The Judge Asked Him Why A Buyout Still Paid Royalties

At the courthouse in Ogden, I put my blue folio through the scanner with my winter coat.

Curtis stood beyond the security line. Tessa waited beside him, studying her phone. He wore the navy suit I had helped him choose for his first large safety contract.

"There's still time," he told me.

"For the records?" I asked.

Maya touched my elbow. We went into the courtroom.

This hearing would not decide the whole case. We were asking for the remaining records and protection for money that might otherwise leave the house sale or the businesses.

Knowing its limits helped me sit still.

Curtis's lawyer said the signature on my license copy had not been verified. He said I had worked alongside my husband for years and accepted a final payment.

Maya placed the original agreement before the judge.

Then she offered Curtis's old email sending the same signed agreement to Granite Lantern. Their copy matched mine, down to a crooked staple mark on page three.

His message said, "Parisa retains ownership. Please include her credit on all plates."

I had once loved that he remembered the credit.

Reena had come with us. She had watched us sign the agreement at the workshop hall that first winter and kept its date in the hall's booking book. She answered the questions she was asked. She did not offer an opinion about my marriage.

Curtis shifted in his chair.

The judge asked his lawyer whether there was any specific evidence that the agreement was false.

There wasn't.

Next came the $3,600 receipt and its attached work order.

"Paid in full," Curtis's lawyer said.

"For the print preparation listed above it," Maya said.

She showed royalty statements Curtis had approved after that payment. Each used the same thirty percent rate.

The judge looked toward his table.

"Why would a completed buyout still require royalties?"

Curtis leaned forward before his lawyer could answer.

"I was supporting my wife."

"Mr. Bell, your lawyer can address the documents."

His lawyer asked for a moment.

I looked down at my hands. There was graphite caught beside one nail. I had worried all morning that it made me look careless. Now I was glad I had finished a paid drawing before coming.

Leila explained the audit gaps and the two closing transfers. She used a chart with four account names and arrows. It was the plainest map I had ever seen her make.

"Are you claiming every business dollar belonged to Ms. Mehran?" his lawyer asked.

"No. I'm identifying receipts subject to her royalty and tracing transfers relevant to recovery. The final royalty calculation is still in progress."

"So you don't know the debt."

"I know the records produced so far are incomplete. That is why we're here."

She left the answer there.

The judge ordered the remaining accounting records produced. The businesses had to preserve them. Curtis also had to disclose any proposed sale or new borrowing against the house, and any sale proceeds would remain in escrow pending further order or written agreement.

The order did not make the house mine. It kept the money from slipping away while we proved the claim.

Outside, Curtis followed us toward the stairs.

"You brought Reena into this?"

"You had me served in her hall."

"Those maps wouldn't have gone anywhere without me."

I stopped walking.

"You sold them. You had a license to sell them. That didn't make you their owner."

For once, I did not explain further.

He had called me extra help in a room full of trainees. In court, his own email had named me as the owner.

That afternoon, Maya sent a separate notice about the license violations. The contract allowed a stated period to fix them. We would follow that process before asking to end his rights to use the maps.

"Your buyers need clear instructions too," she said. "We'll deal with their existing rights carefully."

I thought of the patrol huts. My anger had no business standing between a trainee and a sound training kit.

We proposed a short written arrangement for existing orders, with full reports and royalties held apart. No new grants beyond what we approved. Curtis's lawyer agreed while the dispute continued.

At home, I made rice and warmed lentil soup. I ate at the table instead of over the sink.

The window had fogged at its edges. Down on the street, a plow scraped past the parked cars. I set out one bowl, one spoon, and the good cloth napkin Curtis had called too much trouble. After eating, I washed them and left the folio on a dry shelf.

Then Leila called.

"The remaining files came in," she said. "There's a message from Tessa about the house money. You should read it with Maya here."