His Demand For The Mounts Brought Us Into A Courtroom

My aunt read the demand twice at her kitchen table.

"Forty-eight thousand dollars? For what?"

"It says I ruined the hides."

"Did you?"

"I repaired one eye. Then I stopped."

She pushed her reading glasses up.

"Then we need someone who can say that in court without throwing this coffee cup."

Leona March charged me $950 to start. She was a local lawyer with a small office and a habit of reading every footnote.

I took her my condition reports, intake photographs, check copy, and the receipts from Hector.

"Were all seven mounts photographed before treatment?" she asked.

"Front, back, both sides, and every damaged area."

"That was useful work."

"Vaughn called it dusting."

She made a small pencil mark beside his damage claim.

The hearing took place in Coeur d'Alene. Outside the courthouse, wet leaves stuck to my shoes. I scraped them off before going through security.

Vaughn wore a dark suit. His lawyer carried a thin folder.

Mine carried two thick ones.

"You can still make this easy," Vaughn said near the benches.

Leona stepped beside me.

"Speak to me about the case."

"I was speaking to my employee."

"You hired her business. You didn't hire her life."

I looked down so he would not see my face change.

Inside, his lawyer asked for an immediate order returning all seven mounts. He said my refusal was harming a valuable collection.

Leona handed the judge the federal seizure receipt for the goat.

"My client cannot return an item she no longer possesses," she said. "She has offered a documented transfer of the other six."

Vaughn's lawyer glanced at him.

Apparently, the missing goat had not made it into their discussion.

The judge asked about the claimed damage.

"Those photographs could have been taken anytime," Vaughn said after he was sworn in.

"They were attached to the intake report you received," Leona said.

"I didn't study every page."

"But you signed this inventory?"

"Yes."

"And these are your crate numbers?"

"Yes. What's that got to do with her keeping my property?"

Leona let the answer sit.

I had feared his voice would fill the room the way it filled my shop. Here, a clerk typed while he spoke. The judge could ask him to stop.

That changed its size.

Leona showed the court two sets of pictures. The old split in an elk's lip appeared in both. So did the bear's bent base and the deer with a missing ear tip.

"We ask that any transfer include the condition reports," she said. "My client should not have to accept a false statement to surrender the mounts."

The judge made no final ruling on damages. That issue would need evidence at a later hearing. She declined to award Vaughn money that morning.

The clerk stamped our copy before we left. I watched the date press into the paper. Vaughn could tell a different story in the parking lot, but he could not change what the court had actually ordered.

She ordered a supervised transfer of the six mounts on Monday afternoon, with photographs and a signed receipt. Leona would attend. Given the reported threat, she arranged for an officer to be present too.

Vaughn could send an authorized carrier.

"I'll collect every unfinished commission in person," he said. "I don't trust anyone else with them."

"Then you may attend," the judge said. "You will follow the transfer terms."

He looked at me as though I had written them myself.

Outside, Leona handed me a copy of the order.

"Does this mean I won?" I asked.

"It means Monday has rules. We'll deal with the rest as it comes."

The honest answer hurt less than a cheerful lie would have.

Hector called later. He asked for my account of the hearing and the signed order. I sent them through the secure link his office provided.

"He admitted the signature," I said.

"That matters. Keep the court record."

"I keep everything."

"I'm beginning to understand that."

His voice softened, but he did not joke. Trust still felt like something we were assembling one small piece at a time.

At the shop, two cancellation messages waited. One was a $1,200 bird display. The other was an $800 elk repair.

Both clients had heard that police had taken stolen property from my building.

I gave them plain answers and offered their deposits back. I could not demand trust while someone else was spreading fear.

My bank balance fell below $3,000.

I tied fresh blue tags onto the six mounts, marking each with its court exhibit number. Then I put Monday's order in a clear sleeve beside the door.

At closing, an email arrived from Vaughn's office.

Attached was a release with my signature already on it.

It said I had never taken radiographs.