The Cash Receipt Failed Against Four Months Of Bank Records

For a moment, the signature made me doubt my own eyes.

It looked like mine because it was mine. The long stroke at the end of Farhadi dipped beneath the line in the same way.

"I never signed that receipt," I told Preston.

"Then we find where the image came from."

The page claimed I had accepted $24,000 in cash on a Thursday afternoon. It said the four overdue installments were paid in full.

My workshop address was wrong. It used the old unit number from before I moved across the same yard.

"Don't build your whole answer on a typo," Preston said. "Let's start with the records."

I brought the shop ledger, bank statements, and every payment confirmation. The six real installments had come by bank transfer. Each had its own receipt sent from my accounting system.

There was no seventh receipt.

For the date on the supposed cash payment, I also had a service ticket from a lab in Dalhart. I had spent the afternoon fixing a forming problem there. It helped place me, but Preston said it did not prove no cash had ever changed hands.

"We need the source file," he said.

Through the case, he requested the original receipt, its electronic version, and records showing where the cash came from.

While we waited, I worked on orders for two other clinics. My own older oven still held temperature. My small vacuum rig made a tired hum, but it worked.

The cheaper supplier had begun handling Cyrus's new orders. I had no claim to those jobs. Losing that income hurt, so I called every clinic that had once asked about my turnaround times.

I did not tell them a family story. I sent sample photos and a price sheet.

One clinic manager asked why I had room for new work.

"A customer changed suppliers," I said.

"Can you hold a five-day turnaround?"

"On a complete cast and work order. I'll call the same day if anything is missing."

She asked about wall thickness, edge finish, and shipping. I answered questions I knew how to answer. By the end of the call, my shoulders had dropped away from my ears.

One clinic placed a $1,860 order. Another asked for a trial socket.

At my bench, I shaped a tiny clay model and pressed in the familiar crescent. The next morning I could see a better line along its edge.

On Friday, Beth contacted Preston. Cyrus had cut her hours after the dock incident, and she wanted advice about preserving a work email she had received.

Preston told her he represented me, not her. He suggested she speak to her own lawyer and keep anything relevant without taking patient records or unrelated files.

Her lawyer later supplied the email.

Cyrus had sent her an old equipment delivery acknowledgment with my signature at the bottom.

His message said, Put His Signature On The Attached Receipt. He Agreed Verbally. Need Clean Copy For Counsel.

Beth's reply was short.

I Can't Sign For Someone Else.

The finished receipt had appeared the next day. Its signature matched the old delivery page down to a small gray mark beside the last letter.

"A copy can be compared," Preston said. "An explanation can be tested under oath."

The five-business-day cure period had also run out. No payment arrived. Preston sent notice that the full remaining $108,000 was now due under the note.

Cyrus called me that night.

"I can give you twelve thousand," he said.

"The balance is one hundred eight."

"Now you charge me for being your family?"

"The interest is zero. It has always been zero."

"Do you know how much I spent on your wedding dinner?"

I closed my eyes. I had thanked him for that dinner for eight years.

"Send any offer to Preston."

"Laleh will hear about this."

"She lives here. She hears me every day."

I ended the call without raising my voice.

Laleh was in the hallway.

"He asked me to say I saw the cash," she said.

My hand tightened around the phone.

"Did you?"

"No. There was no cash when I was there. I told him I wouldn't say that."

She handed me her phone. She had answered him by text so there would be a record.

I Will Not Give A False Statement. Stop Asking Me To Fix This.

"I sent it before I heard your call," she said.

I sat down. She sat across from me, leaving room between us.

The next week, Cyrus's lawyer withdrew the cash-payment claim in writing. He said his client would not rely on the receipt. Preston kept the withdrawal and the email chain for the case.

That did not return my money. It did remove the only payment he had claimed to make.

Then a courier arrived at my workshop with a new demand.

Cyrus wanted the court to declare my security agreement invalid because, he claimed, my workshop had never been separate from his business.