The Judge Asked For The Page Dorian Had Left Out

June moved her hand. My signature sat beside Arthur's under the words MONTH TO MONTH.

For a moment, the hallway seemed to tilt.

"That's the first lease," I said. "Before we worked out the purchase."

Lucinda opened her small bag.

"Of course it is."

She drew out a folder marked BEFORE PURCHASE. Inside was the complete two-page agreement. I had rented the shop for several months while Arthur's lawyer prepared the longer deal.

The second page carried the date and an end date: September 30, 2006.

Dorian's attached copy had only the first page.

June showed both pages to his lawyer. He read them, then went to speak with Dorian beside a drinking fountain.

I heard Dorian say, "It's still a lease."

Then the courtroom doors opened.

We waited through two other matters. A ceiling vent clicked above us. I counted its clicks until June touched my sleeve.

At our turn, she gave the judge the payment chart, the signed purchase agreement, the escrow declaration, and the complete earlier lease. Dorian's lawyer said his client believed Arthur had canceled the purchase deal.

"Where is that cancellation?" the judge asked.

"There were conversations with his father."

"Was Mr. Keene part of those conversations?"

"No, Your Honor."

The judge looked down at the contract.

"Counsel, I also need complete exhibits. This first lease ended before the purchase payments began."

Dorian's shoe moved under the table. It tapped against the chair leg.

The judge asked me whether I had received a refund of any installment or signed anything giving up the purchase.

"No," I said.

"Did you agree to surrender possession?"

"No. I went to work and my key didn't fit."

My voice sounded smaller than I wanted. But the room had become quiet enough to hear it.

June played the short sidewalk video. I looked at my folded hands while Dorian's voice called me a confused old tenant.

His lawyer said changing the locks had protected the estate's property.

June pointed to the mover's work order and my customers' repair tags.

"From what?" she asked.

The judge didn't decide final ownership that morning. She said the documents supported protecting my claim while the case went forward. Her written order barred a sale, removal of my goods, and interference with my access. Dorian had to provide working keys within twenty-four hours.

Escrow would preserve the deed. It could not return it to Dorian while that order remained in place.

June explained a security amount the court required, and I paid the $1,000 she arranged for the temporary order. It was more money out of my light fund, though she said we would seek its release when the case ended.

In the hallway, Dorian came toward me.

"You made this much bigger than it needed to be."

I looked at his shoes. One toe had a fresh scuff.

"You changed a lock on a door I'd paid for," I said.

June moved beside me, and he walked away.

The keys arrived at her office the next morning in a plain envelope. I signed a receipt that said keys received, not case settled.

Lucinda read it before I signed.

"A fine sentence," she said.

We opened the shop together. I paid a locksmith $240 to fit new locks under June's guidance and gave her a spare key. I photographed the rooms, checked my tools, and called the insurance agent to explain that possession had been restored.

The green stool went back beside the bench.

I found a small repair tag under its leg. It had slipped there when the bench was moved. The customer had written that her father needed the accordion back before his birthday.

His birthday had passed while the shop was locked.

I had returned her instrument unfinished. I called her, explained what had happened, and asked if she still wanted the repair. She did. She also asked whether I was well enough to work.

"I am," I said, and had to wait before saying anything more.

For a long time, I stood with my hand on its worn seat.

"Coffee?" Lucinda asked.

"In a minute."

Being inside again helped. It didn't settle the title or undo the canceled work. Dorian still challenged the purchase. Ada still lacked her refund.

June sought an independent accounting in the probate case. Ada's lawyer pursued the bank records in her refund case. We kept our records current and let those requests move through the courts.

Over the next month I repaired instruments beneath the old lights. Customers returned slowly. Some apologized. Others simply set down their cases, which was easier for both of us.

One Thursday, June called while I was fitting a bass strap.

Ada's lawyer had received the company bank statement and permission to share it with us.

Of the $45,000 Ada had paid, only $27,000 remained.

The missing $18,000 had paid Dorian's personal credit card bill.