PART 6

Patricia Had One More Secret

I thought the house would be the end of the conflict.

I was wrong.

Three days later, Rebecca called me.

“Are you sitting down?”

“Yes.”

“Grant’s attorney contacted me.”

“About what?”

“Patricia.”

I closed my eyes.

“What now?”

“She may have created a bigger problem.”

I sat straighter.

“How?”

“Did you ever authorize a home equity line?”

“No.”

“Any loan secured by the property?”

“No.”

“Any second mortgage?”

“No.”

Rebecca became quiet.

“Allison, Patricia apparently tried to obtain one.”

My stomach tightened.

“When?”

“Six months ago.”

I stood.

“Using my house?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“She represented that Grant was an owner.”

“He wasn’t.”

“I know.”

“She also represented that she had an equitable family interest.”

“That’s meaningless.”

“Correct.”

“Did she get the loan?”

“Apparently not.”

I exhaled.

“But?”

“There’s more.”

Of course there was.

“Grant may have signed a preliminary application.”

I went still.

“What?”

“It wasn’t completed.”

“Did he know what it was?”

“He claims Patricia told him it was paperwork for renovation financing.”

“That is exactly what it was.”

“Secured by my house.”

“Yes.”

My anger returned.

Not explosive anger.

Cold anger.

Grant had known the house was disputed.

He knew I claimed sole ownership.

He knew the deed was mine.

And while our divorce was pending, he still signed papers connected to borrowing against it.

Rebecca continued.

“The lender rejected it after the title search.”

“So why does this matter now?”

“Because we need the records.”

“Get them.”

“We already requested them.”

Two weeks later, the documents arrived.

Grant’s signature was there.

So was Patricia’s.

The requested line of credit was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

I stared at the number.

“What did they need that much money for?”

Rebecca had an answer.

“Patricia’s debts.”

I looked at her.

“What debts?”

“Credit cards.”

“Personal loans.”

“A failed investment with Eric.”

“Melanie’s legal bills.”

“And apparently some money connected to Grant’s business.”

I looked toward him in my mind.

Grant had portrayed himself as financially comfortable throughout the divorce.

He was not.

He had income.

But he also had debt.

A lot of it.

Celeste was expensive.

Travel.

Restaurants.

Gifts.

A leased Porsche.

A new apartment.

Grant had been maintaining two lifestyles while paying attorneys.

Then Patricia convinced herself the house could solve everything.

My house.

The property my grandmother restored.

The property my mother left me.

The home Grant once told me he loved because it made him feel connected to my family.

He had nearly tried to borrow against it without me.

That destroyed whatever sympathy I had left.

Grant called that evening.

I had blocked him months earlier.

Rebecca had advised me to keep communication through counsel.

But he used another number.

“Allison.”

“What do you want?”

“Please don’t hang up.”

I said nothing.

“I didn’t understand the loan application.”

“Then why did you sign it?”

“Mom said it was temporary.”

I laughed.

He became quiet.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Allison.”

“Grant, your mother has used the word temporary for seven years.”

Silence.

“She was temporarily moving in.”

“She was temporarily keeping furniture there.”

“Melanie was temporarily staying.”

“Eric was temporarily using the carriage house.”

“And apparently you were temporarily trying to borrow two hundred and fifty thousand dollars against property you didn’t own.”

“I didn’t know the amount.”

“That makes it worse.”

He breathed out.

“I was overwhelmed.”

“You were forty-one.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk to me like I’m stupid.”

“I’m not.”

I paused.

“I’m talking to you like an adult who signed documents.”

He became silent.

Then he asked the question I had been waiting for.

“Can we fix this?”

“The loan failed.”

“I mean us.”

I closed my eyes.

“No.”

“Allison.”

“No.”

“Celeste and I are over.”