Chapter 3 - The Paper Trail of Lies
"Come inside," I told the man in the leather jacket.
"Elena, no!" Keaton shouted, rushing forward, his hands raised in panic. "Don't let them in! We can handle this privately! We don't need outsiders in our business!"
"Shut up, Keaton," I said, my voice so sharp it sliced right through his panic. "Sit down on that sofa and don't open your mouth until I tell you to."
The two men stepped into the living room. The leader introduced himself as Mr. Cross, a senior recovery agent for Apex Capital. The younger man with the binder was his legal observer.
Cross sat down on the edge of the leather armchair, unbuttoned his jacket, and laid a thick stack of documents on the coffee table. He didn't look at Keaton or Bernice; his sharp, analytical eyes were fixed entirely on me.
"You really didn't know about this, did you?" Cross asked, his tone shifting from aggressive to slightly curious.
"I have paid every bill in this house for seven years," I said, taking a seat opposite him. "I handle all our financial planning. I have never signed a power of attorney, nor have I ever authorized a second lien against this property."
"Elena, please..." Bernice whimpered from the couch, her hands trembling as she wiped her nose with a crumpled tissue. "We were going to pay it back! It was just a temporary loan! We were going to fix everything before you ever found out!"
"Fix what?" I turned my gaze to my mother-in-law. "Fix what, Bernice? What required nearly half a million dollars?"
Cross pulled a document from the pile and slid it across the table toward me. "The loan was originated fourteen months ago. The principal amount was four hundred thousand dollars. The funds were disbursed into a commercial account registered under the name Austin Vance Logistics LLC."
Austin.
The puzzle pieces began to slam together with violent clarity.
Austin, Keaton’s twenty-four-year-old younger brother. The golden child. The boy who had dropped out of two colleges, failed at three different "business ventures" financed by Bernice’s life savings, and spent his weekends driving rented sports cars around the city while pretending to be an international day trader.
"Austin..." I whispered, looking at the signature on the loan application.
The handwriting under my name was a crude, shaky imitation of my signature. Attached to the back was a notarized document granting Keaton full power of attorney over my real estate assets—bearing a notary stamp from a small, shady notary office three towns over.
"He forged my signature," I said, looking Cross dead in the eye. "My husband and his mother committed identity theft and bank fraud to steal the equity out of my home to fund his brother’s fake business."
"Elena! How can you say that?!" Keaton yelled, jumping up from the couch, his face flushed red with sudden anger. "Austin is my brother! He had an incredible opportunity! He was setting up an import-export franchise! He just needed startup capital! Mom and I agreed that as a family, we had to support him!"
"Support him?!" I stood up, my chair scraping violently against the floor. "You put a four-hundred-thousand-dollar illegal lien on the apartment I worked eighty hours a week to buy! You forged my legal signature! That isn't family support, Keaton—that is a federal crime!"
"It was an investment!" Bernice sobbed, waving her arms dramatically. "Austin promised he would double the money in six months! He was going to buy us all houses! He was doing it for the family! You have twelve thousand dollars a month now, Elena! You can just pay the monthly installments to these men and save us! Why are you making such a big deal out of this?!"
I stared at Bernice in utter disbelief. She wasn't sorry. Neither of them were. They weren't weeping because they had ruined my life, stolen my identity, or endangered my future; they were weeping because the consequences had finally caught up to them, and they expected me to write a check to sweep it under the rug.
"How much are the monthly payments to Apex Capital, Mr. Cross?" I asked, turning my back on my husband and his mother.
"Fourteen thousand five hundred dollars a month," Cross said calmly. "The interest rate on predatory secondary private liens is twenty-four percent. The payments are ninety days past due. The total cure amount required to stop the foreclosure auction next month is forty-three thousand five hundred dollars."
"Fourteen thousand five hundred..." I let out a dry, bitter laugh. "Even with my promotion, my entire salary wouldn't cover the monthly interest. They didn't just borrow money, Mr. Cross. They intentionally built a debt bomb that was guaranteed to explode."
"We didn't know the interest was that high!" Keaton stammered, stepping toward me, his hands outstretched in a desperate plea. "The broker told us we could refinance after a year! Elena, look at me. We're married. We took vows. For better or for worse, remember? You’re making twelve thousand a month now! We can talk to my manager, I can ask for an advance, we can borrow from your parents—"
"Don't you dare bring my parents into this!" I shrieked, my composure finally shattering into raw, blazing fury. "My parents gave us thirty thousand dollars for our wedding, which you secretly gave to Bernice to pay off Austin’s credit cards! I kept quiet then because I thought you were just stupid! But you’re not stupid, Keaton. You’re a parasite!"
Cross stood up, picking up his leather binder. "Mrs. Vance, as far as Apex Capital is concerned, the loan is secured against the physical property of Apartment 14B. If the forty-three thousand dollar cure payment isn't received by 5:00 PM on Friday, we initiate the public auction process."
May you like
He pulled a business card from his pocket and laid it on the coffee table. "However... if what you say about the forgery is true, I suggest you contact the District Attorney’s Financial Crimes Unit immediately. Because if you don't file a criminal report against the signatories on this loan, you will be held jointly liable for the entire debt."
Cross turned and walked toward the front door, his assistant following close behind. The heavy front door clicked shut, leaving behind a silence far more terrifying than the thunderous knocks that had started it all.
