The Crew’s Friday Pay Forced Our Books Into Daylight

Nessa printed the two transfers and placed them beside the missed lease bills.

“That’s $9,600 out,” she said. “The notes call one a tax distribution and one a sales commission.”

Our partnership agreement required both of us to approve extra owner payments. Neither transfer had my approval. A tax distribution was supposed to go to both owners in equal amounts.

“Maybe he paid a company bill afterward,” I said.

“Then he can show us.”

I wanted the numbers to have a plain explanation. Even after everything, part of me wanted Soren to walk in with a receipt that made him less small.

He brought no receipt.

He returned while Nessa was checking our payroll.

“I earned that money,” he said.

“Show the approval,” Ruth told him.

“You people are acting like this is a courtroom.”

“It can become one.”

He looked at me then.

“You really want that?”

“I wanted you to read the lease.”

Nessa worked through Tuesday. She checked deposits, customer balances, supplier bills, and every paid equipment invoice. She called the welding shop with me beside her. They sent a copy of the original order, showing my name and my payment.

By Wednesday, her account was simple enough for me to understand without her help.

Flatline had $8,940 in its bank account. Alma still owed $5,800 after proper completion. The crew’s wages and payroll costs would total $6,840. Another $700 would cover the remaining approved shop and utility bills.

All supplies for Alma’s job had already been paid for. No other customer deposits were left unearned.

Nessa gave each worker a copy of their own hours. She asked them to check travel time and cleanup, not just time beside a running sled. Luis found one missing half hour. She corrected it before she finished the total.

“They shouldn’t pay for our fight,” I said.

“Then make their numbers the cleanest ones here,” she said.

She put the crew’s sheets in a separate envelope. On its front she wrote FRIDAY in thick black letters. I kept that envelope above my own unpaid invoices.

After those expenses and Alma’s last payment, $7,200 would remain.

That was exactly three months of unpaid machine rent.

“Where’s our cushion?” I asked.

Nessa tapped the two personal transfers.

I thought about Soren’s new patio and the weekend trips he called networking. I did not put those guesses in the report. The bank figures were enough.

Ruth asked him to sign a short agreement protecting payroll and stopping unusual withdrawals while the dispute was open.

He refused.

“Dimitri can’t collect rent ahead of the crew,” he said.

“Nobody suggested that,” Ruth answered.

“He’s taking our machines away.”

“They’re at the customer’s job, earning the company’s final payment.”

He asked to speak with me alone. I agreed to five minutes at Alma’s empty snack counter.

“You could have let this close,” he said. “I would have made sure you got something.”

“Something from selling my property?”

“From selling what we built together.”

I looked through the doorway at the lanes. Luis was cleaning a measuring rail. Another worker was taping paper near the approaches.

“We did build something,” I said. “You offered it without asking half its owner.”

He drummed his fingers on the counter.

“The crew will remember who ruined the sale.”

“They’ll remember whether their checks cleared.”

Alma came out of her office carrying his unsigned completion slip.

“You left this,” she said.

“I told you what it was for.”

“And I told you the job wasn’t done. You may visit by appointment from now on.”

“I’m the contractor.”

“You’re a partner in the contractor. You’re also blocking my coffee counter.”

He left.

That afternoon, Ruth filed a civil case in Hall County. It asked the court to settle the equipment ownership, require a full company accounting, and protect the property and funds while the case went forward.

She did not promise me a fast win.

“We can ask for quick limits,” she said. “The final result takes evidence and time.”

Meanwhile, Nessa sent the payroll figures to Soren again. With both lawyers copied, he finally approved the ordinary wage run from the company account. I signed too.

On Friday morning, Luis showed me the deposit on his phone.

“That’s a yes,” he said.

“That’s a yes.”

We finished our last sanding pass that afternoon. Beneath the work lights, the wood looked pale and even. I placed my marble at the dip I had marked on the first visit.

It made one small turn and settled.

Alma watched beside me.

“Looks quiet,” she said.

“It is.”

My phone rang before I picked it up.

Ruth had a hearing date for temporary orders. Then she said Soren had submitted a statement claiming I had given the machines to the partnership when we opened.