Banks were real.
I was just Nina.
The help.
I picked up my phone and started typing.I do know my place. Check your mortgage documents.
I stared at the words, then hit send.
Her reply came instantly.What are you talking about?
I didn’t answer.
I opened my laptop, pulled up my email, and wrote to my attorney.
David,
Please prepare a notice of default and acceleration for 847 Maple Ridge Drive. Borrowers are 47 days past due. Per our agreement, I am exercising my right to call the full remaining balance ($298,000) due within 10 days.
Please file necessary paperwork and initiate foreclosure proceedings if payment is not received.
Best,
Nina
My hands were steady as I typed. That was the strangest part.
Inside, my chest felt full of bees.
But my fingers didn’t shake.
I read it twice, then hit send.
It went out at 11:43 p.m.
Six hours later, David replied. He was the kind of lawyer who answered emails before sunrise.
Documents prepared.
Courier will deliver this morning. Filing by noon.
Are you sure?
I thought about Aiden’s face. The fork. The laughter. The text: Know your place.
I wrote back:
Completely sure.
At 6:47 a.m., my phone rang.
Jessica.
I watched it buzz until it went to voicemail.
She called again. And again. Then Marcus texted.
Nina, what the hell is going on? Our bank just called saying our mortgage is in default and the full amount is due in 10 days. This has to be a mistake.
I took a slow sip of coffee before replying.
It’s not a mistake. I’m your mortgage holder. You’re 47 days late. I’m calling the loan due.
A long pause.
You’re our what?
Read the documents you signed. You don’t have a bank mortgage. You have a private mortgage with me. I own your house.
Three minutes passed.
This is insane. You can’t do this over a stupid argument at Thanksgiving.
My jaw clenched.
It’s not about Thanksgiving. It’s about 47 days of missed payments and years of being treated like hired help by people living in a house I own.
Jessica called again.
