The Refund Hearing That Showed Where The Deposits Had Gone

I laid June's claim beside the refund plan I had mailed her.

The papers did not cancel each other out. She had paid the shop. The shop had failed her.

I called Elise.

“She has every right to pursue her money,” Elise said. “Don't ask her to drop the claim before you pay.”

June agreed to meet me at the workshop, with her sister beside her. She stood near the door and kept her coat on.

“My mother picked a rose-colored stone,” she said. “Conrad said you'd approved changing it to gray.”

“I never approved that.”

“He said the rose one had cracked.”

I brought out her original order and the inventory photographs. The rose-colored piece in her file was the same one reserved earlier for another family.

“It wasn't available when he took your deposit,” I said.

Her sister looked at the yard.

“So you can't give her what she bought.”

“I could order more, but June asked for a refund. That's what I'm doing.”

The check for $2,200 was ready. I gave it to her with a letter that said it was a full return of her deposit. There was no silence clause and no demand for a good review.

“I paid a filing fee,” she said.

Elise had checked that amount. I handed June a separate check for $71.

She looked at both.

“I still don't trust this place.”

“I understand.”

Ed's $3,600 refund went out the same day. Both checks cleared before their promised dates.

June's claim still needed closing properly. At the brief hearing, I brought the cleared check and June confirmed receipt. The court dismissed the paid claim. I kept the dismissal with her order.

There had been no trick to it. I had owed her money and returned it. That was a kind of paperwork I could live with.

Meanwhile, Eva finished her review.

She found $21,400 in company money used for Conrad's personal benefit: the $12,000 car payment and $9,400 toward his personal card. The card records showed clothing, hotels, and home expenses. None belonged to the shop.

Another $6,200 had bought his tall office chair, a wide desk, and a metal sign bearing his name. Those were shop purchases, though wasteful ones. Eva listed them separately.

“We can't call everything theft because we dislike it,” she said.

I asked a used-furniture dealer for a quote. With Elise's approval and receipts for each item, we sold the chair, desk, and unused sign for $1,600. I moved my small drawing table into the office.

The car seller supplied records showing Conrad was the buyer. The bank supplied the paid company check.

Elise added the findings to our civil case. She also helped me give the bank records and disputed release to the county investigator who took our report.

“The business case gets your control settled,” she said. “The investigator decides what to pursue separately.”

I signed my statement and went back to carving.

The new stone arrived on a flatbed from a regional yard. I checked it against the $7,800 invoice before I signed the delivery ticket. Every piece got a fresh number.

Tess read the numbers back while I wrote them.

“You think I'm going to mix these up?” she asked.

“I think two people should check.”

She nodded.

Cottonwood Rest's board had signed the revised agreement. Mae approved all six first-batch proofs, including one date that differed from the old cemetery list. We waited for the family's record before cutting it.

That wait used two days of our margin. We still delivered the six markers within twenty-one days.

Mae checked each name against her folder, then knelt to look across the row.

“They're level,” she said.

“Tess checked them twice.”

The cemetery paid $7,140 after acceptance. Eva applied the proper share of the old deposit and recorded the rest as received. I paid Tess, the supplier balance, and bills from a list that no longer lived in Conrad's head.

I had taken no pay for six weeks. There was room for a small check to me now, but I left the loan alone.

That night, Elise called as I was washing grit from my hands.

“Conrad has made an offer,” she said.

“How much?”

“He wants you to waive the $21,400 claim. In return, he says he'll stop challenging your ownership.”

I watched the muddy water clear in the sink.

“What happens if I say no?”

“We go to the hearing.”

“Then tell him no.”

The next morning, his lawyer filed a sworn statement claiming that the final $15,000 payment had never been received.