Chapter 3 - What the Work Was Worth
The appraiser arrived at Grandpa's workshop on Thursday morning. His name was David Mercer, a quiet man in his fifties who carried a laser measure, a camera, and a clipboard that looked considerably newer than Grandpa's.
The recovered cabinets occupied nearly half the workshop. Grandpa had placed them on padded supports and labeled each section according to its original location. Nothing had been chipped, cut, or discarded.
Mercer walked slowly around the largest cabinet.
“Custom mahogany,” he said. “Solid face frames. Hand-fitted joints. This is not standard retail cabinetry.”
“It's not meant to be,” Grandpa replied.
Mercer examined the joinery and measured the panels. “How many hours did you spend on the whole installation?”
“Three weeks on the project. Some evenings longer than others.”
“That doesn't tell me your labor hours.”
Grandpa opened his notebook. “I recorded those, too.”
I watched Mercer study the pages. He asked about the wood supplier, the finish, the window bench, and the modifications the Whitmores had requested. Grandpa answered without exaggeration, even pointing out one drawer that had required a second adjustment because the granite installer had left less clearance than expected.
“That was my mistake,” Grandpa said. “I should have rechecked the measurement before the countertop went in.”
Mercer looked surprised. “You're including that in your account?”
“It's part of the job.”
By lunchtime, the appraiser had finished his inspection. He explained that the replacement value of custom work was not the same as the resale value of dismantled pieces. The cabinets might be worth considerably less to someone who didn't own the Whitmore house, and reinstalling them would require additional labor and repairs to the mounting points.
The distinction mattered. Frank had told his attorney the cabinets were worth far more than the unpaid balance. Grandpa had argued that he had invested three weeks of skilled labor and deserved the money he had earned. Both statements could be true without answering the legal question of what the recovered materials were worth.
Mercer promised to send his report to both attorneys.
After he left, Grandpa sat at his workbench and examined a small piece of mahogany trim. It had a shallow curve at one end, shaped to follow the Whitmores' window bench.
“I could have charged more,” he said.
“You charged what you agreed to charge.”
“I could have added fees for the changes.”
“But you didn't.”
He turned the trim over in his hands. “My father used to say that if a customer couldn't understand your bill, you hadn't explained your work well enough.”
“Frank understood it.”
“Maybe. But I keep wondering whether I should have stopped when they started changing things.”
That was the first time I'd heard him question his own decisions. He wasn't questioning whether Frank had behaved badly. He was wondering whether his own pride in being accommodating had helped create the situation.
“You wanted them to love the work,” I said.
“I wanted them to look at it and know I'd done my best.”
“They did.”
He smiled faintly. “That almost makes it worse.”
That afternoon, Melissa came to the workshop alone.
Grandpa didn't invite her inside immediately. He met her at the open garage door, wiping his hands on a rag.
“I know the attorneys said not to discuss the dispute,” she began. “I'm not here to negotiate.”
“Then what are you here for?”
She looked past him at the dismantled cabinets. “I wanted to see what happened to them.”
“They're safe.”
“I can see that.”
Her gaze settled on the window bench. “My mother used to sit by the window and read. Before she died, she told me I should make a place like that in my own home. Somewhere people could sit without needing a reason to be there.”
Grandpa said nothing.
“I told Frank that was why I wanted the bench. He said it was an unnecessary expense, but he agreed because I was paying part of the renovation from my own savings.”
That was new information. I'd assumed Frank had paid for everything.
“Then why did you let him refuse the balance?” Grandpa asked.
Melissa looked down at her hands. “Because I thought he'd eventually pay it. He handles our accounts, and he said he'd found an error in the invoice. I didn't want another argument about money.”
“Did you look at the invoice?”
“No.”
Grandpa waited.
“I know how that sounds,” she continued. “I earn my own money. I manage a department at a medical supply company. I'm not helpless. But Frank has always made financial decisions sound like problems only he can understand. I got used to letting him explain things until I stopped asking questions.”
“That's something you'll need to deal with,” Grandpa said. “It isn't something I can fix for you.”
“I know.”
She reached into her handbag and withdrew an envelope. Inside was a check for $6,200.
Grandpa didn't touch it.
“This is from my personal account,” she said. “It's the balance I owe you for the work I approved. I know the court will have to decide what happens with the cabinets, but I don't want you to think I believe your labor was worth nothing.”
He looked at the check for a long time.
“Did Frank agree to this?”
“No. He doesn't know I'm here.”
“Then I can't accept it today. Keller needs to handle anything that might affect the case.”
Her face fell, but she nodded. “I expected that.”
Before leaving, she turned back once.
“I really did love the cabinets,” she said. “I wish that had been enough to make us behave better.”
After her car disappeared down the road, Grandpa carried the envelope into his office and called Keller. He did not deposit the check, but he asked his attorney to document the offer.
That evening, Mercer sent his preliminary report. The figures were lower than Frank had claimed and higher than Grandpa expected. More importantly, the report confirmed the work had been professionally constructed and that removal had caused no significant damage beyond ordinary mounting holes.
For the first time, Grandpa allowed himself to think that the hearing might end fairly.
Then Keller called.
“Frank's attorney has submitted a new statement,” he said. “He claims Melissa authorized the changes without his consent and that the additional work was never properly approved.”
Grandpa looked at the notebook on his workbench.
Every change was recorded. Several messages came directly from Frank.
May you like
But one of the most important requests had been made in person, during a conversation neither man had thought to document.
And Frank was now claiming it had never happened.
