The Final Audit Took The Projector Out Of His Hands

June put Nolan's letter on the booth desk beside our cue sheet.

“The center's lawyer needs to review this,” she said. “You're still on the schedule. We'll use another program until we have an answer.”

I nodded, though it hurt to see my own work treated like a loose wire.

Beth sent the center's lawyer the signed agreement and the separate license covering the center's use of my shows. Nolan's distribution rights had never included the right to cancel that license or stop my own live presentations.

By Friday, our lawyer had answered his.

No order arrived. My next show went ahead.

I checked the focus, closed the shutter, and let my opening stars rise in silence before the music began. A group from south St. Louis filled the front rows. Their teacher whispered reminders about keeping feet off the seats.

For forty minutes, my work belonged to the room again.

Afterward, Yvette came through the side door with her final report.

“Would you like it here or somewhere with daylight?” she asked.

“Here.”

We sat beneath the blank dome while June locked the lobby.

The report did not use the word betrayal. It used dates, invoice numbers, and bank references. It traced every dollar of the $312,000.

My unpaid share was $120,000.

The apartment payments were $32,400. Tessa's travel schedule did not change who lived in the apartment. Her own records and Nolan's answers confirmed that it had been their place together.

The $141,600 savings balance was supported by bank records. The supposed $47,000 in family debt was not.

I put a red dot beside each figure I wanted Beth to explain. There were only three. I understood the others.

“He kept telling me these numbers were too hard,” I said.

Yvette closed her pen.

“They weren't hard. They were unavailable.”

She gave me the bank records on a drive and a paper index showing where each total came from. I tried following one school payment without her help. The invoice led to a deposit; the deposit joined a transfer; the transfer reached the reserve. It took me ten minutes.

“That's it?” I asked.

“For that payment, yes.”

I went through a second one while she waited. This time, I found every page myself. I had spent years keeping careful cue logs for a room with no windows. I could keep a record in daylight, too.

Nolan's first settlement offer came that Monday: $62,000 for all claims, plus $6,000 toward expenses. It required silence and left him in charge of the shows.

I read every page before calling Beth.

“No.”

“I'll send a counteroffer.”

We asked for the full arrears, documented costs, a clean end to his license authority, and corrected credits. Beth also proposed a plan for the eight active customers so they could keep using what they had paid for.

Nolan called me from a number I did not know.

“You can't run a distribution business,” he said.

“Then I'll hire help.”

“With what money?”

I let the question sit.

He changed his tone.

“Alessia, you run a projector. Those schools need somebody who understands rights.”

I had the blue-ink agreement open on my table. The corner had a coffee stain from our old apartment, made before I had learned to keep drinks away from papers.

“I made the shows, Nolan. I kept the ownership. I gave you certain rights for certain payments.”

“Don't do this.”

“You didn't make those payments.”

His breath caught, then steadied.

“We'll see what a judge says.”

“We can.”

I ended the call and sent Beth a note about it.

Thirty days passed after the default notice. Nolan made no cure payment and sought no order allowing a full one from the frozen savings.

Beth sent the termination notice required by the agreement. His lawyer disputed it at first, then asked to discuss settlement terms that included an end to his authority.

For once, his next move came to my lawyer before it came to me.

Our proposal left valid school licenses in place. With each customer's written consent, I would take over service and future billing. Nobody would pay twice. Any later check sent to North Meridian would have to be forwarded and reported.

Tessa signed a statement correcting the creator credits. She agreed to remove the false brochure and send corrected notices to the customers who had received it. I did not give her a new touring license.

Her lawyer sent proof that the apartment lease had ended. Nolan had paid the final charges from other disclosed funds. My money would no longer cover that door.

Two weeks later, Beth called while I was cleaning dust from the booth glass.

“They accepted the main terms,” she said. “The proposed payment is $138,000, with the final papers going before the court.”