Victor Explained His Changed Ledger Under Oath At The Deposition

The bookkeeper's name was Ruth Pell. She had worked for Victor for eleven years, two mornings a week.

I had met her once, when she came to collect a misdelivered envelope. She had asked how I could make a book lie flat without breaking its spine.

Now her records explained how my payments had changed names.

Her old ledger had a column marked Sauceda Purchase Credit. It began with my $18,000 payment. Each month added $1,200. At the bottom, after May's payment, the balance due was $0.

The bank statements matched every entry.

On May twenty-ninth, Victor had emailed Ruth a new spreadsheet.

Use this for the rear building. All receipts are rent. Add annual maintenance, $720 per year.

Five years at $720 made his new $3,600 claim.

Ruth had replied that the figures did not match the signed agreement. Victor's answer was six words long.

I will decide what it means.

I read that sentence three times in Simone's office.

"Did Ruth change it?" I asked.

"She saved his sheet separately and kept the original. Her response includes both."

The new sheet had not changed where my money went. It had only changed what Victor wanted to call it after the buyer offered $410,000.

Simone had also obtained his email about my notice. He had forwarded my attachment to Ruth on May eighth.

Hold off scheduling this closing. Better offer developing.

There was no mention of a missing payment or a failed roof.

Ada sat very still beside me.

"He understood," she said.

That hurt her more than if he had simply been confused.

Victor's deposition took place at a long table in his lawyer's office. A court reporter set a small machine in front of her. I sat with my hands folded so I would not pick at a loose thread on my cuff.

Simone showed him the original ledger.

"Did Ms. Pell keep this in the regular course of your business?"

"She handled figures."

"Were the deposits received?"

"Apparently."

"Did you return any of them?"

"No."

She showed him the email about waiting to schedule closing.

"Was that your instruction?"

"I wanted time to review my options."

"Including Mr. Sauceda's exercised option?"

His lawyer told him to answer the question.

"Yes."

Then she asked about the maintenance charges.

"I carried the risk," Victor said. "He had a protected place to play with books. There should have been something for that."

"Was that charge in the agreement?"

"Not in those words."

"In any words?"

"No."

He looked at me then.

"I never expected him to finish paying. Most people his age don't finish anything."

I felt the answer rise in my throat. Sixty payments. A sound roof. A full order book. His daughter's hand in mine every hard night.

But the court reporter was still typing his words.

I let them stand.

At home I could mend a torn page by joining its edges with thin tissue. Here, joining the dates was enough. His own records met my bank statements without a gap. I did not need to give him a speech that his lawyer could interrupt.

During a break, Ada stepped into the hall with her father. She asked me to stay close enough to hear.

"Why put the tools in the sale?" she asked him.

"A room full of machinery helped the price. They wanted atmosphere."

"You knew he bought those presses."

"I gave him the opportunity to buy them."

She stared at him, then nodded once, as if a measurement had finally settled.

"Don't use my work or my name again. I've sent the buyer my written correction. Send yours."

"You'll regret doing this to your family."

"Dario is my family. You are responsible for your contract."

She came back to my side.

By August, Leah's lawyer had demanded return of the escrow deposit and reimbursement of the $14,800 spent in reliance on Victor's promises. The title company would not close over the recorded option and pending case.

Leah sent us a short note confirming that no one from her company claimed our equipment or customers' books.

I pinned it inside the cabinet door. I needed to see it when I opened the shelves.

Two days before the September trial, Victor sent a proposed settlement. He offered to return my $90,000 and add $15,000 if I left quietly and signed away all claims.

There was also a draft statement saying the whole matter had been a mutual misunderstanding.

"Do you want to discuss it?" Simone asked.

"He can buy a statement from someone else. I paid for a building."

That afternoon, she forwarded the court's final trial notice, with our witness list attached. On that list, my name appeared directly above Victor's.