Chapter 5: Seven Different Things
“Oliver told me the future books were already his to assign.”
I placed Pippa’s printed email in front of my solicitor.
She read it once, then looked up.
“Exactly what did he think was his?”
“Marian Crowe. The next books. Possibly the final-volume package.”
“Those are three answers already.”
At the top of my inbox, North Quay’s notice supplied the threat Oliver had created: verify the package by nine the next morning, or its production slot would remain in place.
Copy-editing, cover work, and the release calendar could keep moving behind a file I had never approved.
“Then we have one meeting to stop guessing,” my solicitor said.
Rain struck the window. Kitchen-table nausea still sat beneath my ribs, but anger had become useful enough to hold a pen.
Beside the laptop, she opened a yellow ruled pad.
I opened a blank spreadsheet and made seven columns.
“Seven questions,” she warned. “Not seven speeches.”
The first heading was Shared Pen-Name Licence.
Who could authorise future use of Marian Crowe?
“Do not write ours,” she said.
I entered: Two named signatories under the 2013 licence; source confirmation requested.
The second heading was Existing Books and Royalties.
Six published books already had rights schedules, payments, and North Quay licences that my fury could not erase.
“Including Oliver’s share?”
My hand tightened around the pen. “Including Oliver’s share.”
The third heading was Public Credit.
Covers, interviews, biographies, and event captions could make claims about people without changing the underlying contracts.
Oliver’s stage announcement had already cost me the clean public record I thought twelve years of work had earned.
The fourth heading was My Personal Drafts.
Notes stored under my own account were not automatically Marian Crowe work merely because I was married when I wrote them.
The fifth heading was Oliver’s Performance and Writing Contributions.
I knew about his readings and spoken-dialogue tests. For anything more, I wrote: Request evidence; do not erase.
My anger wanted the second half deleted.
“You are protecting his verified work,” my solicitor said.
“I am protecting the difference between a record and revenge.”
The sixth heading was Final-Volume Delivery.
Its receiver required the shared name and two-signature authority; the package itself required a manifest, an upload history, and an identified source file.
North Quay’s notice showed that production staff had reserved time before I had even seen the contents.
“That is the immediate loss,” I said. “Every hour of work makes his claim look settled.”
The room went quiet except for rain and the hard little fan inside my laptop.
The seventh heading was Confidentiality and Public Facts.
Solicitors and authorised administrators could receive necessary records. Readers were not entitled to private messages because my marriage had failed.
My solicitor tapped the yellow ruled pad. “And the house? The bank accounts?”
I added a separate note: Matrimonial Property — Do Not Merge With Publishing Rights.
“Good,” she said. “Now tell them what decision you are actually making.”
“Hold unauthorised future use. Keep existing royalties moving. Verify the package before production treats it as ours.”
At 10:31, I attached the matrix to a message addressed to the neutral contract administrator.
For each row, I requested the governing document, authorised signatories, current status, and original custodian, with a source reference returned into the blank final cell.
For the final-volume package, I requested its manifest, submission time, submitting account, version history, and the contractual basis on which the production slot had been reserved.
I requested no private legal opinion from North Quay and no access to Oliver’s personal files.
My solicitor read the message, removed one furious adjective, and turned the laptop back towards me.
I pressed Send. Oliver, North Quay, and I received the same verification request.
At 10:47, the administrator replied with seven reference numbers and one immediate deadline.
Old-book royalties would continue under their existing schedules, including Oliver’s share.
By nine the next morning, however, we had to verify the “final-volume delivery package” or its production slot would remain in place.