The Insurance Inspector Asked To See The Other Side Of The Wall

I called a lawyer before I answered Mallory.

Nora Pike worked above a small tax office near downtown. Her door had a paper sign asking visitors to close it gently. I liked her before she spoke.

“Tell me what you know,” she said. “Then tell me what you suspect. Keep them apart.”

I put the ban, the survey, the two work orders, and F-112 on her desk.

She read without interrupting.

“Did you take any metal?”

“No.”

“Did you authorize anyone to take it?”

“No.”

“Have you accused her publicly?”

“I asked whether the contractor was her brother.”

“Let's keep the next steps on paper.”

Her retainer was $2,500. My business reserve held $3,170. I wrote the check and watched most of a month's safety leave my account.

Nora sent a preservation letter to the superintendent, the business director, district counsel, and Mallory. It named the orders, messages, access logs, attachments, and any recordings of the work area.

“A request won't turn a computer to stone,” she told me. “But nobody can say they didn't know these records mattered.”

At 7:41 that evening, the technology director confirmed that the cleanup job had been stopped. Earlier versions would be kept for review.

I slept four hours.

By Friday, two more clients had asked me to stay away. One forwarded an email that Mallory had sent to a small list of local venues.

It called me the person responsible for the unauthorized removal of school organ materials.

No “alleged.” No “under review.”

Nora saved the forwarded message and asked the sender to keep the original.

My notebook had three lost jobs now. Their booked fees totaled $6,240, including a large service visit that needed two overnight stays. I listed the amounts and left space for expenses I would no longer incur.

At ten, the insurer's inspector called me.

“Sloane Fitch. I understand you have a survey of the instrument.”

“I also have a ban that keeps me from showing it to you.”

“Send the survey. I'll arrange the access I need.”

I sent the full scan, not selected pages.

At eleven, the district business director gave me written permission to attend the inspection with Nora. It applied only to that visit. I printed it.

Mallory met us at the auditorium door.

“Mr. Valdes is the subject of the claim,” she told Sloane.

“Then he can point out his work,” Sloane said. “I'll make my own findings.”

Inside, the chamber smelled of old wood and dust. I put my hands behind my back so nobody could say I had adjusted something before they saw it.

Sloane held up Trent's estimate.

“Replace missing copper wind trunk. Restore damaged organ air supply. Eighteen thousand six hundred forty dollars.”

“The blower's behind that door,” I said. “You can follow the steel windline from there.”

She did. The business director followed her with a flashlight.

Mallory stayed by the console.

“Perhaps it was changed after the loss,” she said.

I opened the district scan on Nora's tablet. The steel line was in a photograph taken nine years earlier. A dent beside its second bend still caught the light in the same way.

Sloane compared the photo with the line.

“And the copper?”

“Other side of the wall.”

We walked to the brick chase. A long empty space ran behind a loose access panel. Cut supports showed where the heating duct had hung.

The organ case stood clear of it.

“Could this duct have fed the organ?” Sloane asked.

“Look for a connection,” I said.

She looked. She found none.

I showed her the drawing and F-112. Mallory reached for the authorization, but Sloane kept her copy.

“I need to review that.”

“You'll have a copy,” the business director said.

Sloane asked for power. With permission, I started the blower. The instrument held wind. I played each key while she checked the ranks against the inventory.

One pedal note stuck. The fault I had come to repair was still there.

“Separate maintenance item,” she said, writing it down.

Outside, she gave no grand speech.

“I haven't found the claimed damage to this organ. I'll submit my report. The district still needs to account for its salvage.”

That was enough for that morning.

Nora and I had reached the parking lot when Keisha called.

“Mr. Pruitt's here with me,” she said. “We checked the rehearsal card.”

“What card?”

“The long recording from setup day. Before rehearsal started.”

I heard her teacher say that he had secured the original.

Then Keisha spoke again.

“You need to hear what Ms. Dace told her brother while she was moving my tripod.”