The Court Asked Who Had Signed The Missing Schedule

On Friday morning, I put on a plain navy jacket and carried the green binder into court in Burlington.

Tessa carried copies. The original stayed beside me.

“Answer the question asked,” she said. “Don't try to win a whole year in one sentence.”

Across the room, Duncan whispered to a lawyer I hadn't met. The independent directors had not approved his emergency filing. He had ordered it before they restricted his spending authority.

Now the company had separate counsel reviewing his actions.

The judge read the request for a temporary order. Duncan wanted my documents returned and further disclosure stopped while ownership was decided.

“What disclosure has occurred?” the judge asked.

His lawyer described the buyer review and the audit.

“Any public release?”

“Not that we know of.”

“Then let's address the agreement permitting those reviews.”

Tessa gave the clerk our numbered exhibits.

One was the manufacturing license. Another was the invoice. A third was the email inviting me to take part in the approved audit.

“The studio isn't claiming the company's machines or customer lists,” she said. “It owns the facing design and holds its own signed contract.”

Duncan's lawyer held up the $86,000 receipt.

“There was substantial payment.”

“For what?” the judge asked.

He looked down at the invoice.

“Setup and development.”

“Does it transfer the design?”

There was a pause long enough for me to hear a cart rolling in the hall.

“The company's position is that the parties intended ownership.”

Tessa opened to the page that said my studio retained all design rights.

“The signed words state the opposite.”

I took the stand to identify my original. My palms felt damp. I pressed them against my skirt instead of tapping.

On the table below me lay both versions of the same deal: his ownership schedule and our signed license. The schedule had a recent date. The license had seventeen pages of terms he had accepted years before. I looked at those pages until my breathing slowed.

“Why did you retain this?” Tessa asked.

“It was my studio's copy.”

“Did you conceal it from Rillmark?”

“No. Each side received one. Their former lawyer kept a matching scan.”

“Did you tell the buyer its license had already ended?”

“No. It would end if the proposed change of control closed. I said they needed a new agreement for production after that.”

Duncan's lawyer asked whether I hoped to make more money.

“I expected to negotiate a fair license,” I said.

“So the pause benefited you.”

“The pause let the buyer check what it was buying.”

I stopped there.

Noor testified about the audit authority and the production holds. She wore a gray cardigan. Her voice stayed low enough that the judge asked her to move closer to the microphone.

“Did Ms. Kahale direct you to stop production?” the lawyer asked.

“No. I recommended a hold based on material records. The directors ordered it.”

“You disagree with Mr. Frost's management.”

“I disagree with unsigned material changes.”

“There was a signed approval.”

“There was an image of a signature. Those are different things.”

The judge looked up.

Tessa supplied the preserved file history and Duncan's email. The court did not decide who was liable for that document at the short hearing. It did decide there was no basis to shut down the authorized review.

The request to force us to surrender the studio's original was denied. The judge directed everyone to preserve relevant records. Existing limits on confidential information stayed in place; the buyer's advisers and the auditor could continue their work.

The rest would be resolved through the case unless the parties reached an agreement.

It wasn't a speech. It was several clear sentences spoken while someone typed.

Outside, Duncan stepped into my path.

“You enjoyed that,” he said.

“Move, please.”

Tessa stood beside me. He moved.

We ate soup in her office, both still wearing our coats. My hands shook when I picked up the spoon.

“I thought I'd feel stronger,” I said.

“You answered under oath. That's work.”

She handed me a clean copy of the order. I read it while the soup cooled.

My phone buzzed with a message from Luis at the plant.

They told us to stay home Monday. Is this permanent?

I asked Tessa what I could safely tell him, then wrote that the board was working on a plan and I had no confirmed restart date.

I hated how little comfort the truth gave him.

At four, Elena called.

“The audit is complete enough for an emergency board meeting,” she said. “Seventeen customer projects are affected.”

“Will North Span walk away?”

“We haven't decided. We need you and Noor there Monday.”

Then she added, “And the company's bank won't extend the credit Duncan expected before closing.”