Chapter 8 - Foreclosure Clock
The warmth inside the house was oppressive, thick with the scent of vanilla candles and roasted meats.
In the living room, a roaring fire crackled in the stone fireplace. Diane sat on the velvet sofa, holding a porcelain teacup with both hands. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her expression that of a tragic martyr awaiting execution. Greg stood near the mantle, leaning heavily against the woodwork with a glass of scotch in his hand.
Little Leo was upstairs; I could hear the muffled sounds of video game explosions echoing through the floorboards.
"Sit down, Sarah," Diane said, her voice trembling with manufactured fragility. "Look at what you’ve done. My heart has been racing all day. The pharmacist looked at me like I was a common thief when your card didn't work."
"You had forty-five hundred dollars in luxury clothing and furniture billed to my commercial account over the last six months, Diane," I said, standing near the foyer archway, refusing to sit. "The card wasn't meant for that. It was for your medicine and food."
"Don't you dare use that tone with your mother!" Melissa snapped, stepping into the center of the room. "Mom deserves nice things after everything she suffered taking care of Dad! You don't have a family, Sarah! You don't have a husband or a child! You live in that tiny loft above the bakery and hoard your money like a miser!"
"I don't hoard money, Melissa. I work eighty hours a week so my checks don't bounce. Which brings us to the mortgage." I looked directly at my sister. "Why am I paying $2,840 a month to First Horizon when Dad’s original mortgage was under a thousand?"
Melissa didn't flinch. Instead, a smug, contemptuous smirk crossed her lips.
"Because Dad left the house to me," she said, leaning against the back of the sofa. "He knew you were obsessed with your ovens and your flour. He knew Greg and I needed an estate to build our family’s future. So yes, we took out a loan to invest in Greg’s business. What of it? You’ve been paying it because you live off Dad’s legacy! That bakery was built with his seed money!"
"Dad didn't give you this house, Melissa," I said evenly. "He was in hospice."
"He signed the deed!" Melissa retorted instantly, her voice rising in pitch. "Brenda Gable witnessed it! It’s filed with the county! It’s legal, it’s done, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it!"
"And what about the corporate guarantee on my bakery?" I asked, keeping my tone deadpan, almost curious. "Did Dad sign that too?"
Greg shifted uncomfortably, his ice cubes clinking loudly against his glass. "Sarah, look... that was just paperwork. Standard bank underwriting. They needed a commercial guarantor to approve the Tier-1 interest rate."
"You forged my signature on a bank loan, Greg?"
"Nobody forged anything!" Melissa barked, stepping right into my personal space. "We used the power of attorney Mom had over Dad’s estate! You’re part of this family, Sarah! When one of us rises, we all rise! You owe this family! Dad gave you everything, and you repay us by cutting off Mom's groceries and threatening to let the bank take our home?"
"It’s not your home," I said quietly. "It’s stolen property."
Diane gasped dramatically, pressing a manicured hand to her chest. "How dare you! Arthur would turn in his grave to hear you speak to your sister like this! You apologize to Melissa right now, or you are no longer welcome under this roof!"
"I don't need to apologize," I said, checking the gold watch on my wrist—Dad’s retirement watch, the only thing he had actually been able to hand me with his own fingers before he died. "Because the ten-day grace period on that mortgage ends in two weeks. And I’m not paying another cent."
"You have to pay!" Melissa shrieked, losing all composure. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "If you don't pay, First Horizon will call the default on your bakery! We put that cross-collateralization clause in the contract! If I go down, Sarah, your little bread shop goes down with me! Do you hear me? You’ll be broke, ruined, and begging in the street!"
"Thank you, Melissa," I said softly. "That was exactly what I needed to hear."
May you like
I pulled the recording device from my lapel, held it up so the glowing red indicator light reflected clearly in her widening pupils, and pressed *Stop*.
***
