Felix Returned the Curtain After His Own Files Settled the Signature Dispute

I did not answer Felix before morning.

I sent his message to Vivian, made tea, and went through my treatment notes. Each job had dates, materials, hours, and the names of the people who worked on it.

At nine, she called.

"The board already received those reports under its contract," she said. "It can review its own records. Your new proposal uses new photographs taken with its permission."

"And saying I did the work?"

"We can support that. We don't need to settle every question about company photographs to state who performed a treatment."

She answered his threat in a short letter with the relevant records attached.

Felix did not apply to stop the contract.

Two days later, his lawyer produced the electronic files behind the contribution letter. Vivian had asked for those files at the hearing. Riverlight had demanded them, too.

The draft history began in the week before the sale. An earlier version still had a blank signature box. The next contained the image from my insurance form.

There was no record of that letter in the studio's old correspondence, capital accounts, or tax files.

"A date printed at the top wasn't much of a defense," Vivian told me. "Their position has changed."

Felix signed an interim agreement admitting that he had placed the signature image without my permission. He withdrew the claimed contribution and acknowledged my title to the Orchard Drop.

I read that sentence twice.

Not because it was hard. Because he had finally been made to say it plainly.

The agreement allowed the curtain to leave for storage arranged by me. It kept my damage claims open. The court entered the agreed terms, and we received a signed release for the movers.

The purchase adjustment followed. The $75,000 note was canceled. The escrow agent sent the six deposit refunds directly to the customers.

Elaine called when the Lantern's $28,000 cleared.

"We can sign," she said.

That afternoon, the board signed my contract and paid the new advance into my business account. Every dollar had a job beside it in my budget.

I bought lining, paid for the room, and confirmed the stitchers. Then I went to collect my inheritance.

Ruthie came with me. So did Owen, the movers, and an independent conservator who would record the condition before and after travel.

Felix stayed in the office downstairs.

We checked the cover for damp, the tube for damage, and the exposed sleeve for fresh marks. The conservator compared the bent-finger patch with the old photographs.

"Same item," she said. "No new damage visible in the areas examined."

We signed the condition sheet. The movers carried the supported roll down the wide rear stairs, one slow step at a time.

I walked ahead to hold the doors. Ruthie stayed behind the crew, keeping the landing clear. We had done hard moves together before, but this time she checked the release before she checked the stairs.

"Whose destination?" she asked me.

"Mine to choose."

"Say the address for the driver."

I gave him the theater's loading entrance. He repeated it and wrote it on his delivery sheet. Such a plain exchange, but I had missed having my instructions treated as enough.

The receipt would come back to me after unloading, signed and timed. I had already made a folder for it.

On the landing, Felix opened his office door.

"It would have reached a bigger audience with Riverlight," he said.

"You could have asked to borrow it."

He looked at Owen.

"This has cost everyone a great deal."

Owen held up the release.

"Your inventory cost us. This is the correction."

I followed the roll outside. Across the cotton sleeve, the three blue stitches moved through a strip of sun.

I had imagined feeling triumphant when the curtain came back. Mostly, I felt responsible for getting it safely through the door.

There were still company accounts to settle. Simon traced the first $155,000 payment: $59,000 had paid supported company bills for wages, rent, and suppliers. Felix had moved the remaining $96,000 into his personal savings.

He had called it his final distribution. There was no payment to me.

"He still has the money," Vivian said. "We've obtained an agreement to return it to a controlled company account while the final accounting is completed. Neither member can withdraw it alone."

That was another paper I signed without rushing.

At the theater, Ruthie taped the new work schedule above our table. I checked the tape before she pressed it down.

"On the wall," she said. "I know. Never on the cloth."

We unwrapped the working velvet and began marking the damaged areas with loose cotton ties.

For an hour, my hands knew what to do without a lawyer on the phone.

Then Ruthie's phone rang. She listened, wrote down a delivery number, and looked at me.

Our lining shipment had arrived. The warehouse had sent the wrong weight, and opening night was twenty-one days away.