“Not so much.” Molly couldn’t prolong this. She opened her purse, drew out a white business envelope, and set it on the desk. “This is a check reimbursing Birdcage for the first half of the advance you paid for Daphne Takes a Tumble.”

Helen looked stunned. “We don’t want the advance back. We want to publish the book.”

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to. I’m not making the revisions.”

“Molly, I know you haven’t been happy with us, and it’s time to sort this out. From the beginning we’ve only wanted what was best for your career.”

“I only want what’s best for my readers.”

“We do, too. Please try to understand. Authors tend to look at a project only from their perspective, but a publisher has to look at the larger picture, including our relationship with the press and the community. We felt we had no choice.”

“Everybody has a choice, and an hour ago I exercised mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“I published Daphne Takes a Tumble myself. The original version.”

“You published it?” Helen’s eyebrows shot up. “What are you talking about?”

“I published it on the Internet.”

Helen erupted from her chair. “You can’t do that! We have a contract!”

“If you check the fine print, you’ll see that I retain the electronic rights to all my books.”

Helen looked stunned. The larger publishing houses had plugged this hole in their contracts, but some of the smaller presses like Birdcage hadn’t gotten around to it. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“Now any child who wants to read Daphne Takes a Tumble and see the original illustrations will be able to do it.” Molly had planned a big speech, complete with references to book burning and the First Amendment, but she no longer had the energy. Pushing the check forward, she rose from her chair and walked out.

“Molly, wait!”