Eight Unpaid Orders Turned My Kitchen Table Into An Audit

I printed the $4,900 order before I answered it.

The customer, Marla Voss, wanted two wall sets repaired before hunting season ended. The form said Pualani Aiona, Production Owner. Under collection, Heath had typed, Our second workshop, address to follow.

I had never agreed to a second workshop.

I called Marla at the number on her email.

"Did you speak with me when you ordered?" I asked.

"Only Heath. He said you handled the money because you owned the cutting line."

I wrote her words down, then read them back.

"That's right," she said. "Is my canvas safe?"

"It was in the shop Monday. I'm asking for a count. Please send your receipt."

Her receipt showed a $1,200 deposit paid to Heath's shop account. She still owed $3,700 after delivery.

He had called me temporary while using my name to make buyers feel safe.

I sent Ellen both documents.

By Tuesday afternoon, Heath had supplied a spreadsheet with eight open orders. He called it the full ledger. It had totals but no dates and no deposit column.

"That's a shopping list," I told Ellen.

"Ask for the receipts behind it."

I still had email addresses from past work sheets. Ellen helped me write a short notice that stated the lockout date, asked customers to send their own records, and told them to hold unpaid balances while the records were checked.

I did not call Heath a thief. I did not promise refunds from money I had never received.

Ruth called first.

"He said you walked out," she told me.

"He changed the lock."

"I saw that much myself. What do you need?"

"Your order and proof of payment."

She brought them in a flour tin because her printer had quit and she kept paper receipts near the kitchen.

"Do I get the tin back?" she asked.

"With your roof collars."

For the first time that week, I laughed.

The eight orders added up to $31,800. Customers had paid Heath $8,400 in deposits. The remaining $23,400 was unpaid, due when finished goods were delivered.

Six forms named me as production owner. Two named me as the person who would back the job if Heath could not finish it.

None bore my signature.

Four had been accepted after my final payment, over the weekend before he locked me out.

I made three piles on my kitchen table: orders, payments, and goods. Three blue ticks on a strip of scrap canvas kept the piles straight.

My work was usually full of curves. A yurt roof was a shallow cone, and the cuts had to leave room for seam overlap. That week, I wanted straight columns.

On Wednesday, an accountant Ellen knew checked my sums against the receipts. Her name was Gail Mercer. She charged $240 for the first review.

"These balances aren't earnings yet," she said, circling $23,400. "The work still has to happen."

"He talks as if it's money in his pocket."

"Then don't use his way of counting."

She made a separate sheet for my unpaid labor. Signed weekly work sheets supported $3,180. Ellen kept that claim apart from equipment ownership and customer deposits.

That afternoon, Heath called again.

"You're freezing my cash flow."

"Those balances are due after delivery."

"I need the line for another month."

"You locked out the person who runs it."

"I can hire someone."

"Then you can rent equipment."

He stopped speaking for so long that I thought the call had dropped.

"What if I pay you five hundred?" he asked.

"For what?"

"Just leave everything where it is."

"Send an offer to Ellen. In writing."

He hung up.

By five, his own lawyer had sent a reply. Heath would allow a handover Friday morning. He would not admit that he had done anything wrong. He wanted a detailed receipt for every item removed.

"Fine," I said.

Ellen added terms: no equipment could be moved before collection; both sides could take photos; customer goods would be counted and left for their owners' written instructions. Signing the handover would not settle the unpaid labor claim.

Heath signed every page.

I booked a licensed machinery mover for $1,280 and rented a small bay from a retired carpenter for $700 a month. Soren checked that its floor and power supply could carry the line.

At nine that night, the mover forwarded a question from his dispatcher.

Heath had already booked a move for the same four serial numbers. His booking named a different destination, and a woman named Cora Bell had paid the deposit.