Ada Closed The Recital Room And Asked For A Contract

"Has the piano moved?" I asked.

"No," Ada said. "The room is locked. I'm standing at the door."

"Call Mrs. Bell."

"She's here. Silas is explaining how I don't understand moving."

I drove to the hall. I parked clear of the loading door and took only my survey folder inside.

Silas stood beside a rented platform lift. His crew waited near the vending machines. A bright sheet tied to the lift listed its limits.

I read the sheet.

"This isn't approved for the stair route," I said.

"It gets the piano off the floor. Then we work it out."

Ada stood with both hands over her tool roll.

"No."

"You're delaying a paid job."

Mrs. Bell spoke before Ada could answer.

"You will remove the rented equipment. Nobody enters that room without my written consent."

Silas looked at me.

"You worked on her."

"I read your plan," Mrs. Bell said. "It has no stair method, no crew names, and a cradle you don't own. I worked on myself."

He said his lawyer would be in touch. Then he left with the lift.

Mrs. Bell waited until the outer door shut.

"I believed him about you," she told me.

"I know."

"I need to say that plainly."

"Then let's put the next part plainly too. We need a fresh contract."

The board met in the small office above the lobby. I waited downstairs with Ada. Through the wall, I could hear someone practicing the same short passage over and over.

"They have another $6,800?" she asked.

"That's my quote. Crew, cradle, coverage, and the move."

"And if they don't?"

"We look at changing the concert or delaying the roof work. We don't make the piano carry the loss."

She gave one sharp nod.

The grand was a nine-foot instrument built in 1908. People in town remembered their school concerts around it. Ada knew its old repairs better than I knew my truck.

"They keep saying it's priceless," she said. "Then they argue over the cost of keeping it safe."

Mrs. Bell came down forty minutes later with two board members.

They had voted to cancel Silas's move contract after notice and review by the hall's lawyer. They would seek return of the $12,800 separately.

The new contract named Paper Gauge Rigging as the mover. Marta and her crew were listed. My insurer confirmed coverage for the planned work and the stated value of the instrument.

The price was $6,800, with $3,400 due at signing and the rest after delivery and inspection.

"This does not settle your claim against Silas," I said, pointing to the clause Leah had helped write.

Mrs. Bell read it twice.

"Good."

The board chair asked whether I would cut my price because I wanted to clear my name.

Ada looked at him.

"His name doesn't pay his crew."

I let her sentence stand.

Mrs. Bell asked about the crew's hours.

I showed her the schedule. Each worker had a set rate. The quote included a rest break, setup time, and a check after the grand reached the stage.

"Silas gave us one total," she said.

"This total has the work behind it."

She passed the sheet to the board chair. He read the four names at the top and stopped asking me to make the price smaller.

They signed. The hall sent the first $3,400 to my company's account while I watched for the bank notice.

That evening, Marta, Leon Price, and I walked the route with maintenance staff. Leon had moved heavy instruments with Marta for twelve years. He asked more questions than he answered.

I liked that.

We checked the floor report, the stair survey, and each turn. We marked where people would stand and where nobody could stand. The loading area would be closed during the work.

At the last doorway, I opened my folded gauge.

The red line touched a new metal plate.

"This wasn't here last month," I said.

The maintenance lead crouched beside me.

"New door hardware."

We measured again. The route needed the door leaf removed by hall staff, with their fire safety lead handling access while the opening was clear. We added that step and its approval to the plan.

Marta looked at my paper.

"Cheap tool."

"Twelve cents, maybe."

"Earned its money."

Friday morning, Leah told me Silas had threatened to seek a court order over the cradle. No order had been issued. She was watching the filing and would tell me if that changed.

"Work within your contract," she said. "Save every message."

I finished the crew sheets. Then I printed a copy for each person.

Just after lunch, Ada arrived at my bay carrying the grand's condition file. A yellow slip stuck out from its pages.

"Before you set one pad," she said, "you need to see what they repaired under the bass end."