Tessa Brought A Settlement Offer And Left A Receipt

Tessa came to my shop on a Tuesday, when wet snow was sliding off the porch roof in heavy sheets.

I had never met her. I knew her from a photograph Curtis had left on his tablet: straight brown hair, dark coat, his arm around her waist in front of a house with tall windows.

In person, she carried a plain cream envelope.

"Curtis said you might be reasonable alone," she said.

"Did he give you my work hours?"

"They're on your website."

I turned off the grinder. Through the wet glass, a slice of granite looked dull and thick. I would have to take much more away before I could see through it.

"You can leave an envelope," I said. "Any offer goes to Nora Pike."

"This doesn't need lawyers."

"Then it shouldn't trouble you if one reads it."

She laid the envelope on a dry counter. Inside was an offer of $12,000 for what it called a final mineral settlement, with my equipment thrown in as if it had belonged to him.

The signature page was also a release of every claim against High Basin and Tessa.

"Did you read all of this?" I asked.

"I helped prepare it."

"Then you know why I'm keeping it."

She looked at the racks of mounted slides.

"He said you wouldn't want this dragged out."

"What did he say about Cottonwood Bench?"

Her face changed very little.

"That he had authority."

"From me?"

"From the release."

I picked up a finished slide. Light caught the edges of a pale crystal.

"I didn't sign it."

"That's what you're saying now."

She left before I answered. Her boots made wet marks on the floor, two narrow rows ending at my workbench.

I wrote down our words while they were fresh. Then I called Nora.

"She said she helped prepare it," I told her.

"Save the envelope too."

I wanted Nora to call her immediately. I wanted someone to make Tessa hear the word forged without looking bored.

Instead, Nora sent the offer to Tessa's new lawyer and asked for records supporting the claim that Curtis had authority. Tessa had one by the end of the day. That seemed to change how quickly she answered.

Before the records came, I took the wet floor mat outside and shook it over the snow. The clean strip beneath it was still there. Tessa had stood in my place of work and offered me money to stop asking about my own property.

I put the mat back and finished the granite.

The bank production arrived that Friday.

High Basin had received the household transfer as well as the royalties. Its current balance was $118,900. The court's withdrawal limits had held that money in place.

An accountant Nora hired, Ellen Cho, made a ledger with one line for each deposit. Her first page showed $144,240 from North Draw and Cottonwood Bench together.

"The deposits don't stop there," Ellen said.

She turned to the next page.

There were smaller payments bearing a third owner number. Some had arrived the same day as the bigger checks. On the bank screen, Curtis had called them service income.

Miriam checked the number against my last original division order.

Dry Creek.

"That's the narrow tract with the old haul road," I said.

"The mineral interest beneath it," Miriam said gently.

I corrected my own note. I was learning how a loose word could become a place for Curtis to hide.

The operator confirmed the number. Dry Creek had paid $42,180 over fourteen months.

That brought the diverted royalties to $186,420.

I held the new statement so close to my face that I could smell warm printer ink.

"There should have been enough for a new saw," I said.

"There was," Nora said.

The court-ordered company records also showed what Curtis had promised from Dry Creek. He had pledged its future income toward a loan Tessa wanted for her land consulting business. The lender had made no advance. Its title reviewer had asked questions first.

"We should tell them," I said.

"We'll give formal notice through counsel," Nora said. "We won't leave them to rely on that release."

My phone buzzed while she drafted the letter.

June, the neighbor who had left her cake, had sent a message. Curtis was telling people I was jealous and trying to ruin an honest new business.

I typed three angry replies. I erased each one.

I sent: My work is still open. I am handling the money through counsel.

On Monday, Miriam called before I had taken off my coat.

"He has used the fourth tract," she said.

"There aren't royalties there."

"No. There is a proposed lease."

She sent me the draft. Curtis had offered the still-unleased Willow Flat mineral interest for a $48,000 signing bonus.

The attached payment instructions sent the bonus straight to Tessa.