The Buyer Compared My Originals With The Library She Was Buying

Marian Holt arrived at Ruth's office with her own lawyer and a folder full of colored tabs.

Her small theater group had hoped to build a touring program around our characters. She had agreed to a $240,000 purchase, subject to proof that the seller owned the rights.

“I asked for that proof twice,” she said. “I received a chart.”

Cressida and Ellis joined by video with their lawyer. Cressida greeted Marian as if we were gathered for lunch.

“This has become more complicated than it needed to be.”

Ruth set my first assignment beneath the document camera.

“Let's start with what was being sold.”

The paper had a coffee ring in its upper corner. Years earlier, a sculptor had signed his work on Nell's hands over to me for $650. The next page covered help with Moss's head and control.

The dates came before our wedding. So did my first finished drawings and the original licenses.

“Those are old,” Cressida said.

“Yes,” Ruth answered.

Malcolm put the current license beside them. Its ownership schedule still named me.

Marian asked to see the document Cressida said had changed that.

Her lawyer enlarged the signature.

“Where is the signing certificate?” he asked.

“We're looking,” Ellis said.

“Where is the email sending it to Mr. Avery?”

Nobody answered.

Ruth did not call anyone a liar. She sent Marian's lawyer the repair approval and asked him to compare the marks.

I watched Cressida's face on the screen. For years, I had watched for that small tightening around her mouth before she corrected me in public.

This time, I did not rush to make it easier for her.

Marian closed her folder.

“The purchase agreement lets us withdraw if clear ownership isn't shown by closing. We are withdrawing.”

“You can't take the advance back,” Cressida said.

The escrow lawyer joined the call long enough to explain that the $60,000 remained held under those same terms. It had never entered Hearthwake's spending account. The required notices would go out that day.

Ellis asked for a week.

Marian declined.

After the call ended, she stayed at the table.

“Could we license one character from you?” she asked me. “For a smaller program. Properly.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Malcolm would need to review the terms.”

His loose cuff button moved as he reached for a pen.

Later that week, they signed a limited school license for Nell. The first payment was $15,000, payable to me as the named owner. No tour van, stage set, or marriage story was included.

I stared at that last page longer than I needed to.

The North Carolina theater answered Malcolm's corrected ownership notice that same day. Its director called me at the shop.

“We were told you'd retired from licensing,” she said.

“I hadn't.”

“Do we need to stop rehearsals?”

I checked her contract before answering.

“Your paid license is still good. Keep your dates. Malcolm will send a report form with the right contact.”

“There isn't a new fee?”

“No.”

I wrote her next reporting date in my calendar. She had twenty children learning a show. They didn't need to carry a piece of my divorce into rehearsal.

Meanwhile, Malcolm recovered the Lexington contract from the pile of records produced under the order. Lantern Span had missed a required insurance renewal. The venue had already sent a warning that Cressida had never shared with the crew.

With proper notice, the venue accepted me as the replacement operator under its contract.

Its earlier deposit stayed credited. Nobody had to buy the same show twice.

The Richmond theater signed its fall renewal with my new business, Small Door Touring. A payroll service opened our account before the $12,000 deposit arrived.

Tessa read her offer letter at my bench.

“Paid rehearsal hours. A travel rate. Who approves overtime?”

“You request it. I approve it in writing.”

“And if we don't have the money?”

“We change the schedule.”

She signed. Bea and Owen signed theirs that afternoon.

Dana's first audit report came on Friday. The four Hearthwake invoices had no matching crew, rental, travel, or supplier bills.

Bank records showed $74,400 going toward Ellis's studio costs and personal withdrawals. Another $50,400 covered Cressida's personal spending and transfers.

Together, the total was the same $124,800 missing from my royalties.

I read the figures with a ruler beneath each line.

There were other columns too. A signature specialist had found signs that the disputed assignment used an image copied from my van approval. The file records supplied by Hearthwake showed the assignment had been created months after its claimed signing date.

Ruth asked for the source emails before drawing her final conclusion.

That evening, I set four signed work letters beside Moss. He wore Bea's brass button now.

Then Ruth called.

“There's a new property motion in the divorce,” she said. “Cressida is asking to sell the physical puppets.”