The Accountant Found My Birds In A Company Without Windows

Theo Banerjee brought his own pencil sharpener to Ruth's office.

It was small, blue, and cracked along one side. He set it beside a neat stack of blank paper and asked whether I wanted water.

He was thirty-three, Indian American, with round glasses and sleeves buttoned at his wrists. He spoke with a slight stammer that made his first question sound gentle.

"W-what do you know for certain?"

"My husband stole my royalties."

He waited.

I looked at Ruth.

"I haven't received any royalties," I said.

Theo wrote that down.

"That we can start with."

I liked him, though I didn't enjoy the difference.

Ruth had checked the court records. There was no bankruptcy case for us or our studio. Nolan had used a word that frightened me as if it were a filed fact.

The lease did have six months left. We owed $6,200 in rent, not an order to leave that night.

Ruth warned Nolan in writing against removing business property or destroying records. She helped me request continued access to the studio while the divorce began.

"If he changes the locks, call me," she said. "Don't break a window."

"I work with frozen water. I don't like broken glass."

That got a small smile from Theo.

He started with records we could obtain without a fight: company filings, my bank statements, the contract, and reports Briar agreed to share with its named licensor.

Prairie Lantern Licensing had no factory. Its listed address was a rented mailbox in Urbandale. Nolan was its manager.

"A shell isn't proof of theft," Theo said. "We need to see what went through it."

Briar sent quarterly sales records in a locked download. The files listed my nine molds by number. Theo built a table, then asked me to check each number against my photographs.

I recognized R-04 before I read it.

"The little heron," I said. "Its seam runs behind the left wing."

"How can you tell from that picture?"

"I moved the seam after the first cast snapped. Nolan said nobody would notice."

Theo turned the screen toward me.

Over several years, Briar had reported 15,540 shipped sets with royalty payments released to Prairie Lantern. At $12 each, that came to $186,480.

I put both feet flat on the floor.

"Say it again."

He did.

There was another $24,360 still held in escrow for the latest quarter. Briar's counsel had placed the transfer request on hold and told the escrow administrator about my dispute. No one had yet sent that money to Nolan.

The full royalty total was $210,840.

"This doesn't show where every released dollar ended up," Theo said. "That takes bank records. But it tells us how much needs an explanation."

Ruth asked Briar for the instruction that had allowed those releases.

The reply included a scanned form with my name written at the bottom.

It directed all payments to Prairie Lantern's operating account and waived mailed statements to me.

I stared at the signature.

It looked close. The first letters were right. But Nolan always put a little tail on his capital R when he wrote my name on gift tags.

There was that tail.

"I didn't sign this."

Ruth didn't call it proven forgery. She asked me to write a statement about what I recognized and what I denied.

Theo asked for the original file and its delivery record.

Nobody shouted. Nobody slapped the table.

Theo gave me a printed copy of his table and showed me how to follow one row from shipment to deposit. I traced it with a finger. Then I checked the next row without help.

That made what was happening feel more serious.

At the studio that evening, I worked on a paid order for three clear bowls. A hotel had advanced $600 after I explained that I was handling its job myself.

I used a die grinder on the rims. The cold burned through a thin spot in my glove.

Nolan arrived while I checked the drain trays.

"You called our manufacturer."

"Mine, under the agreement."

"That paperwork is ancient."

"So are the payments."

He leaned against my bench, smiling as if a client had complained about tablecloths.

"You're letting strangers confuse you. Royalties are gross income. Expenses eat it."

"Then give Theo the expenses."

The smile dropped.

"Who's Theo?"

"Someone who knows how to read your books."

He reached for the photo sleeve beside my sketch pad. I moved it first.

"Copies," I said.

His hand stayed open in the air.

After he left, Ruth called. Celia's proposed company had sent Briar a signed purchase schedule. Nolan had promised it full control of all nine designs for $120,000.

Celia had already paid him $40,000.

"There's another attachment," Ruth said. "A message from Celia to Nolan. You need to read it."