The Judge Stopped the Sale Before the Dealer Arrived

Friday morning, I put on the gray suit I wore to client presentations.

The knees had pale marks from kneeling beside display bases. I brushed them until June said nobody was going to inspect my trousers.

"Tell the truth in short pieces," she said. "Let me handle the rest."

In the courthouse hall, Celia stood beside Owen and their lawyer, Grant Sells. She looked at my empty hands.

"Where's your box?" she asked.

"June has the exhibits."

"So now you need somebody to carry your papers, too."

I sat down before I could answer.

Tessa arrived in her shop jacket. Ben had stayed behind to meet a delivery and keep the dealer from finding an empty building. They had both given June written statements about who built the three models.

Tessa sat beside me.

"You fixed the library's west door four times," she whispered. "I can say that if anyone asks."

It was a small thing to remember. It nearly undid me.

The judge explained that the hearing concerned urgent protection while the case moved forward. He wasn't deciding every claim that morning.

Grant said the equipment sale was a normal step in closing a failed business. He called Celia the only partner willing to face reality.

June handed up the proposed $9,500 sale beside our equipment schedule. The listed replacement cost was $47,800.

"The price alone isn't our claim," she said. "The sale would stop current production while the contract transfer and missing revenue remain disputed."

Then she called me.

I explained the three-copy certificates. I showed where the client's signature went and where accounts entered the payment reference.

"Why did you retain originals?" June asked.

"A model can get changed after delivery. Walls move. Doors break. I need a record of what the client accepted before I repair it."

"Did these clients reject their models?"

"No."

"Did you approve sending their payments to Switchyard?"

"No."

Grant asked whether I had trusted Celia to manage billing.

"Yes."

"And you rarely reviewed a bank statement?"

"Yes."

"So you don't know what arrangements were necessary to keep this company alive."

I looked at June. She waited.

"I know I didn't approve those transfers," I said.

I left it there.

Noreen testified about the client receipts she had verified. She made clear that she hadn't yet reviewed Switchyard's bank records.

Grant asked if she was accusing Celia of taking exactly $103,200.

"That is the amount the clients paid to Switchyard," she said. "I haven't assigned a use to every dollar. That's why we need the records."

He tried the question again with more words. Her answer stayed the same.

June presented the ownership statement from the trust's vendor packet. Celia leaned toward Grant so quickly her chair scraped.

"Your client described Switchyard as an outside rescue company," June said. "She owns eighty percent."

Grant said ownership wasn't wrongdoing.

"Agreed," June replied. "Concealing it while moving the main contract requires a closer look."

The judge read the equipment email. He asked Grant whether the buyer had paid a deposit.

No.

Whether removing the saw would stop the River Lantern work.

There was a pause.

"Yes," Grant said.

The temporary order stopped the sale and further transfers of studio assets. It barred destruction of records and froze disputed funds in Switchyard's account up to $103,200, pending review. June had to arrange the security the judge required before the order took effect.

He also placed the studio's receipts and essential expenses under a temporary receiver, Ellis Ward. I would direct model production. Celia couldn't change payees or move contracts while the order stood.

Nobody announced that I had won. There were deadlines, limits, and another hearing date.

I found that more comforting than a speech.

In the hallway, Celia caught up with me.

"You just made everything more expensive."

"The equipment is staying."

"You think that means you can run a business?"

"It means we can finish our work."

June stepped between us and asked Grant to send future proposals through her office.

By noon, the order was in effect. Ellis called the dealer himself. Then he went to the shop, counted the machines, and changed the payment controls with both lawyers notified.

I called Ben.

"Nobody's taking the saw."

He said nothing for a moment.

"Good. It still cuts straight."

That afternoon, Grant filed Celia's sworn response. June forwarded it with a note asking me to read slowly.

Celia claimed I had approved all three payment changes in person. She said my poor memory was now putting her reputation at risk.

Attached was a calendar marked with three supposed meetings, each on a day I had been out delivering the very models she said were canceled.