with two attorneys. He gave me a look that once would have made me check whether I had forgotten a meeting.

I kept walking.

At the hearing, his attorney called the archive the core of the company's product.

I remembered being told I merely recorded noises.

Priya did not smile. She marked the phrase on her pad.

The judge asked Alistair's attorney to identify a signed document that gave Rook Bend title to my listed archive.

He pointed to the employment agreement.

The judge read the exception.

"And the agreement it refers to?"

Priya handed up the founding license.

The room became very quiet while the judge read section seven.

"Your client signed this?" she asked the company's attorney.

"The signature appears to be his. Our position concerns later company investment."

"That may support an argument you can develop. Today you are asking me to order delivery of disputed property. Where is the evidence of an agreed transfer?"

He mentioned salaries, hosting costs, and improvements to the software.

The judge asked her question again.

There was no paper to hand her.

She denied the emergency demand for my masters. She did not decide final ownership that morning. Both sides then agreed to a temporary order preserving records and preventing further library transfers while leaving permitted customer service in place.

The judge set a prompt schedule for a limited inspection of export logs and contract records.

No mill had to stop a line because two men were fighting over a contract.

Outside, Alistair caught up with me near the stairs.

"You know what litigation costs?"

"I've started finding out."

"You'll run out before we do."

Priya stepped beside me.

"Speak through counsel."

He looked at her, then walked away.

That evening I had $11,460 left in my roof account. Legal bills and the examiner's fee had taken a visible bite. A loose gutter scraped outside my bedroom, a sound I had been putting off fixing.

I slept badly.

The first records arrived on Wednesday under the court's schedule. We reviewed them at Priya's office, with the examiner joining by video.

An export log showed the complete library had been uploaded to a buyer diligence workspace at 3:22 on the day I was fired.

Mara's first consent call had come at 4:48.

Then Priya opened an email produced with the export records. Alistair had written it to the finance director two weeks before the firing.

"I know the old license requires Raf's consent," it said. "Keep him off buyer calls until we have the release signed."