The Judge Stopped Our Sale Before Gideon Could Close

Anika Bell met me on Wednesday with a yellow pad and no speech about saving my marriage.

"What do you want protected first?" she asked.

"The wages. We have two people on the floor. Then the money she moved. Then my drawings."

She wrote those down in that order.

I showed her the papers Mai had given me. Anika arranged for formal service through her office and entered the divorce case. Then she read the sale proposal, the escrow agreement, and Felix's first report.

"Have you signed anything since she gave you this?"

"A receipt for twelve yards of batting."

For the first time that morning, her mouth moved toward a smile.

She called Mai's lawyer. He had not seen the escrow records. With the Friday closing near, Anika asked for a prompt hearing and sent him everything she intended to present.

She also sent a dispute notice to the escrow firm. Ellen confirmed that it would hold new royalty payments under its contract while ownership and payment instructions were reviewed. It would not process the license transfer.

"That's a hold under their own terms," Anika told me. "The judge hasn't decided the signature issue yet."

The difference mattered to her. I began to see why.

Her retainer was $3,500. I paid it from my personal savings and kept the receipt. Then I made a list of the orders still on the floor, with deposits, cloth costs, and promised dates. A fight over what we owned could not become an excuse to take money from people waiting for their chairs.

Back at the mill, Mai waited beside a stack of finished cushions.

"You hired a lawyer without telling me."

"You brought me divorce papers."

"I thought we could do this with respect."

"Where is account 6041?"

She glanced toward the open workroom door.

"Lower your voice."

I had barely spoken above the sewing machines.

"Where is it?"

"It's a clearing account. Felix doesn't understand how agents work."

"He understands three hundred twelve thousand four hundred eighty dollars."

Her face went still.

"Those are gross figures."

"Net figures. The fees have their own column."

She moved closer and touched my sleeve.

"Let me explain this privately tonight. Cancel the hearing. We'll eat somewhere."

That touch had once meant we were on the same side. Now it felt like a hand turning a chair so a stain faced the wall.

"Send the explanation to Anika."

Her fingers dropped.

"You can make a small problem ruin both of us."

I went back to the cutting table. My hands shook for the first full length of cloth. I checked the seven leaves twice before making the first cut.

Thursday morning, we sat in a Providence courtroom. Mai wore the soft gray jacket she used for important buyers. Her lawyer asked for time to gather records.

Anika agreed that a full accounting would take time.

"The proposed closing is tomorrow," she said. "We need the assets preserved while that work happens."

The judge asked Mai whether she had authority to sell the studio without my consent.

"My husband was going to consent," she said.

"Has he?"

"Not yet."

Anika handed up the company agreement. A sale of the main assets required both members' written approval.

The judge turned a page.

"Then there will be no closing tomorrow."

It was one sentence. No hammer fell. Nobody clapped. I had expected a larger sound when a thing stopped crushing me.

The temporary order barred either of us from moving disputed funds or selling studio assets outside normal business. It required records and sworn financial disclosures. Ordinary payroll, rent, and listed operating bills could continue.

Anika had brought those bills, along with the payroll amount: $2,840 due Friday.

The judge allowed that payment from our regular account.

As we left, Mai stopped beneath the courtroom number.

"You've made Gideon look dishonest."

"He offered to buy a business he was supposed to help us sell."

"He took a risk on us."

"With whose money?"

Her lawyer stepped between us before she answered.

At the studio, I paid the floor staff and told them only what they needed to know. Orders were still coming. Their wages were covered. Neither had to choose a side.

Then I photographed the equipment, the cloth rolls, and every shelf of pattern boards. Anika had asked for an inventory, so I made one with serial numbers and dates.

I did not change locks or open Mai's private mail.

Near five, the freight bell rang.

A driver stood downstairs with a hand truck and a pickup sheet. Behind him, Gideon watched from a van.

"I'm here for twelve pattern masters," the driver said.

He held up a release form.

At the bottom, someone had signed my name again.