The Supplier's Letter

Maya replied by email three days later. She was still working, though she had changed firms and moved to another city. Richard had not told her I was seeking records. She said she remembered the first office and would be willing to speak with Priya.

“I have some old project files,” she wrote. “I'll check what belongs to me and what I can share.”

I forwarded the message to my lawyer. Priya arranged a call and asked Maya not to alter or combine the files. If she found originals, she could keep them and provide copies. The goal was to preserve what existed, not create a cleaner story after the fact.

Meanwhile Richard's lawyer provided a summary of the company's current finances. Priya reviewed it with a financial expert and identified several missing schedules. She requested those through the agreed process. Richard complained that the requests were excessive. The judge would decide any dispute over disclosure; I did not assume that every document I wanted would automatically be available.

I visited Ruth, the retired bookkeeper, at her home. She welcomed me with tea and a tin of biscuits. I explained that Priya might ask about the early records and that Ruth could decline. She said she remembered the office but did not want to guess about dates.

“You kept a blue box under the desk,” she said. “I remember because the lid never fit.”

“Do you know where it went?”

“Richard asked a storage company to collect the files when you moved offices. I wrote an inventory, but I don't know whether I kept a copy.”

She searched a drawer and found a carbon copy of the list. It described several boxes, including one labeled supplier correspondence. Ruth gave me a copy and kept the original. I sent the copy to Priya, who requested the storage inventory from Richard's side.

The supplier's letter in my own folder had been written during a difficult year. A shipment was delayed, and we could not pay the full invoice immediately. I had negotiated a schedule that allowed the supplier to continue deliveries while we caught up. Richard had managed the worksite. Neither of us had built the company alone, and the letter thanked both of us for keeping the agreement.

At dinner with my sister, I admitted that I wanted the documents to prove Richard wrong in one dramatic moment.

“What if they show something complicated?” she asked.

“Then I need to understand the complicated version.”

She poured tea. “You can be angry and still want the facts.”

I had spent weeks imagining the judge reading one page and immediately deciding the case. Priya had explained that courts consider evidence and legal rules through a process. A story about a single page overturning everything might be satisfying, but it would not prepare me for the work ahead.

Maya's next message said she had found a folder containing early drawings, invoices and a copy of a letter about a contribution to the business. She did not know whether it was the final version. Priya asked her to send copies directly to the financial expert and retain the originals.

When the copies arrived, the expert noted that one page referred to a contribution from an account in my name. Another described it as a loan. The documents were not enough to establish whether the loan had been repaid or how it should be treated now.

Priya requested the corresponding bank records and any repayment agreement. The old invoice box might contain them. It might not. For the first time, I felt prepared to wait for an answer without pretending I already had one.