I called Teresa Gill, my attorney. I told her everything. I told her about the license, the deed, and the fact that Wayne was currently at the shop, actively trying to bill jobs under my credentials.

Teresa was silent for a long time. “Nancy, he’s operating illegally. If he signs a permit or a contract today, he’s committing fraud. He can’t run the company. Not for one day. Does he know that?”

“He doesn’t have a clue,” I said.

I waited until Tuesday morning. I wanted him to get settled. I wanted him to feel the thrill of his new “modernized” life. I wanted him to believe he had won.

When my cell phone rang at 9:15 AM, I saw the caller ID. It was the main office line. I let it ring three times.

“Nancy?”

Wayne’s voice sounded frantic. It wasn’t the arrogant, scotch-sipping voice from the kitchen. It was thin and reedy.

“Wayne,” I said.

“The building inspector is here,” he said. He was breathing hard. “He’s saying I can’t pull the permits for the Miller project. He says there’s a hold on our account. He says the master license is flagged.”

“That sounds like a problem, Wayne.”

“Fix it,” he snapped. “Call them and tell them it’s a mistake.”

“I can’t do that,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t authorize you to use my license for the Miller project,” I said. “And honestly, I don’t think I’m going to.”

There was a long silence on the line. I could hear Brittany in the background, muffled and high-pitched, asking him what was going on.

“What are you talking about?” Wayne asked. His voice was shaking.

“I’m the master contractor, Wayne. You’re not. You’re just an employee. And since you aren’t currently employed by me, you don’t have a license to operate.”

“I own that company,” he roared.

“Check the deed to the shop,” I said. “Check the state records for the license. You’ve been signing my name for twenty-six years without ever reading the paper. Maybe today is the day you start.”

“You can’t do this to me,” he said. “I’ll sue you. I’ll take everything.”

“You can’t sue me for taking back what has been in my name since 2005,” I said. “But you can start packing your things. The shop is my property. You have until noon to get your personal items out. After that, I’m changing the locks.”

“Nancy, wait,” he pleaded.

I didn’t wait. I hung up.

I sat at my kitchen table and watched the clock. At 11:30 AM, I got another call. It was Ray Dunlap.

“Nancy,” he said. He sounded relieved. “Wayne just left. He’s taking his tools. He looks… I don’t know. He looks finished.”

“Is Brittany with him?”

“She left ten minutes ago,” Ray said. “She saw the locks changing on the doors and walked to her car. She didn’t even look back.”

“I’ll be there in an hour, Ray,” I said. “We have a business to run.”