Her Settlement Offer Reached The Table With A Silence Clause

Cressida wanted the meeting held at the old shop.

Ruth chose her office instead.

We sat with our lawyers on opposite sides of the table. Ellis joined us this time. He kept turning his phone face down, then face up.

Their first draft offered $75,000, paid over three years. It also required me to stop discussing the accounts with theaters, investors, or former crew.

“No,” I said.

Cressida folded her hands.

“It keeps everyone out of more trouble.”

Ruth set Dana's report beside the offer.

“Our claim is $124,800 in diverted royalties. The agreed audit bill is another $8,600. That's $133,400, before we discuss any other disputed costs.”

Ellis looked at his lawyer.

“There wasn't that much left.”

“We have the transfers,” Ruth said. “We aren't guessing from the balance.”

The bank records showed $58,900 still available in Hearthwake's frozen operating account. Marian's separate $60,000 escrow advance had already been returned to her under the canceled purchase agreement.

Nobody could use the buyer's money to repay mine.

Ruth laid out the email exchange about my signature. Both original messages had been supplied by their own side.

For a while, I heard only the air vent.

“I thought the company should own it,” Cressida said.

“Then you could have asked me to sell it.”

“You would have said no.”

“You used my answer without asking me the question.”

She looked toward Ellis. He was studying the table.

Their lawyer requested a break.

In Ruth's small kitchen, I drank water from a chipped cup. Malcolm stood beside the counter. He had brought every licensing attachment in date order, though no one had asked him to attend.

“I keep thinking about all those kisses at previews,” I said.

“You don't have to find an invoice for every hurt.”

I nodded. It helped that he did not tell me to feel lucky.

When we returned, the silence clause was gone.

The new proposal used the $58,900 held in Hearthwake's account. Cressida would pay $42,500 from an investment account she had owned before our marriage. Ellis would pay the remaining $32,000 within four months, backed by a judgment that could be enforced if he missed the deadline.

Both remained responsible for the unpaid balance until it was paid.

Ruth went through the terms slowly. I asked questions. She changed two lines that were too broad.

The final agreement included signed admissions that the four production invoices did not cover real services and that I had never approved the royalty transfers. Cressida and Ellis also admitted that the later assignment used my copied signature without permission.

Lantern Span and Hearthwake would surrender any claimed authority over my characters. Licensing notices would go to every affected client. Their businesses would close after the remaining bills and accounts were settled.

My claims against those named parties would end only under the written settlement terms. Nothing would prevent truthful replies to clients or payment records being supplied when properly required.

We each paid our own legal bills. I disliked that part. Ruth showed me the cost and risk of taking every remaining issue through trial.

I made the choice myself.

There was one more page I wanted to read aloud: the correction letter to the venues.

“Lantern Span does not own the scheduled character designs,” I read. “Julian Avery did not approve the transfer document previously provided.”

“That sounds harsh,” Cressida said.

“Is it wrong?” Ruth asked.

Cressida looked down.

Her lawyer made a small note and left the words in place. I checked the client list against Malcolm's list. Two theaters had been missed. We added them before anyone signed. I wanted every person who had received the false claim to receive the correction too.

Cressida asked to speak to me alone.

“You can speak here,” I said.

She turned her wedding ring with her thumb.

“We were good in front of a room.”

I thought of her hand on my shoulder while I wondered whether we could afford new tires.

“I believed we were good when the room was empty.”

She stopped turning the ring.

The lawyers finished the papers that week. At the short court hearing, the judge asked whether we understood the agreement and had signed freely with advice from counsel.

I answered yes.

So did Cressida. So did Ellis.

The court entered the $133,400 consent judgment and the terms that confirmed my ownership. The first $101,400 reached the trust account before the hearing ended.

I did not take a picture on the courthouse steps.

I called Tessa and asked how the Lexington load-in had gone.

“Ramp's narrow,” she said. “We need ten extra minutes.”

“Put it on the schedule.”

That evening, Ruth sent a second packet. Our divorce property agreement was ready, with the puppet purchase money accounted for and the designs listed as my separate property.

On top lay a request for my signature.