The Court Asked For The Lease Behind Her Cheerful Notice

At five forty on Wednesday, I found a chain across my stall's wire gate.

My drying rack stood inside. So did a customer's sail that still needed its final turn in the air.

Felicity waited under the aisle lights with a locksmith.

“You're early,” she said. “That makes this easier.”

I photographed the chain, the clock on the fish stall, and the notice beside my gate.

“Please let me get my customer's property.”

“Once we have a payment plan.”

The locksmith looked at her.

“You didn't say there was customer stuff in there.”

“It's a tenancy matter,” she told him.

I called Dana. She asked me to put the phone on speaker.

“Ms. Ward, I represent Mr. Desrosiers. Please give him access. We will be seeking an emergency order this morning.”

“Lovely,” Felicity said. “Send the paperwork to the office.”

The locksmith put his tools away. He had already changed the gate lock, but he refused Felicity's request to add another bar.

“Sort out whose things those are first,” he said.

I stayed on the public side of the gate.

At seven, Mara arrived and photographed it too. She got Felicity to release the customer's sail, though Felicity still refused me working access.

I sent the sail to a covered drying space at a boat repair yard. The owner charged $180 for transport and space. I kept the receipt.

“You had my instruction to preserve access,” Mara told Felicity.

“You held the water notice,” Felicity said. “This is a separate lease breach.”

Mara called the owner's lawyer.

I sat in my van while Dana filed the papers. She included my sworn statement, the registered sublease, Keoni's statement, Celia's test notes, and the two lockout notices.

She asked for access, working water, and an order preserving the disputed records and plumbing while the case continued.

An urgent hearing was set for that afternoon. The owner's lawyer agreed to appear. Felicity brought a lawyer of her own.

I had never sat at a courtroom table before.

My clean shirt pulled at my shoulders. I kept wanting to check whether my hands smelled of sail soap.

Dana leaned toward me.

“Answer the question you get. You don't have to tell the whole story at once.”

The judge read the demand first.

“Eighteen thousand six hundred forty dollars,” she said. “What supports that figure?”

Felicity's lawyer called it an estimate awaiting review.

“It was presented as due within forty-eight hours,” Dana said.

She handed up the notice.

The judge asked whether my ordinary rent was current. Dana showed the paid receipts, including that month's $620 payment. There was no unpaid base rent hiding beneath the water dispute.

“And he was working from this stall before the notice?”

“For eight months,” Dana said.

The judge wrote something on her pad. I watched her pen instead of looking toward Felicity.

The judge turned to the lease.

“And this clause retains the existing rinse supply?”

“Yes,” Dana said. “The owner has confirmed this is its registered copy.”

The owner's lawyer stood.

“That is correct. Our client supports restored access while the accounting is completed.”

Felicity whispered to her lawyer. He held up the amendment.

“There is a later agreement.”

“Disputed,” Dana said. “No original has been produced. It was not registered as the lease requires.”

She gave the court the clerk's statement and the file activity log.

The judge didn't declare the signature false. She didn't need to decide everything that afternoon.

She asked why a lockout had been necessary before the documents were checked.

Felicity's lawyer said his client had believed she was protecting market income.

“From the business attached to this same meter?” the judge asked.

He requested time to respond in writing.

The order gave me access and barred interference with the stall's water pending further proceedings. It also required preservation of the meters and billing records. A later hearing would address the remaining claims if we couldn't settle them.

I read every line before I left.

Outside, Felicity stood near the steps.

“You could have just come to my office,” she said.

I held the court copy against my folder.

“I asked for the records on Sunday.”

That was all I said.

By four, the chain was gone. Mara had the order delivered to the market office and gave me a new key in person.

I tested my tap. The bucket filled with clear water.

Ben came down the aisle carrying his sail bag.

“Ruth told me what happened,” he said. “I'm sorry I left you standing there.”

“You can pick it up tomorrow.”

“No hurry.”

There was hurry for me. Two canceled jobs and another job's canceled balance had cost $2,280. With the yard bill, my documented loss stood at $2,460.

I entered it in the folder and went back to work.

Thursday morning, a messenger arrived from the outside accountant.

The sealed envelope was thick enough to hold more than an apology.