Chapter 9 - The Final Settlement
"I'm not paying your mortgage, Mom," I said, standing tall above her. "Not this month. Not next month. Not ever again."
Mom let out a strangled gasp, looking up at me in horror. "Then we're going to lose the house! You're really going to let them take our home?!"
"No," I replied, pulling a manila folder from the side table. "I talked to our real estate attorney this morning. There is a way out for you and Dad. But it's on my terms, not yours."
She stared at the folder with wide, terrified eyes. "What terms?"
"You and Dad will sign an agreement to list the house for sale immediately with our family broker," I laid out each point with razor-sharp precision. "The housing market in your neighborhood is at an all-time peak. Even with the missed payments and the deferred maintenance, you have nearly two hundred and ten thousand dollars in accumulated equity in that property."
Mom gasped. "Sell our home?!"
"Yes," I continued without missing a beat. "You will sell the house. Grant and I will front the four thousand dollars needed to clear the immediate default fees and postpone the foreclosure auction, but that amount will be secured as a primary lien against the closing proceeds of the sale. Once the house sells, you and Dad will pay off your thirty thousand dollars in credit card debt. With the remaining hundred and sixty thousand, you will buy a modest, two-bedroom condominium in an active senior living community thirty minutes south of here."
"A condo?" she whispered, horrified. "In a retirement village? What will people say?!"
"People will say that you're living within your actual means," I shot back fiercely. "Your mortgage will be completely eliminated. Dad's pension and his part-time plant checks will easily cover the HOA fees and utilities. You will never have to beg me for money again, you will never have to lie to Whitney, and you will never hold your financial survival over my head."
She sat on the stair, looking at the documents inside the folder. She looked smaller than she ever had in my life. The grand illusion of Linda Hayes—the country-club grandmother with the wealthy children and the spotless pedigree—was officially dead.
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"And if we don't agree?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Then Friday at noon, Fifth Third Bank files the formal foreclosure paperwork in Franklin County Court," I said without blinking. "The notice will be posted on your front porch in bright orange paper for every neighbor on your street to see. You'll lose the equity, your credit score will drop to four hundred, and you'll be evicted by the sheriff before Thanksgiving. The choice is yours, Mom. Sign the listing agreement, or pack your bags for a shelter."
