The Signed Schedule Changed What Delphine Could Call Studio Property

Ruth put both contracts beside a calculator.

"Same stock," she said.

"Same dates?"

"Close enough to matter."

The Glass Orchard opened September 6. Second Moon opened September 8. Each show would travel for six weeks.

The same hair could not ride in two trucks. Once I knotted it into lace, I couldn't take it out for a different show without ruining weeks of work.

"Could she have ordered more?" Ruth asked.

"Then she wouldn't have promised these lot numbers."

I touched the edge of the second contract.

My typed initials appeared beside a line that said stock approved.

"I didn't approve that."

Ruth pulled a thick folder from her cabinet.

She was our outside bookkeeper, not a judge and not my lawyer. She said that first. Then she showed me what she could prove.

The original receipt named Manon Joseph as buyer. My bank statement showed the $18,600 payment. The company balance sheet listed the hair under goods held for owner, separate from studio assets.

Last came the consignment schedule.

Delphine had signed every page.

The studio could display the stock and propose its use. Ownership stayed with me until I signed a lot release and received the agreed payment. I could withdraw unsold stock on five business days' written notice.

No lot releases had been signed.

The client orders still said those lots were set aside. Delphine had checked that box on each form. The checked box made the deposits due, even though she had skipped the owner's release that should have come first.

"We were waiting for the final designs," I said. "I would have billed the studio before we cut anything."

"That's what the file says."

Delphine had seen old hair in old cases. I had seen long, even lengths that would take curl and hold a clean part under bright lamps.

The silver alone had taken me three years to find.

The theater's old records dated the packets between 1912 and 1918. Before buying, I had tested strands for strength, curl, and shedding. Age alone didn't make hair useful. Delphine had called those tests a waste of a weekend. She thought any long gray hair would do.

Ruth called Nina Velez, a lawyer whose office was upstairs.

Nina came down with a yellow pad.

"You want the business closed?" she asked.

"I want my property safe. I want to know what was sold in my name. And I want those performers to have wigs."

"Those are three separate jobs. We'll keep them separate."

She read our company agreement. Delphine managed sales and daily bills. Major asset sales and changes to either member's stake needed both signatures.

A canceled card didn't change that agreement.

Nina sent a notice requesting access to company records. She sent a second notice withdrawing my unsold stock, with a proposed pickup time the following week.

She copied me on both.

At the bottom of the stock notice, she attached the lot schedule.

Forty-eight rows filled the page.

Delphine called before the email receipt arrived.

"You hired a lawyer over a keycard?"

"Over the stock and the records."

"You bought that hair for us."

"Read the schedule."

"We were building something together. You told me that."

"We wrote down how."

I could hear the paper fan opening and closing.

"Do you know what clients will think when you take their materials?"

"Send them the ownership page."

"You always needed someone else to handle people."

I looked at Thiago's number.

"I'm handling them now."

After she hung up, I called him.

I told him the stock was mine. I told him there was another contract using the same six lots. I told him I couldn't promise a delivery plan until I saw the whole booking list.

He asked for the signed schedule.

"You don't want my side first?" I asked.

"I want the dates, quantities, and signatures. Then I'll ask questions."

I sent those pages.

He called back ten minutes later.

"Our producer paid $9,600," he said. "Please don't ask us to pay that again."

"I won't."

That promise scared me more than anything Delphine had said.

I had $2,140 in my personal checking account. Rent at home was due in nine days. A lawyer's first bill would take most of what remained.

Ruth let me use her small meeting room until closing.

I made a list of every person whose head I had measured that spring. Beside each name, I wrote their parting. Left. Right. Center. No part, crown swirl hidden.

It helped me think about people instead of packets.

At five, Ruth brought me a new email.

A producer had forwarded another paid order. Eight copper wigs for The Bellkeeper. A $6,800 deposit.

The promised lots were C01 through C04.

I opened the approved plan for The Copper House. Eight copper wigs. Same lots. A $7,200 deposit.

"Two overlaps," Ruth said.

I drew three blue lines beneath the four deposits.

The total was $32,000.

Then Delphine answered Nina's notice with one sentence.

If Manon removes a single case, I will report a theft.