And a small ledger.
Nyla stared.
“Where did you get these?”
“Family storage.”
Her voice became hard.
“You had my father’s tools?”
“My dad did.”
Trey looked ashamed.
“When the shop was taken, everything went into storage.”
Nyla opened the ledger.
Walter’s handwriting.
Customer orders.
Measurements.
Notes.
The final entry stopped the night before her national final.
Her hands shook.
“Why bring this now?”
Trey looked toward the floor.
“Because I finally understood something.”
Theo folded his arms.
“That you’re terrible at pool?”
Trey almost smiled.
Then looked at Nyla.
“My whole life, my father told me the Ashbys lost this place because they were bad at business.”
Nyla waited.
“He never told me how the loan changed.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“What?”
Trey removed another envelope.
Original lending documents.
The Langford company had increased Walter’s interest rate after he missed one payment during his wife’s illness.
Then added penalties.
Then accelerated the loan.
Legally aggressive.
Morally ugly.
Trey looked sick.
“My father wanted this building.”
Nyla understood.
“It was never just about the debt.”
“No.”
The Langfords had wanted the location before Walter borrowed from them.
The loan became the tool.
Trey continued.
“I can’t undo it.”
“No.”
“I can sign over what remains of the original workshop section.”
Theo stared.
“What?”
Trey placed a deed transfer on the counter.
No payment.
No conditions.
Nyla looked at him.
“This doesn’t make us even.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t make what you did okay.”
“I know.”
“Why now?”
Trey looked toward Walter’s lathe.
“Because I kept thinking about you kneeling on that floor.”
Nyla said nothing.
“My father taught me owning the room meant everybody else had to know it.”
He swallowed.
“I think maybe I learned the wrong thing.”
Nyla studied him.
Then handed him a house cue.
Trey frowned.
“What’s this?”
“Table Three.”
“You want to play?”
“No.”
She pointed toward Nala, who was practicing with Mr. Reign.
“You’re going to rack for her.”
Theo laughed.
Trey almost objected.
Then stopped.
He took the cue.
Walked toward Table Three.
Nala looked at him.
“You’re the mean guy from the video.”
Trey sighed.
“Yes.”
“Did Nyla take your car?”
“Yes.”
“My uncle said it was funny.”
“It was not.”
Nala smiled.
“Rack them.”
Trey did.
Nyla watched.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But maybe people could learn if someone stopped applauding their worst behavior long enough for them to hear themselves.
Years later, Ashby Cue & Billiards became famous for something different.
Not luxury.
Not influencers.
Not velvet ropes.
The shop built cues by hand again.
Nyla learned her father’s lathe.
Slowly.
Badly at first.
Her first shaft was uneven.
