Chương 13
The word mattered.
“Explain legitimately.”
“He would need the legal owner’s participation for a valid consensual lien.”
“Meaning my signature.”
“Yes.”
“Could he forge it?”
“He could forge a signature.”
Her voice hardened.
“That would not make the lien legitimate.”
I sat on the arm of the sofa.
“How would I know if he tried?”
“Check the county land records.”
“I already looked at the ownership record this afternoon.”
“Ownership and recorded liens aren’t the same screen in every system.”
I stood again.
“Can I do that tonight?”
“Some counties have online indexing.”
“Do you know if mine does?”
“No.”
I walked back toward the kitchen and opened my laptop.
The machine took forever to wake.
Military patience apparently did not extend to old computers.
Lauren remained on the line while I searched the county register’s website.
The interface looked like it had been designed in 2007 and resented every year since.
“What am I looking for?”
“Your name, parcel number, address, and any recorded deeds of trust or liens.”
I entered my name.
Two records appeared.
The deed from four years earlier.
A financing release from the mortgage I had paid off eighteen months ago.
Nothing else.
I let out a breath.
“There’s nothing new.”
“That’s good.”
“Could something exist and not be recorded?”
“A private agreement could exist.”
“Would it affect my title?”
“Not in the same way as a properly recorded lien.”
That was relief with an asterisk.
I was beginning to hate asterisks.
“Did Ryan ever send you documents about this house?”
“Property photos.”
“Anything with my signature?”
“No.”
“Tax records?”
“Yes.”
I went still.
“How did he get those?”
“County tax information is public in many places.”
Of course.
I had known that.
Hearing it applied to my own house made it feel different.
“He sent you my tax record.”
“Yes.”
“And told you what?”
“That it demonstrated the property value.”
“What did he say about my name being on it?”
“That ownership within the family was flexible.”
I closed the laptop.
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ownership isn’t flexible.”
“I agree.”
“That’s not a family opinion.”
“No.”
Lauren sounded almost amused.
“It is not.”
I rubbed my eyes.
“Why did Dan give you my number?”
“He didn’t.”
I lowered my hand.
“You said you got it from him.”
“I said I got your number from Daniel Miller.”
“That sounds identical.”
“His wife gave it to me.”
I stared at the phone.
“Marcy?”
“She and I are on the hospital foundation board.”
That was so perfectly small-town that I almost laughed.
“Does Dan know?”
“He does now.”
“Wonderful.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s fine.”
It was not fine, but it was not the important problem.
“Did you contact Ryan tonight?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Does he know you declined him partly because of the ownership issue?”
“He knows we questioned it.”
“Would he remember you?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Something in the way she said it caught my attention.
“Why?”
“He was angry when we declined him.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing threatening.”
Again, the careful phrasing.
“What did he do?”
“He called my partner repeatedly.”
“How repeatedly?”
“Eleven times in two days.”
“That sounds threatening-adjacent.”
“He was under pressure.”
“So are lots of people.”
“I agree.”
“Did you ever speak with Jessica?”
“Once.”
My spine stiffened.
“When?”
“March.”
“What about?”
“She called my office.”
I could hear blood moving in my ears.
“Why?”
“She wanted to know whether Ryan had received funding.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That we had declined the application.”
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the kitchen wall.
Jessica had told me Ryan said the investment did not work out.
That was not the same as saying she knew an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar loan had been rejected after questions about his claims.
“Did she ask why?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“Only that the application did not meet underwriting requirements.”
“Did you mention my house?”
“No.”
I looked down at the screenshots Jessica had sent.
She had shown me fear.
She had shown me ignorance.
Maybe some of it had been genuine.
Maybe she had also curated exactly how much ignorance I got to see.
“Thank you for calling.”
“There’s one more thing.”
I waited.
“When Ryan submitted the application, the projected development purchase required about two hundred thousand dollars of his own cash.”
“Did he have it?”
“His statements suggested he did.”
“Did you verify that?”
“We verified balances.”
That surprised me.
“So the money existed.”
“At the time of the statements.”
“Where?”
“Accounts he identified as company reserves.”
I thought of Jessica saying payroll had been late twice.
“What happened to it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could the statements have been altered?”
“They were verified through an account-linking process.”
“So two hundred thousand dollars was there.”
“Approximately.”
“And yet he borrowed from me.”
Lauren went quiet.
“How much?”
“Twelve thousand.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
The apology irritated me.
“Don’t be.”
“I only mean that the timing raises questions.”
“It does.”
“Emily, I would speak with an attorney before confronting him about any financial representations.”
I disliked how quickly the sentence sounded sensible.
“I’m not interested in turning this into a legal war.”
“Neither was I.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means people under financial pressure sometimes hear questions as accusations.”
I looked at the dark hallway.
“Is that advice from experience?”
“Yes.”
She did not elaborate.
I did not press.
“Would you be willing to speak with an attorney if necessary?”
“Yes.”
“Or provide whatever documents you legally can?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“Be careful.”
After the call ended, I stood in the kitchen with my phone in one hand.
The house was silent except for the washing machine entering its spin cycle.
I opened my conversation with Jessica.
My thumb hovered over the call button.
Then I remembered Lauren’s words.
Jessica already knew the lender had declined Ryan.
The question was not whether she had lied to me.
The question was how much.
May you like
I set the phone down.
For fifteen minutes, I forced myself to finish installing the lock.
