The Rent Statements Led Us To A Second Set Of Numbers

The landlord wore reading glasses on top of reading glasses.

"One pair's for the screen," Diane Quick explained. "The other pair's for finding the first pair."

She met us in her office the next morning. Omar had permission to ask about the lease, and I had brought the records Mae supplied.

Diane owned three small commercial buildings. She knew the rink by its old roof troubles.

"Your loan saved that place," she told me. "Bernice said you were her emergency lender."

Omar wrote down the words and the date.

"What is the monthly rent?" he asked.

"Twenty-four hundred. No increase until next spring."

"Any eight-hundred-dollar reserve?"

"Not payable to me."

He showed her the expense sheet.

Diane leaned forward.

"That's not my statement. That's their worksheet."

She gave us copies of the actual receipts. Each showed $2,400 received. None showed a balance due.

Omar asked about the planned sale.

"Curtis wants the lease moved to his company," she said. "I haven't agreed. I asked for his financial information and a copy of the full purchase contract."

"Did he send both?"

"Just the contract."

She opened another attachment.

There was Bernice's signature, Curtis's signature, and a schedule showing a $24,000 deposit already paid.

The remaining $14,000 would come at closing.

"Where did the deposit go?" I asked.

"That's a question for the seller," Omar said.

He never let a guess dress up as an answer.

The contract required Bernice to deliver the business free of liens. It also listed the roof debt as a family contribution that would not follow Curtis.

"Can they do that?" I asked outside.

"They can agree between themselves about who pays a debt. That doesn't erase your rights. An unauthorized sale generally doesn't wash our lien off the collateral."

"So why try?"

"They may have thought you'd never enforce it."

That afternoon, Mae answered Omar's written questions through the rink's new lawyer.

The extra $800 each month had gone to Curtis. Six transfers, totaling $4,800, had been entered as rent reserve.

No landlord reserve existed.

Mae's explanation came with the original bank exports, not just a corrected worksheet. She had asked Bernice how to enter the transfers and kept the reply.

"Is Mae in trouble?" I asked.

"We aren't deciding that from one entry," Omar said. "Keeping the source records was the right thing to do."

I thought of the labels on my parts bins. A wrong label could waste an hour. A wrong number could hide somebody's whole plan.

Curtis had called the transfers part of his takeover plan. Bernice had approved them by email.

The $24,000 purchase deposit had gone into Bernice's personal account.

Omar lined up the documents.

"This gives us a reason to ask for protection if she won't cure," he said. "It isn't a final finding of wrongdoing. We'll present records and let the judge decide."

I looked at Bernice's email approving the transfers.

There it was again: something had moved while the outside still looked tight.

At the rink, my red witness marks made that kind of movement easy to see. Paper took longer.

Bernice came to my house that evening with a covered dish.

"I made chicken," she said.

I kept the screen door closed.

"You could have called."

"Must I make an appointment with my own daughter?"

She had called me her daughter twice in the past year. Both times, the fryer needed repair.

"Omar asked about the rent," I said.

Her hand tightened on the dish.

"Curtis has expenses."

"Then why list them as rent?"

"You never had a head for running a business."

"I had enough of one to get a signed note."

She glanced toward the street, where my neighbor was watering a pot of basil.

"Lower your voice."

I hadn't raised it.

"You were selling the rink," I said. "You told everyone I needed to leave, but you didn't tell them that."

"It was going to stay in the family."

"With my sixty thousand left outside."

"Curtis can't start with old burdens."

For a moment, she looked surprised by her own words.

I opened the screen just far enough to hand back the dish she had set on my porch rail.

"Neither could I," I said. "But I carried yours."

On the last day of the cure period, her lawyer offered $5,000 if I signed a full release.

Omar read the email aloud.

"You don't have to answer this minute."

"My answer won't improve tomorrow. No."

The deadline passed without payment.

Omar sent the acceleration notice and filed suit for the balance and enforcement of the security agreement. He also requested prompt protection of the assets and identifiable business proceeds.

I signed my sworn statement in his office. My hand stayed steady until I reached the sentence about the birthday party.

Then I paused, took a breath, and finished.

That night, Tasha called.

"I don't know if this matters," she whispered. "Curtis has a truck behind the service door. They're loading equipment."