Chapter 5 - The Second Loan
I did not ask Chloe to take anything from the drawer.
I did not let her become an investigator in her own parents' home.
Instead I hugged her and called Eric to tell him his daughter was safe with me.
He arrived twenty minutes later, angry enough to forget his coat.
“What did you tell her?” he demanded at the door.
I stood between him and the living room where Chloe waited with Beth.
“I told her I love her.”
“She's too young to understand this.”
“Then stop telling her I'm stealing your home.”
His expression shifted.
“I never said that.”
“Rachel did.”
“Rachel's scared.”
“And your children aren't?”
He started past me.
I stepped aside, because refusing a parent entry to collect his daughter wasn't the answer.
But before he called Chloe, I said, “Who is the second lender?”
His face went blank.
For a moment I saw the eight-year-old who'd broken my favorite lamp and hidden the pieces beneath the couch.
Then he recovered.
“There's no second lender.”
“Chloe overheard you.”
“You're taking financial advice from a child?”
“No, Eric. I'm noticing that you're answering every question except the one I asked.”
He left with Chloe moments later.
She gave me a lingering hug and whispered, “Please don't stop loving us.”
I watched their car pull away through the snow.
Beth stood beside me.
“I'm beginning to think the house isn't the whole problem,” she said.
That evening Thomas called.
The title search had revealed a private mortgage recorded fifteen months earlier in favor of an entity called Broadleaf Capital LLC.
The amount was $148,000.
“Is it legitimate?” I asked.
“The instrument is recorded,” he answered.
“That tells us it exists as a public claim, not whether every representation behind it is sound.”
The maturity date was approaching.
The apparent lender had demanded a balloon payment due in January.
If Eric couldn't refinance or sell, he might face litigation or enforcement against the property.
Suddenly the hurried sale made sense.
But Thomas had worse news.
Broadleaf's loan documents allegedly included a representation that my old lien had been released.
That release was the one bearing the signature I hadn't written.
“If they relied on that statement, the problem could spread beyond your family,” Thomas said.
“What exactly do you mean?”
“There may be lenders, buyers, and title professionals who relied on records that aren't accurate.”
He planned to notify the relevant parties through proper channels.
After hanging up, I opened my binder to the page where I'd recorded the $61,000 rescue loan.
I thought of Eric sitting at my table three years earlier, promising through tears that he would never put me in that position again.
I had believed him because I needed to.
Now I wondered if the second loan had funded some hidden desperation or some ridiculous dream Rachel had sold him.
Beth searched Broadleaf's public business filings.
The company had been formed in Delaware, with a mailing address in a Columbus office park.
That address matched the building used by Dana's real-estate business.
We looked at each other.
My phone rang from a blocked number.
Against Beth's advice, I answered and put it on speaker.
A woman's voice said, “Mrs. Foster, this is Dana Whitcomb.”
I sat straighter.
“I know who you are.”
“I think there's been a misunderstanding about a recording.”
“Did you notarize my signature?”
A pause.
“I'm calling to offer a practical solution.”
“Did you see me sign it?”
Another pause.
“If we could meet without lawyers, I could explain.”
“I'll meet you with my attorney present.”
Her voice went sharp.
“That would be a mistake.”
Then, before I could respond, she said something even stranger.
“Rachel isn't the person you should be afraid of.”
May you like
The call ended.
