CHAPTER TEN – AN OFFER IN THE DOORWAY

I opened the storm door but kept the wooden door partly closed behind me.
June was upstairs doing homework, and I did not want her pulled into another confrontation.
Celia introduced the two men as consultants responsible for recovering missing inventory.
I asked whether they were police officers.
They were not.
“Then you can speak to me from the porch,” I said.
Celia smiled without warmth.
“You’re making a local misunderstanding unnecessarily difficult.”
“People who made those objects say they never agreed to sell them.”
“People sometimes forget details of contracts they signed months earlier.”
“Mabel Ortiz remembers asking for her bird back.”
Celia glanced toward the kitchen window.
“We understand you have damaged property belonging to our organization.”
I told her ownership was disputed and that the objects were being preserved for the appropriate authorities.


She extended a typed receipt.
The receipt offered a modest cash payment in exchange for every object I had found.
The statement beneath it described the pieces as abandoned materials retrieved from an unauthorized dumping site.
“You want me to sign that I found your property in a dumping site,” I said.
“That would be the simplest resolution.”
“It wouldn’t be true.”
One consultant shifted his weight.
Celia changed her approach.
She said the board was concerned about reputational damage and could consider compensating me for the broken chair and inconvenience.
She also mentioned that donors might fund an art scholarship for June.
The offer infuriated me more than the earlier gift card.
“June doesn’t need her education financed in exchange for my silence,” I said.
Celia’s expression hardened.
“You have no idea how many older people depend on what we do.

”
“Then stop using their dependence against them.”
She lowered her voice.
“Bernice has been acting erratically for months.”
“Bernice admitted throwing objects onto my property.”
“Exactly.”
“She also described your instructions.”
Celia looked toward the consultants.
“That’s a very serious accusation.”
“It’s one investigators can examine.”
For a moment nobody spoke.
Then Celia folded the receipt and placed it back inside her bag.
“You may regret allowing a confused neighbor to drag you into this,” she said.
“You may regret assuming nobody will question your paperwork,” I replied.
Celia left without another word.
I photographed the discarded business card one consultant had left in my mailbox and wrote down the time of their visit.
The next morning, I provided Officer Singh with a statement about the encounter.
She reminded me that refusing an offer was my choice, but that I should not confront anyone over the disputed inventory.
I went directly to the legal services office afterward.
Imogen reviewed the images of the objects and the video from the earlier arts festival.
She explained that the old video showed the program’s public representations but did not by itself prove the terms of every later agreement.
The residents’ own accounts, the signed forms, transport records, and physical pieces mattered more to the immediate ownership dispute.
“The video got Bernice to speak,” I said.
“Her testimony will need to stand on its own.”
Imogen nodded.
“Exactly.”
By late afternoon, the court had issued temporary relief preventing specified disputed works from being transferred pending further proceedings.
The order did not cancel the entire gala or decide whether fraud had occurred.
Imogen notified the organization and the event company.
Celia publicly announced that the gala would continue as scheduled.
She promised donors a celebration of resilience despite what she called an unfortunate administrative disagreement.
When June read the statement, she laughed bitterly.
“She made stolen paintings sound like a scheduling problem,” she said.
I told her we would attend with Mabel and the others.
June asked whether Bernice would be there.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
“I think she should be,” June said.
“I want her to hear what Mrs. Ortiz has to say.”