“No, not like that,” Marcus stammered, his voice cracking. “It’s about the house. The one you gave us the money for. Arthur, I found a letter in the mail today. It was a foreclosure warning. She hasn’t paid the mortgage in four months.”
I sat down heavily on the edge of my bed. The room suddenly felt very cold. “That’s impossible,” I said. “I gave her two hundred thousand dollars for the down payment. The monthly payments on the remainder should be manageable with both your salaries. Where did the money go?”
My heart sank. It wasn’t just about the money; it was the deception. I had worked forty years in construction, breaking my back to build a legacy for my family. After my wife passed, I poured everything into Vanessa. I wanted her to have the security I never had growing up. But somewhere along the line, my desire to provide had turned into her expectation to receive.
“Meet me at the diner on 4th Street in twenty minutes,” I told Marcus. “Don’t say a word to her.”
When I arrived, Marcus looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He was nursing a black coffee, his eyes red-rimmed. He slid a stack of papers across the sticky table. They were bank statements and credit card bills.
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