Merrick Called The Sails Worthless Until His Own Forms Opened

By the time our case reached trial in March, azaleas had begun to open along the streets near the courthouse.

I noticed them because Ruth had told me to look at something other than the file on the passenger seat.

Merrick noticed me looking.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked outside the courtroom.

"No."

He seemed to have prepared for a different answer. He went inside.

The customers' lawyer, Leah Moss, had copies of all eleven intake forms by then. Elaine's had led her to request the rest from the company's paper files.

Each form listed a repair. Each carried a deposit and Merrick's signature.

None said abandoned, donated, or approved for disposal.

The independent examiner testified about the eight ruined sails. He showed where the cloth had been cut and where the sealer had soaked in. He explained how he had allowed for age when he reached the $27,400 value.

Merrick's lawyer asked whether old sails sometimes failed.

"Yes," the examiner said.

"So these could have been worthless already?"

"Age alone doesn't make a sail worthless. I examined the remaining cloth, earlier photos, and repair records. My report explains each value."

Pilar identified the boats and the marks in her survey photos. She did not claim to know sails she had never inspected. For those, the owners supplied their own records.

Elaine told the court about the pickup message.

"Did Mr. Sloan tell you your sail had been thrown away?" Leah asked.

"He told me to bring cash."

The waste company's dispatcher confirmed the order and the early pickup request. The driver confirmed what we had found before collection.

It took most of a day to say things that had happened in a few hours.

On the second morning, the computer examiner explained the release file. He showed how its signature image matched the old authorization, including the gap caused by the grease spot.

He also showed when the new file had been made and sent.

Under questions from Ruth, Merrick finally said, "I placed the signature there because he'd already agreed."

"Agreed when?"

"We talked about being done with payments."

"Did you give him $4,800 in cash?"

"The business had paid him enough."

"Did you give him the cash described in this document?"

"No."

I pressed my thumb flat against my knee.

I did not look at the gallery. I wanted the court reporter to hear his answer without any sound from me.

During the break, Merrick stood alone at the water fountain. I walked past him to fill my cup. He watched me as if I owed him a speech.

"Nothing to say?" he asked.

"Not to you."

I went back to Ruth. She asked whether I needed a few minutes outside.

"No. I want to hear the rest."

For years, I had gone back to my machine when he talked about money. This time, I stayed in my chair until every page had been read.

Dana traced the transfers. Ruth explained that my equipment debt had since been settled through the supervised sale. I was not asking to collect that note again.

But the $4,800 Merrick had moved into his own account was still company money he had taken. Along with the false consulting payment of $7,800, he owed the company $12,600.

The customers sought $18,650 in refunds and $27,400 for the destroyed sails. Those were separate losses. No one added the diverted deposits again.

The total civil claims came to $58,650.

When Merrick testified about the auction, he called it his last chance to rescue the shop.

Ruth showed him the list that included our pickup bench and my beeswax.

"Where would repairs have continued?"

He had no answer.

Judge Cole took the matter under review. We waited three weeks for the written ruling.

I spent that time painting my new sign. I used plain black letters because that was what I could paint straight.

Her Sail Repair.

Ruth called on a Thursday afternoon.

The court had found Merrick personally liable for the customer losses and his unauthorized withdrawals. The full $58,650 was awarded to the proper claimants, with no second award on my settled equipment note.

The judge rejected the false release and ordered Merrick to pay another $3,600 for the expense caused by submitting it, including the document examination and the related court work.

The old company would complete its winding up. Merrick would have no role in my new shop.

I sat down on an overturned bucket.

"Does he have to pay now?"

"There are still collection steps," Ruth said. "But we protected funds that can cover this."

She paused.

"And Fue? The ruling says the auction was unauthorized. You weren't an employee waiting for his last wages."

I looked at the sign drying against my wall.

At five, Ruth sent the ruling. Beneath it was a second document, ready for the judge: the order releasing Merrick's protected money.