The Judge Read The Page Travis Said Nobody Needed To See

I wore the same navy blouse I wore to restaurant tastings. June told me I didn't need new clothes to tell the truth.

At the courthouse in Biloxi, Travis held the door for me.

"We can still work this out," he said.

"You can speak to June."

He sighed as if I had refused a simple favor.

Inside, lawyers for both lenders took seats near the front. They had received our ownership records, but neither had yet released its claim. Sandbar wanted time to review its file. Laurel argued that my long use of the trailers in our business might matter.

June leaned close.

"Today is about keeping things safe while the case proceeds. It may not finish everything."

I nodded. My $2,500 retainer check had cleared that morning. I knew patience had a price, too.

Travis testified first. He described how he had offered the lot, found customers, and built a business from nothing.

"Liza handled production," he said. "I handled the business."

June asked him to identify his signature on our agreements.

"That's mine."

"And those initials?"

"Mine."

She handed him the equipment schedule.

"What does this list?"

"Things she brought in."

"Who owns those things under the agreement?"

He shifted in his chair.

"That's legal wording. We operated as one farm."

The judge asked him to read the line below his initials.

He read it softly.

The equipment remained my separate property. Using it in the partnership did not make it a partnership contribution. The partnership paid for access to the lot through the agreed fee.

June placed the paid lot invoices beside the agreement.

"Did Ms. Mercado ever sign a transfer of these trailers to the partnership?"

"Not a separate transfer, no."

"Did she sign a transfer to you?"

"No."

When I took the stand, I explained the grow rooms. Removable power cords. Water lines with quick couplings. Wheels maintained for road travel. Nothing had been poured into the ground or built into his lot.

I gave the purchase dates and explained where the money had come from.

Then June asked about the lockout.

"I couldn't fill the fogger tank," I said. "That room was drying. I needed access that day."

"Did you hide the equipment?"

"No. Both lenders have the address. Both inspected it. The number plates match my inventory."

Travis's lawyer asked whether I expected to share the harvest money.

"Yes," I said. "After the books are settled, under our agreement. That's why I held it apart."

He looked down at his notes.

Bernadette testified about the supposed loan lunch. She brought her work calendar, a freezer service report, and messages she had sent during the repair.

"Could you have attended that lunch?" June asked.

"No. I was waiting for a repair crew across town."

"Did Ms. Mercado ever tell you she approved these loans?"

"No. The first I heard of a loan was after the locks changed."

Under questions from Travis's lawyer, she added that she still bought mushrooms from me.

"So you have a business interest in helping her?"

"I have a business interest in knowing who can deliver what they promise."

The judge granted temporary protection against taking my listed equipment and denied Travis's request to return it. I had to maintain it, keep it insured, allow arranged inspections, and avoid selling it until the ownership claim was decided.

That was fine with me. I needed to grow mushrooms in it.

The order also set the date for separating future growing costs and sales from the old partnership account. Crops already on hand stayed on Mae's list. New batches, paid for by me after that date, would be tracked apart. June made me repeat the rule back before we left.

"Separate blocks, separate batch numbers," I said.

"And keep every receipt."

That part, at least, felt like work I already knew.

The judge also ordered full production of the loan applications, their attachments, and records showing how they were submitted.

Outside, Travis caught up with me by the steps.

"You made me sound like a thief."

"I answered the questions."

"You know what those lenders will do to me?"

I looked at his truck. The title was clear now, paid with money he had borrowed against my work.

"You need to answer their questions, too."

At the new pad, I changed into boots and washed my hands. A second flush was coming along in Trailer One. Small gray pins stood close together on the blocks.

I wrote the readings on a clean chart. For the first time in days, I stayed inside a room without checking my phone.

When I came out, June had sent an email.

Sandbar had produced a message from Travis to its loan officer. It concerned the site agreement.

The subject line read: USE THE SHORT VERSION.

Below it, Travis had written, "Leave off the ownership pages. They'll only slow this down."