The Lawyer Asked Why Twelve Pianos Had Left Without Payment

Miriam Vale read our company agreement twice.

Her office window faced a brick wall. A delivery truck backed up below us, beeping through the silence.

"Did you sign anything else?" she asked.

"Service orders. Tax returns. Nothing that changed ownership."

"Did you give Lydia permission to sign for you?"

"No."

She put a yellow note beside the clause requiring both owners' consent.

"Being the booking manager didn't give her the right to ignore this. But we'll need the transfer papers. And the money records."

I set the blue box on her floor.

"I brought what I have."

She looked inside, then at me.

"That may be quite a lot."

Her initial deposit was $3,000. Paying it left my tuning account with $814. I had three jobs booked that week and a van that needed tires.

I signed anyway.

Miriam checked the case Lydia had already filed. The papers beside my soup had included a proposed settlement and a copy of Lydia's sworn financial statement. In that statement, Lydia listed her half of Cedar Interval as worthless.

"Don't sign her proposal," Miriam said. "I'll answer the case. We'll ask the family court to stop further transfers while we get the facts. If North Lantern won't return the fleet, that requires a civil claim too."

She made two folders.

One for the marriage. One for the pianos.

I liked that she gave each problem a place to sit.

"What should I do today?" I asked.

"Earn your living. Keep records. Don't enter any place without permission. Don't hide an instrument or take it back yourself."

That afternoon, I went to a recital room in Manchester. I had tuned there for eleven years. Its director had invited me to inspect an upright after I asked whether its old rental number was still attached.

She met me with an email printed out.

"Lydia said you retired," she said.

"I haven't."

"She said the old fleet was being broken up."

"I'm trying to find out what happened."

Our upright stood in a practice room under a North Lantern cover. Its serial number matched CI-09. Behind its lower panel, a narrow repair curved around an old knot in the wood like a river around a stone.

I had a photograph of that repair with my thumb in the corner. The pale burn mark showed above the clamp.

The director gave me the hall's contract and its payment receipts. They had paid North Lantern $420 a month since February.

Eight months. $3,360.

I wrote it in the margin, then stopped. Selam had asked me to leave the originals clean. I copied the receipt and put my note on the copy.

Small habits mattered now.

As I carried my case through the lobby, Owen came in with Lydia.

He held her coat while she slipped her arms into it. Then she turned and kissed him on the mouth.

It was brief. It was familiar.

I stood beside a poster for a children's winter concert and watched my wife straighten another man's collar.

Lydia saw me first.

"What are you doing here?"

"Working."

Owen let go of her coat.

"Dawit. We should talk."

"About the upright?"

"About keeping clients out of a private disagreement."

His shoes shone. Mine had dried road salt across the toes.

"The director hired me to inspect a piano," I said.

Lydia stepped closer.

"You always make people feel sorry for you."

I had not told the director about the soup, the papers, or my bank balance. I had asked for a serial number.

"How long?" I asked.

Lydia knew what I meant.

"That has nothing to do with the business."

"Then it should be easy to keep the records separate."

Owen's face tightened.

"Those instruments have storage costs. Transport costs. You can't just pretend they're all profit."

"I don't," I said. "I've paid those costs for years."

I left before my voice could grow loud.

In the van, I held the velvet pouch until the fork's two arms pressed through the cloth. I did not strike it. I knew what an A sounded like. I needed a minute without sound.

Miriam called while I sat there.

"Their lawyer has agreed to send the transfer papers," she said. "Don't meet either of them alone to discuss terms."

"They seem worried about expenses."

"Then they can document them."

At home, I found an email from our fleet insurer. I was still listed as an owner and policy contact. The agent had received a request to cancel our coverage and wanted my approval.

Attached was the replacement equipment schedule supplied with that request.

It listed all twelve pianos under North Lantern's name.

The declared replacement value was $186,400.