The Bank Transfers Turned A Credit Dispute Into An Accounting

I called Marta from the driver's seat of my own hitched trailer.

For a moment, that was enough. My car. My trailer. My keys in my hand.

Then she said, "The festival advance is only part of it."

The other deposits were $630 each from two libraries for winter shows. Those dates had never reached our shared calendar.

Garrett had moved the full $4,860 out in one transfer labeled Owner Draw.

"He told me to hold the advances out of earnings until we performed," Marta said. "That's correct bookkeeping. Moving the cash to himself is a different matter."

"How do you know it went to his account?"

"Same destination as his past approved draws. The bank record shows the last four digits."

I had access to that company account. I had let his monthly summaries stand in for looking at it myself. I sat with that fact before I asked her next question.

"What else needs checking?"

We agreed on a review of the whole year's bookings, deposits, expenses, and draws. I authorized another $280 for her work.

"No guesses," I said. "If we can't prove it, put it in a question column."

"That's how I work, Emi."

She asked whether anyone had approved an early draw against those bookings. I checked my email and the ledger before answering no. There was no signed approval in either place. We had agreed that customer advances stayed available for the cost of delivering their shows. Even if Garrett had still been my friend, that rule would have applied.

I almost laughed. It had been a long time since someone treated careful work as ordinary.

Nora called at noon. She had checked our partnership agreement against the dated script drafts I sent. The river story and figures were my work, with permission for our joint productions. Garrett's sales materials were his. Ending the partnership would not make his words mine or my equipment his.

"Use a fresh program," she said. "Make the new arrangement clear."

Helena offered $3,000 for two performances under my own name. Half would be paid on signing, half after Sunday's show. It was a smaller production, with no speech from Garrett and no promise that he would appear.

I budgeted $400 for Tess and $125 for fuel and hauling help. She signed a simple helper agreement covering her pay, the two dates, and rehearsal time.

"Would you rather hire someone who already knows the rods?" she asked.

"I need someone who tells me when something is wrong. You did."

We moved the rig into the festival's smaller performance room. Its windows faced a brick wall, which made it easy to get the room dark.

By two, fresh programs were coming off the office printer.

Shadow Figures, Story, And Performance By Emi Takahashi.

Sound And Stage Help By Tess Mercer.

I checked the spelling twice. Then I set Not Yet on the desk while I signed the contract. His bad elbow sagged over Helena's stapler.

"A patient little fellow," she said.

"He hasn't much choice."

"Neither did you last night. Today you do."

Garrett called while I was checking the first lamp.

"You're using the festival to squeeze me," he said.

"The festival asked for proof."

"I can pay the advances back when you buy my share."

"Those are customer funds. Our business accounts need a separate review."

He breathed hard into the phone.

"I will give you the name. All the contacts. Everything. Just let me keep the rig for the winter."

It was the first time he had asked for the thing he had claimed was already his.

For eight years, I had waited for him to hear the difference between asking and telling. Now he heard it, and hated how it sounded.

"No winter loan," I said. "Send your account records to Marta. Speak to Nora about winding up the partnership."

"So that's it?"

Through the screen, Tess lifted the heron. Its beak tilted too far down.

I held up one finger to tell her I would help.

"That's what I can offer," I told Garrett.

He ended the call.

At four, Marta sent her first confirmed finding from the older records. She had found $4,800 in summer earnings left out of the profit split. Garrett had paid that whole amount to himself. Under our equal-share agreement, $2,400 belonged to me.

That was earned money, unlike the customer advances. She kept the two sums on separate pages.

I printed both and gave copies to Nora.

Then I put the papers away and showed Tess how to lift the flood sheet without tangling the deer's antlers.

At six, one hour before our first show, Garrett emailed a formal demand.

He wanted $15,740 for his claimed half of the rig, exactly half its appraised replacement value. If I refused, he wrote, he would take the claim to court.