At 4:10 Friday, Vivian forwarded me a letter.
Hearthline Home Brands hereby terminates the Letter of Intent dated November 3, 2025.
There were two reasons, numbered.
Condition 4(b) not satisfied.
Condition 4(c) not satisfied.
The same minute, Shopify wrote.
Payout hold lifted.
The money from the last week of fir candles came loose.
On Monday, I swept it to ••7730.
Same direction as always.
The letter killed something else too.
It killed my check.
On paper, I'd been worth $2,325,000 for thirty-two days.
What I had left was half of a lease on East 12th Street.
And half of 3,000 boxes nobody could buy.
Friday evening, I sent one more email from my Gmail.
Under Section 9.2, I withdraw as a member of Lantern Row LLC, effective Sunday, January 4, 2026.
Thirty days, in writing, from me.
This time I was the one who wrote it.
On Monday, December 8, I formed Plumb Line Candle Co. LLC.
One member.
I registered plumblinecandle.com.
I opened a new Shopify store and a new payments account under Plumb Line's own EIN.
This time the paperwork had one name on it.
Nothing from Lantern Row's list came with me.
Not one email address.
A plumb line is a weight on a string.
It shows you what's straight.
Trevor gave me the word.
I added the string.
On Wednesday, December 10, Whitley emailed.
My client will pay $90,000 for lanternrow.com.
I wrote back one word.
No.
The 404 page stayed up.
It costs four dollars a month.
That afternoon, Trevor left a voicemail.
"Jo."
"Name your title."
"Anything."
"She asks about you."
I texted him back.
No.
Then I blocked the number.
I didn't block his wife's.
She stopped writing on her own.
Tasha kept me posted, whether I asked or not.
When Hearthline walked, Royce's note came due on demand.
He called it.
Then he sued Trevor on the personal guarantee.
The house was listed on page six.
Tasha quit Lantern Row the week before Christmas.
She asked if I needed a fulfillment lead.
I said I needed a person who'd say no to me.
She said she could do that.
Lantern Row wound down with a name, a lease and 3,000 First Frost boxes.
It had no store.
The livestream clip had four million views.
It outlived the company.
On Monday, January 5, I paid Wendell.
PO LR-2025-114 · $8,160.00 · Paid
It came out of my savings.
There was $14,840 left.
"Sixteenth?" Wendell asked.
"Sixteenth."
On January 12, I went back to Part II.
Chancellor Dupree fixed my fees at $18,400.
The $15,000 retainer, plus $3,400.
She sanctioned Halvorsen Consumer Partners for the affidavit in ¶7.
Royce didn't come.
His check did.
At 11:58 on Friday, January 16, I stood in a rented bay behind a tire shop on Rossville Avenue.
The wax was at 185°F.
The whole bay smelled like fir and rubber.
Tasha sat at a folding table, labeling amber jars.
She had a tape gun at her elbow.
It was the same brand as the old one.
At the roll-up door, Wendell's truck backed in, beeping.
Twenty-four hundred vessels.
The ones he'd held in Dalton on my name.
He left the engine idling and climbed down with the bill of lading.
The ThinkPad sat open on an overturned crate.
Wax scar on the lid.
JO — DO NOT UNPLUG
It was plugged into an orange extension cord that ran under the door to the tire shop.
The tire shop guy said that was fine.
At 12:00, I pointed my domain at my store.
Sixty seconds to reach the world.
I made one announcement.
It was one line on my personal Instagram, under the reposted clip from Black Friday.
Plumb Line Candle Co. Open now.
The first comment came in before I put the phone down.
she was the whole stack
Tasha read it over my shoulder.
"Don't let that go to your head," she said.
"Label your jars."
She labeled her jars.
Wendell drank coffee from a thermos lid and watched the wax.
Nobody counted down.
At 12:03, the ThinkPad pinged.
Order #1001
Ship to: Tulsa, OK
1 × Plumb Line No. 1 · $34.00
There was a note in the gift field.
You refunded me on Black Friday before I even asked. Saw the clip. Trying again.
Tulsa.
One of the thirty-seven.
I'd sent her $68 back before 12:06, with a store burning behind it.
She'd sent back $34 to a store with one name on it.
I printed the label.
The printer didn't eat it.
Tasha taped the box shut.
The tape gun sounded like it always had.
Wendell's truck idled at the door.
The wax held at 185.
The orders came home.