Chapter 6 - The Debt Behind the Dream House
I stayed in Dad's office until the overhead lights came on automatically.
Outside, the repair shop had grown quiet.
The mechanics had gone home.
Calvin remained near the front counter, pretending to organize parts receipts so I wouldn't have to sit alone.
On the computer screen, I had opened the public records for 418 Briarwood Lane.
The house had been purchased eighteen months earlier for $565,000.
The buyer was Briarwood Residential LLC.
Daniel Whitmore had signed the closing documents as managing member.
Three months after the purchase, the company granted a second mortgage securing additional financing associated with Daniel's restaurant business.
A year later, a recorded notice showed that the lender had begun demanding repayment.
I stared at the dates.
Ethan had told me Daniel purchased a new delivery van around the same time.
Marjorie had told me the family was investing in a promising expansion.
And I had believed both explanations.
My phone vibrated.
An incoming text from Ethan.
Where are you?
I left it unanswered.
Another appeared.
We need to discuss what happened today.
Then a third.
Don't make this harder than it needs to be.
I put the phone face down.
Calvin appeared in the doorway.
“You eat anything?”
“Not hungry.”
“Didn't ask if you were hungry.”
He set a wrapped sandwich beside me.
“Turkey.”
“Calvin—”
“Your dad would haunt me if I let you sit here all day without eating.”
I managed a small smile.
“He'd complain about what the sandwich cost.”
“Already heard that speech twenty times.”
Calvin sat opposite me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked at the property records.
“You figuring it out?”
“Trying.”
“George figured out something about the Whitmores.”
I looked up.
“What?”
Calvin rested his elbows on his knees.
“Few weeks before he got sick, he asked me a strange question.”
“What question?”
“He asked whether I'd ever seen a man smile while measuring somebody else's coffin.”
I felt a sharp ache in my chest.
“What did you say?”
“I told him I'd never met anybody quite that rotten.”
Calvin's expression darkened.
“He said, 'Then you haven't met my son-in-law.'”
I looked away.
The words hurt because I could hear Dad saying them.
Not loudly.
Not theatrically.
Just with that terrible certainty he used when diagnosing an engine that had been damaged beyond repair.
At seven that evening, I drove home.
Ethan's SUV was already in the driveway.
Marjorie's cream-colored sedan was parked behind it.
I sat in Dad's truck for a moment.
Then I went inside.
The first thing I saw was the real estate brochure on our kitchen counter.
The second was Marjorie.
She sat at my table drinking tea from the blue ceramic mug Dad had given me for Christmas.
Ethan stood by the refrigerator.
“Finally,” he said.
I placed my keys down.
“Why is your mother here?”
Marjorie smiled thinly.
“Because this family needs to communicate.”
“Then you should have called.”
Ethan folded his arms.
“Where have you been?”
“At Dad's shop.”
His expression changed.
“What were you doing there?”
“Working.”
“On what?”
“Dad's records.”
Marjorie placed the mug down.
“Surely that can wait.”
“No.”
Ethan walked toward me.
“Lydia, I understand today was overwhelming.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you having a financial meeting in my kitchen the day after my father's funeral?”
His jaw tightened.
“We're trying to protect our future.”
“Whose future?”
“Our family.”
I looked toward the brochure.
“Does that include the house on Briarwood Lane?”
Neither of them moved.
I had expected denial.
What I got was silence.
Marjorie recovered first.
“I don't understand.”
“Daniel owns the company that bought it.”
Ethan looked at her.
Only briefly.
But I saw it.
The same warning glance he had used at Martin's office.
I continued.
“And the property secures part of his debt.”
Marjorie's face hardened.
“Private business affairs are none of your concern.”
“Then why were you planning to pay for them with my inheritance?”
Ethan stepped forward.
“That's not what we were doing.”
“Explain it.”
“Daniel made a bad investment.”
“In the house?”
“In the restaurant expansion.”
“And the house?”
He exhaled sharply.
“The house was part of the financing.”
“So your mother doesn't want me to buy her a $600,000 house.”
Marjorie bristled.
“I have never demanded that you purchase anything.”
I looked at the brochure.
“You told me which curtains you wanted in the sunroom yesterday.”
Her mouth closed.
Ethan lowered his voice.
“Lydia, if Daniel loses that property, it could trigger other defaults.”
“How many?”
“That's complicated.”
“How much debt?”
“Don't start interrogating me.”
“How much?”
He slapped his palm against the counter.
“Over a million dollars, all right?”
I stood still.
Marjorie looked down.
I repeated the number.
“A million.”
“A little over.”
“How much over?”
Ethan said nothing.
I pulled out my phone.
“Then I'll ask Martin.”
He caught my wrist.
It happened so quickly I barely registered the movement.
His fingers tightened.
“Stop calling that man every time you don't like an answer.”
I looked down at his hand.
He followed my gaze.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then I spoke.
“Let go.”
“Lydia—”
“Let go of my wrist.”
He released it.
Marjorie sighed.
“Oh, for heaven's sake, Ethan was only trying to calm you.”
I looked at her.
“Don't.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Excuse me?”
“Don't explain his behavior to me.”
Ethan moved toward the hallway.
“I'm done with this conversation.”
“Good.”
He stopped.
I reached into my purse and removed a small overnight bag.
“I'll be staying somewhere else.”
He turned around.
“What?”
“I'm leaving for a few days.”
“Absolutely not.”
I almost smiled.
The certainty in his voice was extraordinary.
As though my movements required his approval.
“I wasn't asking permission.”
Marjorie rose.
“You're abandoning your marriage over a misunderstanding?”
I looked at her.
“My father has been dead five days.”
Her expression faltered.
“I haven't had a moment to grieve because the two of you keep asking when you can spend his money.”
Ethan's face flushed.
“That's unfair.”
I picked up my bag.
“Then prove it.”
He stared at me.
“Prove what?”
“That you had nothing to do with the forged signatures.”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
I walked past him.
At the front door, Marjorie called after me.
“Lydia, think carefully about what you're doing.”
I stopped with my hand on the lock.
“I am.”
Then I stepped outside.
As I reached Dad's truck, my phone rang.
It was an unfamiliar number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke.
“Mrs. Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Natalie Price.”
Her voice sounded strained.
“I used to handle accounts payable for Daniel's restaurant.”
I stopped beside the truck.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because I heard what happened to your father.”
There was a long pause.
Then she said something that sent a cold sensation through my entire body.
“Your husband has been using your name on financial paperwork for almost a year.”
I gripped the truck door.
“What paperwork?”
Natalie lowered her voice.
“Mrs. Whitmore, I don't think your husband is just trying to spend your inheritance.”
I could hear traffic behind her.
May you like
Then the sound of a car door closing.
“I think he's trying to make you responsible for debts you never agreed to.”
