Pearl Brought A Sold Horse And A Receipt To My Kitchen

"I paid him six thousand two hundred dollars," Pearl said.

She did not sound angry at me. That made it harder to hear.

We stood in her trailer with the door open. Cold air smelled of wet pavement and the clean straw she used to keep straps from rubbing paint.

Pearl Okafor was fifty-eight, a Nigerian American woman with a full laugh, square reading glasses, and a habit of checking every buckle twice. She ran a traveling carousel that followed small fairs through northern Illinois.

That morning, her laugh was gone.

"He sent pictures," she said. "Said you were clearing stock for retirement. I needed a small jumper. Then I saw that ear when we unloaded her."

Mabel's left ear bent forward. Years ago, I had fixed a split beneath it with a little wedge shaped like a grain of rice. Pearl had watched me do it while her own animals waited outside.

"He said she was ours to sell?"

"In writing."

She held out a folder. Her receipt had a photograph, a wire confirmation, and a bill of sale signed by Gavin. The payment had gone to a new business called Roake Ride Supply.

"I almost drove straight to his shop," she said.

"Then we'd both be outside a locked door."

I told her what had happened.

Pearl closed her eyes. When she opened them, she took a pen from her coat.

"We need copies."

Inside, she put Mabel's papers beside my buyout papers. She had brought a tray of sweet buns for what she thought would be a happy visit. We ate them without tasting much.

My agreement gave Gavin forty percent of the company. A separate purchase-money note covered the later transfer of my remaining interest and the shop equipment listed on Schedule B. The price was $96,000, in four yearly payments of $24,000.

He had made one payment.

The next three had never arrived.

"Why did you let him stay?" Pearl asked.

"He said the business needed cash. I agreed to wait before enforcing the debt. I never signed away the balance."

I had written those extensions down. Each said the unpaid principal remained due and the final ownership transfer would wait for full payment.

"You trusted him."

"Yes."

She did not tell me I should have known better.

Instead, she moved a bun off the payment record and wiped a spot of icing from the table. Small things still needed doing. Having someone do them beside me helped.

Our operating agreement was plain about the votes. Until the buyout closed, I held sixty percent. Gavin could manage daily orders. He could not remove me, sell major equipment, or sell a customer's property.

The final transfer page was unsigned.

"He thinks because he handles the screen, he handles everything," Pearl said.

I called Nora Bell, the lawyer who had helped draw up the deal. Her office was above a row of shops on East State Street.

"Don't enter by force," she said after I explained. "Don't take equipment. Bring the originals and Pearl's sale papers."

"I have the title schedule."

"Good. But a title clause on equipment can function as security for a debt. We'll read it with the security agreement. It isn't a license to load up a truck."

I liked her better for saying that.

I called Mabel's owner next. The park trust's secretary, June Harlan, went quiet when I told her where the horse was.

"We paid a nine-hundred-dollar deposit for the repair," she said. "We didn't sell her."

"I know. Pearl has her safe."

"Does Gavin know you're calling?"

"He asked me not to contact customers. I didn't agree."

June emailed the work order and an old photograph. Mabel stood between two larger horses, her bent ear plain as a crooked little finger.

With June listening on the phone, Pearl and I checked the horse. I tapped my ring beside the repaired neck.

Tick.

The joint sounded clean. Beneath the saddle, my job number was still there: MH-214. Pearl photographed it beside June's work order.

"I'll return her under a receipt," Pearl said. "Then we'll settle the money through proper channels. I won't hold somebody's horse hostage."

At Nora's office, we spread everything across a long table. She checked the note, the signed extensions, and the equipment list. Then she opened a saved copy of the original financing filing.

"This matters," she said. "So does your voting interest. A manager listing didn't purchase your shares."

I had expected to feel pleased. Instead, I felt tired all through my back.

Nora slid a blank page toward me.

"List every customer's figure that should be in the shop."

I wrote Mabel, the blue heron, the red fox, and the little bay colt.

Before I could add their owners, Pearl's phone buzzed.

Gavin had sent her another sales list.

At the top was a photograph of our blue heron.