The Court Ordered The Door Open With Witnesses Present

At seven forty Thursday morning, I stood on the public float with Dana on the phone. She had already sent Beckett a written warning to preserve the chamber and all test records.

“Keep clear of the door,” she said. “Tell customers only what you can support.”

Mara arrived carrying a blue bag. Two other customers followed her.

“I can't verify the service being offered today,” I told them. “My name has appeared on test receipts I didn't sign.”

“Then mine stays with me,” Mara said.

Beckett came out holding a clipboard.

“You're scaring people.”

“Who is operating the chamber?”

“A technician.”

“What's the technician's name?” Mara asked.

“We've had a scheduling change.”

Nobody handed over a bag.

By nine, Beckett had put a printed notice in the window: TEST DAYS POSTPONED DUE TO OWNERSHIP INTERFERENCE.

I photographed it from the float and left. Dana added it to our hearing papers with the time and my short statement. I spent the rest of Thursday calling customers whose numbers appeared on the receipts people had sent me.

I said the same thing each time. I didn't know whether their equipment was sound. I did know I had not done the listed tests. I asked them to arrange an independent check before use.

One man swore at me. Another thanked me. Both asked when they could get their money back.

“I'm working on an accounting,” I said.

It felt thin. It was the truth.

Friday's hearing took place on a screen in Dana's office. Beckett joined from the shop, seated beneath the light Paul had hung over my bench.

The judge asked him whether he had the original contribution schedule.

“It's a digital business record,” he said.

“Who prepared it?”

“We both worked on our records.”

“That wasn't my question.”

His charm slowed down after that.

Dana showed the purchase records, estate papers, inventory, and harbor file. Beckett said our monthly use payments proved a purchase.

“The agreement calls them use fees,” the judge said. “Where is the purchase contract?”

He didn't produce one.

The judge did not decide every claim that morning. She ordered supervised access, preservation of paper and digital records, and no sale or removal of the hull or chamber. Neither partner could move business funds outside ordinary expenses without written consent or a further order.

Customer gear could be released with signed pickup records. An independent technician could inspect the chamber. Ownership and the full accounting would come later.

I read the order twice before I let myself breathe.

“What about the people waiting for Monday?” I asked.

“Call them with a pickup time,” Dana said. “The order gives us a way to return their gear. It doesn't make unfinished work complete.”

I wrote that last sentence on my call sheet. I needed to keep remembering the difference, even when someone begged me for a promise.

At noon, Dana, a locksmith, and a retired equipment technician named Neil arrived with me at the barge. Beckett waited inside.

“So you got your little parade,” he said.

Dana held up the order.

“Please open the door.”

He did. The locksmith changed the lock to one for which both lawyers would hold spare keys under the access plan.

The three washers tapped against the siding when the door swung wide. I steadied them with one finger.

My bench looked clean in the wrong way. The tubing I used for listening had been pushed into a drawer. A row of suits lay bagged under cards marked COMPLETE.

I photographed each card before touching anything.

Neil started with the chamber's service records. It was a chamber for equipment, never people. We used it for specified checks on parts and gear under written shop procedures. A normal suit leak check at the bench was a separate job, with its own log.

“Where's the current gauge service record?” Neil asked.

Beckett pointed toward a shelf.

The folder there ended in August. A service tag on the chamber said DO NOT USE. I had attached it myself after the gauge failed a check, before my trip to Anchorage. The replacement gauge still sat in its unopened shipping box.

“I could still do visual checks,” Beckett said.

“These receipts charge for more than visual checks,” Dana said.

Neil photographed the tag, the sealed box, and the gauge. He didn't turn the chamber on. He said he would report only what he had inspected and could verify.

I opened the drawer for the job book. Beneath it was a narrow red carbon pad.

The top copy had been torn away. The sheet below still held the marks of a pen.

Dana stopped me before I lifted it.

“Photo first.”

Under the bench lamp, I could read the last line pressed into the paper.

Twenty-four deposits collected. Keep separate until winter close.