Wade Asked The Court To Price The Work He Dismissed

The claim arrived in Anika's office on Thursday. Wade wanted the partnership ended and $24,000 paid to him for his share of its value. He claimed the machines belonged in that value.

"Yesterday I was the woman who hemmed things," I said. "Today we're equal owners of every bolt."

Anika slid the pages toward me.

"He can make a claim. He has to support it. So do we."

I read each page. Wade had attached photographs of us beside finished sails. In one, his arm lay across my shoulder. I remembered that day. We had delivered a storm jib in sleet, then shared hot soup from paper cups.

I had liked him once. That was harder to admit than the money.

He used to bring me the good shears when I reached for the cheap pair. He had learned how I took my coffee. Those things had happened too. I put the photograph back in the file instead of tearing it. A full record had room for both kinds of truth.

"Do pictures make the machines his?" I asked.

"They show you worked together. We won't deny that. The purchase papers and books answer a different question."

She asked me to find all the early records, including anything that helped Wade.

I brought our first profit sheet, his sketches, and my notes from our opening month. One page showed that he had paid $2,000 for signs and our first run of cards. Another showed I had received the same amount back for cloth bought before we opened.

Neither payment bought a machine.

Ben checked the use charges in our old books. They were listed as rent paid to me for equipment I owned. Wade had signed each quarterly review through March.

"Why didn't you catch the transfers in April?" Ben asked.

"He took over the daily books for spring. I was cutting six days a week. We were supposed to review June together."

"Did you still have bank access?"

"Yes. I didn't use it enough."

He wrote that down without scolding me.

That afternoon, I counted every roll of cloth with Tess Han, our spring helper. I paid her $28 an hour from my own money for the inventory and kept the receipt for the accounting.

"Am I out of a job?" she asked.

"For now, I can promise today."

She looked across the floor.

"That's more than Wade promised. He told me to tell people you were taking time off."

"Did you?"

"I told them to call you."

We wrote down unfinished work, unused cloth, and hardware already cut for each order. I photographed every serial plate again. The blue ladders on the panels helped us match loose pieces to my inspection notes.

One looked almost rubbed away.

I traced the space beside it, then stopped. A fresh mark would say I had checked the panel today. I hadn't.

I tested it first.

On Friday, we went to the Superior Court in New London for the next hearing. I wore a plain navy dress and carried a flat file box. Wade wore the jacket he used for boat club talks.

In the hall, he nodded at my box.

"You really brought all of it."

"The parts that matter."

Our lawyers did most of the speaking. Wade's lawyer asked that the machines remain available to satisfy any final division of partnership property. Anika showed the purchase contracts, releases, and signed books.

The judge asked whether Wade had records showing the shop had bought the equipment from me.

His lawyer said more review was needed.

The judge left the no-sale order in place. She set a schedule for the full accounting and told both sides that customers' money and property had to be addressed as we closed the partnership.

There was no grand speech about justice. A clerk called the next matter while I was still closing my box.

Outside, Wade caught up to me.

"You could just buy me out."

"With what?"

"The summer balances."

"Those balances have to pay for summer sails."

He spread his hands.

"You always make the future sound so small."

I watched a gull tear at a paper bag near the curb.

"Seven boats," I said. "Seven promises. That's plenty big."

Celeste waited at the loft with lunch. She had finished her morning launch run and brought two bowls of stew.

"Did the judge bang anything?" she asked.

"Mostly people turned pages."

"My favorite kind of storm."

I told her about the proposed buyout.

"He wants the cloth before you've made the sail," she said.

"He wants the wind too."

While we ate, Anika emailed the first production of Fenwick Studio records. Ben had flagged an attachment to a display invoice.

It was Wade's instruction to the festival showcase builder.

"Remove Valdes from the owner panel," he had written. "Fenwick Studio will be the loft's sole successor."