Chapter 3 - The Six Hundred Forty Thousand Dollar Problem
My son hadn't just lied about the house. He had put my future at risk without my knowledge.
For the rest of the morning, I couldn't stop staring at that number.
Six hundred forty thousand dollars.
It didn't make sense.
Trent had never had that kind of money.
He wasn't making that kind of money.
Madison wasn't either.
So why would he sign as a personal guarantor?
“Start at the beginning,” I told Calder.
He opened another folder.
“Richard Hale owns several businesses.”
“I know he owns a construction company.”
“He owns more than that.”
Calder pulled up corporate records.
Restaurants.
Commercial properties.
A development company.
A private lending firm.
An investment group.
Richard Hale wasn't merely wealthy.
He was deeply connected.
And six hundred forty thousand dollars wasn't a terrifying amount of money to someone like him.
Unless something had gone wrong.
“Why would Trent guarantee his father-in-law's debt?”
“Because Richard probably asked him to.”
“That doesn't explain it.”
“No.”
Calder showed me the relevant paperwork.
The guarantee had been connected to a private business loan.
Trent hadn't received the money.
He'd simply promised repayment if the borrower defaulted.
“And who is the borrower?”
Calder pointed to the page.
Brentwood Residential Holdings LLC.
I stared at the name.
Everything suddenly connected.
The LLC controlled nothing.
At least legally.
But someone was preparing to use my house as leverage for a loan.
And my son was part of it.
I stood abruptly.
“I'm going to Brentwood.”
Calder shook his head.
“No.”
“He needs to explain.”
“He will.”
“Today.”
“Not yet.”
I turned.
“Why?”
“Because we don't know the entire structure.”
“What more do we need?”
Calder's voice hardened.
“We need to know whether Trent is a liar, a participant, or a pawn.”
That stopped me.
I sat back down.
“What if he's all three?”
“Then we'll find out.”
He opened his email.
“There's something else.”
I was beginning to hate those words.
“What?”
“A bank requested a certified ownership package for Brentwood two weeks ago.”
“For the LLC?”
“Yes.”
“Who requested it?”
“The lending institution.”
“Did they receive it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“The request was sent to me.”
I stared at him.
“Because I'm the attorney on file.”
“Exactly.”
My son had tried to use a property that didn't belong to him.
But someone had stopped him.
The question was who.
Calder zoomed in on the request.
“It came from a lender connected to Hale Capital.”
I looked at him.
“Richard's company?”
“Yes.”
“Then Richard knew.”
“Yes.”
“And he still tried.”
Calder nodded.
I rubbed my forehead.
I remembered Madison when she first married Trent.
She'd been polite.
Almost too polite.
She told me I was “refreshingly practical.”
I'd thought it was a compliment.
Now I wondered whether she'd been studying me.
“How long have they been planning this?”
“We don't know.”
“Find out.”
“I am.”
I returned home that afternoon.
At 4:12, Trent showed up.
I was fixing a loose fence board in my backyard.
He walked through the gate without knocking.
“Dad.”
I kept working.
“You can't just ignore me.”
“Apparently I can.”
He flinched.
“I came to apologize.”
I put down the screwdriver.
“For what?”
“Yesterday.”
“What exactly are you apologizing for?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I shouldn't have said what I said about your clothes.”
“That wasn't the part that bothered me.”
He looked at the ground.
“I know.”
“What did Madison's parents believe about the house?”
He hesitated.
“They thought we bought it.”
“And you let them think that.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because…”
He stopped.
“Because what?”
“Dad, you don't understand how they are.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“You don't.”
“Then explain it.”
He rubbed his face.
“They think people who work with their hands aren't successful.”
I almost smiled.
“That's rich, considering your mother and I built your entire life working with ours.”
“Dad.”
“No. Tell me the truth.”
He was silent.
Finally, he said, “I didn't want them thinking I was dependent on you.”
I studied him.
“Were you ashamed of needing help?”
“Yes.”
“Or ashamed of me?”
His eyes lifted.
He couldn't answer.
That was answer enough.
I nodded.
“Go home, Trent.”
His face tightened.
“I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“Madison's parents are putting pressure on us.”
“For what?”
“An investment.”
My stomach tightened.
“What investment?”
He looked away.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
I stared at him.
“You're right.”
“What?”
“It's not my business.”
His shoulders relaxed.
Then I added, “Unless my property is involved.”
He froze.
“What are you talking about?”
I smiled slightly.
“Good night, Trent.”
I turned back toward the fence.
“Dad.”
I ignored him.
He stood there another minute.
Then walked away.
The moment the gate closed behind him, my phone rang.
Calder.
“Kent, we've found the source of the loan.”
“Who?”
“The money was supposed to be used to buy another property.”
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
“What?”
“They were preparing to refinance Brentwood.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does when you read the purchase agreement they drafted.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What purchase agreement?”
Calder's voice dropped.
“Your son agreed to sell the house to Richard Hale.”
I stared toward the empty driveway.
“How much?”
“Four hundred thousand.”
The house was worth nearly three times that.
But that wasn't what stopped me.
“What did Trent think would happen to the rest?”
Calder went silent.
May you like
Then he said:
“That depends on whether you were supposed to discover it alive or after the sale.”
