Chương 13
Stephanie nodded.
Then she looked at me one last time.
“I’ll send you the documents.”
“All of them.”
“Yes.”
She left.
Through the window, I watched her walk to her car alone.
Mason stood beside me but did not wave.
When her taillights disappeared, he said, “Is Dad a bad person?”
I looked at him.
There were a hundred easy answers.
None of them were fair.
“He has made bad choices.”
“That’s what people say when they don’t want to answer.”
“Yes.”
He frowned.
“Then answer.”
I took a breath.
“I don’t know yet who your father is willing to become when those choices catch up with him.”
Mason looked toward the dark street.
“That sounds worse.”
“It might be.”
My phone buzzed on the table.
A message from Clinton.
You have no idea what you’re doing.
A second message followed before I could respond.
If you enforce that lien, you won’t just hurt me.
I read both messages twice.
Then a third arrived.
Ask Stephanie what she signed last year.
I turned toward the door.
Her car was already gone.
And suddenly the nine days ahead of me no longer looked like a countdown to money.
They looked like a countdown to finding out how much of my family had been built on signatures nobody expected me to read.
I did not answer Clinton.
I handed the phone to Evelyn instead.
She read the messages, then looked at me over the top of the screen.
“Well.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Mason was still beside the window.
“What did he say?”
“Something your mother signed last year.”
His shoulders tightened.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked at me as if I were withholding something.
“I really don’t.”
Evelyn gave the phone back.
“You going to call Stephanie?”
I looked at the time.
Seven forty-eight.
“Yes.”
Stephanie answered on the second ring.
“Mom?”
“Clinton told me to ask what you signed last year.”
Silence.
Then a car horn sounded faintly through her end of the call.
She was driving.
“Where are you?”
“Almost home.”
“Pull over.”
“What?”
“Pull over before we talk.”
“I can drive and talk.”
“I don’t want you doing that.”
A few seconds passed.
I heard the click of her turn signal.
Then gravel under tires.
“Okay.”
“What did you sign?”
She breathed in.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“That answer is getting tired.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me now.”
She was quiet for so long that I heard another car pass her.
Finally she said, “A home equity line.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“How much?”
“Sixty thousand.”
“Against the house?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last October.”
“Why?”
“To catch up on bills.”
“That was before you fell three mortgage payments behind.”
“Yes.”
“How much is left?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Approximately.”
“Fifty-three.”
I closed my eyes.
Mason had moved farther into the room.
He was pretending not to listen and failing.
“What was the money used for?”
“Credit cards.”
“How much?”
“Some.”
“Stephanie.”
“About eighteen thousand.”
“And the rest?”
“Mortgage payments.”
“That does not add up to sixty thousand.”
“We paid taxes.”
“How much?”
“Seven.”
“What else?”
She made a small sound.
“Clinton paid Wade.”
I opened my eyes.
“How much?”
“Fifteen.”
“For what?”
“To keep him from filing bankruptcy.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Why would Clinton care whether Wade filed bankruptcy?”
“Because Wade threatened to list the renovation debt.”
“What renovation debt?”
“The money he said he had put into the company after yours was gone.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“No, Stephanie, I mean legally and financially.”
“I know.”
“What was he threatening?”
“He said if he filed, his creditors would go through everything.”
“And?”
“And Clinton was afraid the transfers would come out.”
The room seemed to sharpen around me.
The legal pad.
The cold coffee.
Mason’s backpack against the wall.
Evelyn’s peach magnet.
All of it became painfully clear.
“What transfers?”
Stephanie started crying again.
Not loudly.
Just breathing badly between words.
“Clinton sent him more money.”
“From where?”
“The refinance.”
I stood.
“What refinance?”
“The first one.”
“The one done with my contribution?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said you read the papers.”
“I did.”
“Then how much?”
“Twenty-five thousand.”
My knees weakened.
I sat back down.
“So out of the one hundred eighty thousand I gave you, one hundred fifty went to principal, and thirty was supposed to go toward construction.”
“Yes.”
“But I also paid another forty-nine thousand five hundred to Wade’s company.”
“Yes.”
“And Clinton sent another twenty-five thousand from the refinance proceeds?”
“Yes.”
“To Wade?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he said the company needed cash to finish the job.”
“That is over seventy thousand dollars.”
“I know.”
“For a suite that was never finished.”
“I know.”
“Did Clinton tell me about the extra twenty-five?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Was it my money?”
Stephanie did not answer.
“That is not complicated.”
Her voice dropped.
“Yes.”
I looked at the county agreement again.
“Was that why the protected contribution was written as one hundred fifty instead of one eighty?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“The attorney separated the amounts.”
“Why didn’t anyone explain that to me?”
“Because Clinton said the construction portion was outside the occupancy agreement.”
“And the other forty-nine thousand?”
“That came later.”
“From my account.”
“Yes.”
“Who initiated those transfers?”
Silence again.
My heart began to pound.
“Stephanie.”
“I did.”
Mason looked at me.
I turned away from him.
“You initiated them?”
“Yes.”
“Using my bank account?”
“You had given me access.”
“For emergencies.”
“And bills.”
“For my bills.”
“I know.”
“How did you transfer almost fifty thousand dollars without asking me?”
Her breathing broke.
“Because you weren’t checking.”
The truth was so ugly in its simplicity that I had no response.
She kept going.
“You barely looked at anything after Dad died.”
“I know.”
“You told me to handle the mail.”
“I know.”
“You gave me passwords.”
May you like
“I know what I did.”
“I’m not blaming you.”
