Finn Brought His Asset List Into A Room With Rules

The hearing came twelve days after I found the new lock.

By then, Mara and Finn's lawyer had agreed in writing that nobody would use or move the three machines until the judge heard Finn's request. Finn had signed. So had I.

Customers could collect their sails by appointment. Two had already done it.

I wore my only dark jacket to court. A green thread clung to its cuff. I picked it off while we waited outside the room.

"Answer what you're asked," Mara said. "If you don't remember, say so."

"I remember buying them."

"That's a good place to begin."

Finn sat with a lawyer named Owen Pike. Finn had a new folder with our studio name printed across it. Mine had a coffee ring on the back.

The judge asked what urgent harm Finn wanted the court to prevent.

Owen said the company would lose the ability to fill its orders if I took the machines. He said there was a dispute over who owned them.

Mara laid out our copies in order.

Purchase agreement. Payment ledger. Final receipt. Bill of sale. Equipment schedule.

The judge spent the longest time on the equipment schedule.

"Mr. Rourke, is that your signature?"

"Yes. But we built the business around those machines."

"I'm asking about this agreement."

"I signed it when we started."

"Has there been a later purchase agreement?"

Owen stood.

"My client believes company payments may establish an interest."

Mara provided the $4,920 list with the matching expense receipts. She gave the judge Lena's statement that the machines had never belonged to her or come with the lease.

The judge asked Owen whether he had a document showing a sale to the company.

He said he did not have one that day.

Finn leaned toward him and whispered. I watched Owen's mouth tighten.

When I was asked about the machines, I gave their numbers. I explained how I had bought them before the company existed. I said the company had used them free under the signed schedule.

"Why did you end that arrangement?" Owen asked.

"My partner locked me out and said they weren't mine."

"You knew taking them would disrupt work?"

"Yes. That's why I offered seven days' notice and asked for the customer money to be accounted for."

He asked whether I would keep lending the machines if Finn let me back in.

My first thought was of Ruth's sail. Then I remembered the drill turning in the lock.

"I would need an agreement I could trust," I said. "I don't have one now."

The judge denied Finn's request to keep the machines in place. She made clear that other company claims could still be heard later. This hearing did not close the business or decide every dollar between us.

Out in the hall, the lawyers worked on a written pickup agreement. It would allow the three machines, their stands, and my listed hand tools to leave Friday morning. The customer sails would stay in separate marked bags for collection.

Finn read the page twice.

"What am I supposed to sew with?" he asked me.

"You should tell the customers you can't promise that work."

"You could buy new machines with me."

"You haven't shown me the bank balance."

He looked back down and signed.

I had pictured feeling big when he lost. Instead, I felt tired enough to sleep on the hall bench.

Mara gave me a copy before I left.

"Get insured movers," she said. "Take pictures. Follow the list exactly."

I asked about the big cutting table. We had bought that together during our first year. She shook her head, and I crossed it off my own rough list. Even the lamp I liked stayed behind. I wanted my work back. I could not make every useful thing in the room mine just because Finn had tried to do that to me.

That cost another $480. I paid from my own account and kept the invoice.

I arranged short-term space in a marine repair shed across town. The owner would rent me a dry bay for $250 a week. I could inspect and store the machines there while the old company was sorted out.

"No fuel cans by my cloth," I told him.

"No cloth by my fuel cans," he said.

It was the first business talk that had made me smile in days.

Alma called while I measured the bay. She had gone with me to the bank that morning. I was still an authorized company signer, though Finn had blocked our online accounts. The bank had promised printed statements and check images.

"They arrived," she said.

"How much is there?"

She took a breath.

"The balance is $3,100. And there's a new expense line you need to see."