Chapter 5 - The House
Melissa called before I could respond.
I almost ignored her.
Then I remembered Rachel’s advice.
Information first.
Emotion later.
I answered.
“How much?”
Melissa was crying.
“I don’t know exactly.”
“That means you know approximately.”
“Claire, please.”
“How much?”
“Maybe eight hundred thousand.”
I sat down.
My parents’ house was worth around nine hundred thousand dollars.
“Why?”
Silence.
Then she said, “Some investments went wrong.”
“What investments?”
“Dad can explain better.”
“I’m asking you.”
She exhaled.
“There was a development project.”
“What development project?”
“Ryan’s company.”
Ryan was her fiancé.
I had met him only twice.
Both times, he had talked about commercial real estate as though he personally invented buildings.
“How much of Dad’s money went into Ryan’s company?”
“Claire, you’re making this sound terrible.”
“I’m asking numbers.”
“About five hundred thousand.”
“And the rest?”
Another silence.
“The wedding.”
I actually closed my eyes.
“You borrowed against Mom and Dad’s house for your wedding?”
“I didn’t ask them to.”
“Did you refuse?”
“That’s not fair.”
That phrase again.
Apparently fairness only became important when questions became uncomfortable.
“How much is the wedding costing?”
“Things got bigger than we planned.”
“How much?”
“About one hundred eighty thousand.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because after three funerals, the number felt obscene.
Melissa began talking faster.
“Ryan’s project was supposed to return everything before the wedding.”
“But it didn’t.”
“There were permit problems.”
“And now Dad wants money from me.”
“He wants help.”
“No.”
“He thinks family should help family.”
I looked toward Ethan’s envelope.
“Did he say that while I was burying Lily?”
Melissa went quiet.
Then she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
It was the first time anyone in my immediate family had said those words.
But there was something wrong with how she said them.
Too quick.
Too late.
Too connected to money.
“What exactly do you want, Melissa?”
“I want us to fix this.”
“How?”
“Dad thinks if you loan them enough to clear the house and stabilize Ryan’s project, everything can be repaid.”
“How much?”
“Claire.”
“How much?”
She finally said it.
“One point two million.”
I felt nothing.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
“My husband and children were dead for six months.”
“I received one text from Mom.”
“And now you need one point two million dollars.”
“It isn’t like that.”
“It is exactly like that.”
I ended the call.
The next morning Rachel arrived with news from the bank.
Someone had submitted a copy of my old power of attorney two weeks earlier.
Not merely asked questions.
Submitted it.
May you like
And attached to the request was a signature claiming to be mine.
The signature was dated three days after Ethan’s funeral.
