Chapter 5 - MOM HAD PUT HER HOUSE BEHIND TRAVIS’S COMPANY
The lender disclosed nothing to me about NorthSound beyond what related directly to my disputed guaranty.
But Mom’s involvement became impossible to hide.
She called me herself.
“You’ve frozen the loan.”
“I froze nothing.”
“You told them your signature wasn’t valid.”
“Because it wasn’t.”
“They’re calling the note.”
“What does that mean for you?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
She started crying.
Not theatrically.
Tiredly.
“I put the house behind it.”
I sat down.
“What?”
“Not the whole thing.”
“What does that mean?”
“I signed a limited guaranty.”
My childhood home.
The one Dad had renovated room by room.
The one Mom said would never have another mortgage after he died.
She had borrowed against it.
For Travis.
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand initially.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“He needed collateral to finish the buildout.”
“And now?”
“NorthSound had reimbursement delays. Martin says once the payer contracts mature—”
“Mom.”
She stopped.
“What is the house exposure?”
“One fifty-five.”
The exact number.
Not approximately.
Exactly.
If NorthSound failed to cure the default, the lender could pursue Mom under her guarantee and whatever collateral arrangements she had signed.
The surgery story had been built around the amount needed to protect her house.
I closed my eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you would have said no.”
There it was again.
Simple.
Almost childlike.
“So you told me you might die instead?”
“I never said die.”
“Travis said emergency surgery.”
“I didn’t tell him to use that word.”
“Did you tell him to call me?”
Silence.
“Mom?”
“Yes.”
I stood and walked toward the window.
Seattle rain streaked the glass.
Mom continued.
“I was scared.”
“I know.”
“I thought I was having a heart attack.”
“I know.”
“And lying there, all I could think about was losing the house too.”
That mattered.
I could understand panic.
I could understand a woman with a heart monitor watching the possibility of losing the last home she shared with her husband.
What I could not understand was the next step.
“So you decided to trick me.”
“I decided family should help family.”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“You decided I should help before I was allowed to know what I was helping.”
Mom became angry.
“Because you always make everything about paperwork.”
I almost laughed.
The forged signature was apparently my unhealthy obsession with paperwork.
“Did you know my signature was already on the guaranty?”
Silence.
Longer this time.
“Yes.”
That answer ended something in me.
Not love.
May you like
Something more dangerous.
Automatic trust.
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