The Escrow Clause Put A Price On Taking Back My Name

Della had printed the company filing before I reached her office.

Avery Sloane's name sat under the words sole member.

I knew Avery. She had chosen the cream chairs in Colin's office. He had introduced her as someone who understood how a business should look.

Last month, I had found her gold scarf in his car.

He had asked why I was looking under the seat.

“Did you know?” I asked Della.

“About the payments, this morning. About the rest, no.”

She pushed a glass of water toward me.

“We can count money while you're angry. We can't count it while you faint.”

The two payments totaled $63,240. Another $84,600 had reached Three Reeds but had not yet been paid out.

“Those funds came from your catalog,” Della said. “We need to tell them the payee change is disputed before they send another dollar.”

I placed my assignments on her desk.

She checked each original against her old scans. Then she called Mara Keene, a lawyer who handled business disputes in Allen County.

Mara arrived with wet boots and a plain black bag.

“Tell me what you signed,” she said.

“Everything, or everything I remember?”

“Start with what you brought.”

She read for almost half an hour.

I watched a bead of melted snow cross the tile.

At last, she tapped the distributor agreement.

“The firm could collect income for you. It could not sell these masters. Your signature was required for a new owner or a catalog sale.”

“Colin said I owned nothing.”

“That statement isn't one of the documents.”

Della made a small sound that might have been a laugh.

Mara sent Three Reeds a notice with copies of my ownership papers. I signed a sworn account of when I had found the new payee.

By four, the distributor confirmed a hold on the $84,600.

For the first time that day, I could breathe all the way in.

Then Mara turned to the cathedral section.

“This is the difficult part.”

Our next release included the Saint Brigid recording. The distributor had helped fund production. I had personally promised to finish the voicing, deliver the new masters, and clear the agreed production costs before I could require release of the held catalog income under this clause.

“You can challenge the transfers without finishing,” Mara said. “But getting this particular release will mean meeting your own delivery terms. Or negotiating a change.”

“How long?”

“Six weeks. The date is fixed.”

The attached work plan named two technicians: me and Owen.

The cathedral had required two people for work high inside the organ case. Any replacement needed its approval. The distributor had accepted the same plan.

“I want Owen off it.”

“We'll ask,” Mara said.

Della opened the firm ledger using her accountant access. Colin had not thought to remove her.

“Here's another joy,” she said.

The firm did not have enough free cash to finish. Suppliers and travel would take about $18,600 before the cathedral's last payment arrived.

My separate savings held $21,430.

I had saved that money in little pieces. Birthday checks. Extra repair work. The sale of my old car.

“We need firm repayment terms before you advance anything,” Mara said.

I nodded, though the thought of using it made my palms ache.

Colin called while we were looking at the estimate.

I put him on speaker.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Asked where my royalties went.”

“You mean our money.”

“Then why is Avery receiving it?”

Silence filled Della's office.

“She's handling licensing,” he said.

“What work did she do for $63,240?”

“Don't embarrass yourself.”

Mara wrote those words on her pad.

“Darcy has counsel,” she said. “Send the agreements that support those payments to me.”

He hung up.

Ten minutes later, an email arrived from the proposed buyer, Hawthorn Sound Library. Attached was a purchase summary Colin had signed.

The price was $420,000. Hawthorn had already paid a refundable $75,000 deposit to the firm, based on Colin's written promise that the firm owned the catalog. Closing was in eight days.

“He promised them something he didn't have,” I said.

“He promised them something you have,” Della said.

I stayed that night in a small room above my friend Ruth's garage. Colin sent six messages. The first was tender. The last said he would make sure I never worked in an organ shop again.

I saved all six.

At breakfast, the cathedral's project chair called. No approved replacement for Owen could start within six weeks. The board would allow him to stay only under a new written supervision plan.

“He came to see us this morning,” she added. “He brought a page with your signature on it.”