A New Customer Arrived After The Last Check Cleared

The last check cleared eleven months after Mai set the divorce papers beside my shears.

It was not a giant check. Nobody took a photograph.

Felix called while I was replacing a broken zipper in a booth cushion.

"The closing ledger is ready," he said.

I set the cushion down.

"Any gap?"

"None. Come sign."

By then, the divorce was final. Mai's interest in Small Repeat had been transferred to me for $48,000. Her authority over the studio's bank accounts and licensing work had ended on the same date.

The joint apartment lease was closed. We had divided the deposit. The cars and retirement accounts had gone where the signed schedules said they would. The other royalty payments through our settlement date had been accounted for separately, with no balance left disputed.

There was no meeting left for Mai to direct.

The criminal cases had ended too. Both Mai and Gideon had entered guilty pleas to charges arising from the forged approvals. Each received probation and community service. The court credited the money already returned but did not treat its return as permission to erase what had happened.

I had attended the sentencing. I spoke when asked.

"They used my name to make me absent," I said. "I want the record to show I was never part of that agreement."

Then I sat down.

Gideon left with his lawyer. He had no studio, no pattern library, and no transaction fee. His final civil agreement canceled the sale, released his claims, and confirmed that he held no rights in my work.

Mai had money left from the property division. She also had the fee award against her, the criminal sentence, and no authority to speak for me again.

I did not need her hungry to know she had lost something.

At Felix's office, he had moved the cold cups to a windowsill. His desk was still crowded.

He laid out the final page.

The recovery was $293,880. Our joint tax payments tied to those recovered earnings came to $48,200 after the corrected returns were completed. That left $245,680, split into equal shares of $122,840.

Mai's share paid the $22,400 award for my legal and accounting costs. My share paid her $48,000 for the business.

My remaining distribution was $97,240.

Felix pointed to the bottom line.

"This is cash after those items. The receipts are behind it."

I turned every page. Federal payment. State payment. Lawyer's receipt. His invoices. Business transfer. The numbers held all the way down.

"You could have just told me the total," I said.

"You could have just trusted me."

We looked at each other.

Then he grinned and pushed over a pen.

I signed my name slowly. The final stroke stopped where it always stopped.

Back at the studio, the escrow firm's new instructions were waiting in the secure file. The held payments had been released according to the final accounting. Future payments would go to the listed studio account under fresh, verified approvals.

I checked the account digits myself. Felix would review the statements each quarter. I had hired a bookkeeper for six hours a week, and I opened the monthly reports with her at the cutting table.

The blue binder went on a shelf above the table. It held copies now; the originals rested in secure storage. Nothing in it needed to be hidden under cloth.

Mai sent one final message through Anika, asking to collect her personal sample case.

I packed it, photographed the contents, and left it with the building manager against a receipt. That closed the last item on our property list.

On Friday, I paid our two floor workers and ordered new blades. I bought Felix a packet of cuff buttons. He sent it back with a note saying his current one still balanced.

I laughed alone in the office. The sound surprised me.

That morning, Tou had helped me carry the last box into my new apartment. I gave him his garage key and paid the final week's rent. We ate breakfast by my window before he left. For the first time in months, I did not lay a folder beside my plate in case someone called with a question I had to prove.

At noon, the freight bell rang.

A woman waited downstairs beside a worn reading chair. She had brought a fabric sample folded around a small blue seed.

"The library said you made this," she told me.

"I drew it. I can fit it to the chair too."

"Will the leaves meet at the front?"

I lifted one corner of the old cushion and checked the frame.

"They will. Come upstairs. We'll measure it together."

She followed me into the warm workroom and unfolded a second paper.

"They asked for an estimate on eleven more chairs. Could you do those too?"

"Let's look at the measurements."

I unrolled the sample and smoothed it with my palm. Her new request lay beside my shears, and the two small blue seeds rested quietly in line.