Ms. Calder, We Want to Paint!

Chapter 4: The Draft

Northline's attorney sent a letter the next morning. The company had suspended the public mural concept "pending resolution of authorship questions," but denied copying my work. It also claimed Avery had submitted "independent preliminary sketches" that resembled my proposal only because both artists had drawn on the town's industrial history.

My attorney, Lila Marsh, called me from her office.

"Do you have the original layered file?" she asked.

"I do."

"Do you have a draft history?"

"Yes."

"Do you have proof they received the preview from your studio drive?"

"I have the download record."

"Good. Don't email it to anyone else. Make a backup and send it to me through the secure portal."

I did. Then I spent the morning photographing the mural studies, the interview notes, and the consent forms. Every time I opened a folder, I saw how much of my process depended on trust.

At noon, Nell came in carrying a printed draft. "I wrote it like you asked."

The page described when she had exported the preview, how Avery had requested it, and what she had believed Avery planned to do with it. Nell had avoided apology and accusation. Her statement was plain and useful.

"Did you tell Avery you were writing this?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

"That I could write whatever I wanted. She said she had messages proving you gave her permission."

"Did you give her permission?"

"No."

"Then we'll answer the messages if they exist."

Nell placed the draft on my desk. "She said you used her studies in the proposal without giving her credit."

"Did I?"

"She painted the water."

"I used the water color she made for my concept. I credited her on the internal project sheet, not in the submission."

"Maybe she thought she was a co-artist."

I looked at the color study clipped to the wall. Avery's blue water was striking, far better than my first pass. I'd asked her to try three palettes. I had not explained whether the result was an exercise, a contribution, or a work for hire.

"I should have put the terms in writing," I said.

"She asked for a title and fee before she started. You told her we'd sort it out if we got the commission."

"I remember."

"She said that meant her work would be paid if the project came through."

"It would have been."

"But not at the same rate as you."

"No. I was responsible for the proposal, the interviews, the design, and the contract. I would have paid her for the color work."

Nell nodded. "She said you were going to take the whole fee."

"I never said that."

"I know. I'm telling you what she said."

I listened. I didn't need to like what Avery had done to understand why the offer had attracted her. Northline had used my lack of clarity as a door, and she had walked through it.

At two, I met Lila at her office. She reviewed the agreement and the file history, then explained the risks. Northline had reviewed the proposal under limited terms. If I made a claim and lost, the company could argue my business had damaged its project. If I did nothing, the company could use the image and claim independent authorship.

"You have a strong case on the artwork," Lila said. "The question is what you want."

"I want them to stop using the design."

"And Avery?"

"I don't know."

"You can't control whether she continues to work for them."

"I know."

Lila turned the laptop around. A draft demand letter filled the screen. It asked Northline to remove the image, acknowledge the unauthorized use, preserve all relevant messages, and refrain from reproducing my design.

"Send it," I said.

The letter went out that afternoon.

By five, Northline had taken down the webpage. The blank-faced figures disappeared from the company's promotional page, but a cropped image remained in the event photographs shared by a local business group. Avery's credit was still attached.

Nell stood beside me while I emailed the group's administrator.

"You could tell them to remove my name too," she said.

"You want your name removed?"

"Yes."

"Even if it means Northline gives you no work?"

She stared at the screen for a long time. "I don't want them to use my name to make the picture look honest."

I sent the request.

The next morning, the studio owner called. She had seen the local posts and wanted to know if the mural commission was still coming through. Without the Northline payment, my lease renewal looked uncertain.

I told her I would pay the next month on time.

I didn't yet know how.